■■>imtm<*.- 


A 

0 
0 

lER 

1 

4 
2 
3 

)NAL  Lll 

5 

2 

4 

^S 

=  d 

8 

ACI 

5   1 

2 

1 

{A  >  \ 


< 

•  <  -. 

.J  • 

i'i 

■  .»  * 

.^.d? 


■fMma^,";'iis.t-^,ji<'*v;ifi^»mMmmmm«if%vtiii»:^'^^ 


->*w 


y 


LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

FRANK   DAVIS 


1^^ 


^m^ 


^^->^ 


'  i*^ 


^. 


^^-^a-r^i 


'-w 


\ 


yv.    & ,    y\~z/_,^yC 


I 


I 


L^y^/x^^/^iaj  ^  >2>^'^^Y$ 


r. 


THE 


Poetical  Works 


OF 


THOMAS    M(30RE 


INCLUDING  HIS 


MELODIES,   BALLADS,  Eto. 


UOMPLETE    IN    ONK    VOLUME. 


PORTER    &    COATES, 

PHILADELPHIA.. 


PR 

505-0 
E60 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERRTTY  OF  CAT-IFORNIA 

SANTA   BARBARA 


CONTENTS. 


P. 
^LLA  ROOKII. 

The  Veiled  Prophet  of  Khorassan       .         .     28 
Paradise  and  the  Peri        ...  49 

The  Fire-worshippers  .        .         .         .56 

The  Light  of  llie  llaram  ...        77 

Notes  ...  ...     86 

iPISTLES,  ODES,  and  OTHER  POExMS. 

Dedication 99 

Preface ib. 

Epistlk  I.  To  Lord  Viscount  Strangford      100 

Stanzas 101 

The  Tell-tale  F.yre ib. 

To  the  Flying  Fish  .         .  .102 

Epistle  H.    To  Miss  M— e 

To  Cara  .... 

To  ditto 

To  the  Invisible  Girl        .... 

Peace  and  Glory 

To ,  1801 

Song    .  

The  Lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp 
Epistle  III.  To  the  JMarchioness  Dowager 
of  D 11 


The  Genius  of  Harmony 

Epistle  IV.  To  G.  Morgan,  Esquire 

T.  -  Ring 

To ,  on  seeing  her  w-iih  a  white 

veil  and  a  rich  girdle     . 
The  Resemblance    . 

To .... 

From  the  Greek  of  Meleager  . 

Lines,  written  in  a  storm  at  sea 

Odes  to  Nea     .... 

1  pray  you  let  us  roam  no  more   . 

You  read  it  in  my  languid  eyes 

A  Dream  of  Antiquity 

Well — peace  to  thy  heart 

If  I  were  yonder  wave 

On  seeing  ah  infant  in  Nea's  arms   . 

The  Snow  Spirit  .... 

I  stole  along  the  flowery  bank 

On  the  loss  of  a  letter  intended  for  Nea 

I  found  her  not  .... 

A  Kiss  a  V Antique       .... 

There's  not  a  look,  a  word  of  thine 

Epistle  V.    To  Joseph  Atkinson.  Esq 

Love  and  Reason      .... 

Nay,  do  not  weep,  my  Fanny  dear 

.'Vspasia    ... 

The  Grecian  Girl's  Dream  . 

The  Senses       ..... 

The  Steersman's  Song 

ToCloe  .  .... 

To  the  Fire-fly 

The  Vase  .... 

The  Wreath  and  the  Chain 


ib. 
103 
104 

ib. 

ib. 
105 

ib. 

ib. 

lOG 
107 

108 
109 

110 
ib 
lb. 

Ill 

*. 

ib. 
112 

ib. 

ib. 
113 

ib. 
114 

ib. 

ib. 
115 

ib. 

ib. 
116 

ib. 
117 

ib. 
118 

ib. 
120 

ib. 
121 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 


The  timid  girl  now  hung  her  head 
To .... 


Epistle  VI.    To  Lord  Viscount  Forbes 
Song         ...  ... 

I-ying 

Anacreontic      .         .  .         . 

To 's  Picture 

Fragment  of  a  I\Iythological  Hymn 
To  the  Duke  of  Montpensier 
Aristippus  to  his  Lamp     .... 
To  Mrs.  B — 1 — d,  written  in  her  Album 
Epistle  VII.    To  T.  Hume,  Esq. 
The  Snake  . 

Lines  written  on  leaving  Philadelphia 
The  fall  of  Hebe 

To ... 

Anacreontic  .... 

To  31  rs. 


-,  on  some  calumnies  against 
her  character 

Hymn  of  a  Virgin  of  Delphi,  at  the  tomb  of 
her  mother 

Rings  and  Seals        .... 

To  Miss  Susan  B-ckf— d     . 

Lines  written  at  the  Cohos  falls 

Chloris  and  Fanny       .        .  .        . 

To  Miss 

To ,  on  asking  me  to  address  a 

poem  to  her  .... 

Song  of  the  Evil  Spirit  of  the  Woods 

To  Mrs.  Henry  T-ghe 

Impromptu  on  leaving  some  friends 

Epistle  VIII.    To  the  Rt.  Hon.  W    P 

Spencer 
A  Warning       .... 

To .... 

From  the  High  Priest  of  Apollo,  io  aVirgii 

of  Delphi 
Woman 
Ballad  Stanzas 

To . 

A  Vision  of  Philosophy  . 

To 

Dreams 

To  Mrs. . 

A  Canadian  boat-song 

Epistle  IX.  To  the  Lady  Charlotte  R-\vd-n 

Impromptu,  after  a  visit  to  Mrs.  ,  of 

Montreal       ...  .         . 

Lines  written  on  passing  Deadman's  Island 
To  the  Boston  frigate       .... 
To   Lady  II ,  on  an  old  ring,  found  at 

Tunbridge-wells   .... 

To 

Extract  from  the  Devil  among  the  Scholars 
Fragments  of  a  Journal        ... 
To  a  Friend 

3 


ago. 
121 
122 

ft. 
12^1 

&. 

ih 

ib. 
125 

ib 

a>. 

127 

7?.. 

129 
ib. 
ib. 

131 
ib. 

132 

ib 

lb. 
133 

ib. 
134 

ib 

ib. 

ib. 
135 
136 

?6. 
137 
ib 

138 
139 

ib 

ib. 
140 
142 

ib 
143 

ib 

ib 

145 
146 
ib 

147 

0 

ib 
150 
153 


CONTENTS 


F;inny,  my  love,  we  ne'er  were  sages 
Song        ,....• 
From  the  Greek  .... 
On  a  beautiful  East-Indian 
To . 


At  night   . 
To 

INTERCEPTED  LETTERS ;  or,  THE  TWO- 
PENNY POST-BAG 
Dedication,  Prefaces,  etc.  .       154 

Appendix     .  .        .  .        .     ib. 

THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 

Pi-eface,  etc 164 

Notes 183 

TO.M  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 
Preface,  etc. 

RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD,  etc. 
Notes ■ 

FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE 
The  Dissolution  of  the  Holy  Alliance 
The  Looking-glasses        .... 
The  Fly  and  the  Bullock     . 

Church  and  State 213 

The  Little  Grand  Lama       .         .        .        .214 
The  Extinguishers 216 

CORRUPTION  (an  epistle,)  Preface,  etc  .        .  217 

INTOLERANCE  (a  poem)   ....      223 
Appendix 226 


THE  SCEPTIC,  Preface,  etc. 
ODES  OF  ANACREON. 

Index  showing  the  number  of  each 
Ode  in  Barnes'  and  other  editions 
An  Ode  by  the  Translator 
Remarks  on  Anacreon 
I.  I  saw  the  smiling  bard  of  pleasure 
II.  Give  me  the  harp  of  epic  song 

III.  Listen  to  the  Muse's  Lyre 

IV.  Vulcan !  hear  your  glorious  task    . 
V.  Grave  me  a  cup  with  brilliant  grace 

VI.  As  late  I  sought  the  spangled  bowers 
VII.  The  women  tell  me  every  day  . 
VIII.  I  care  not  for  the  idle  state     . 

IX.  I  pray  thee  by  the  gods  above  . 

X.  Tell  me  how  to  punish  thee  . 

XI.  Tell  me,  gentle  youth,  I  pray  thee     . 
XII.  They  tell  how  Atys,  wild  with  love 

XIII.  I  will,  I  will;  the  conllict  's  past 

XIV.  Count  me  on  the  summer  trees 
XV.  Tell  me  why,  my  sweetest  dove 

XVI.  Thou,  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues    . 


228 


232 
233 

ib. 
237 

ib. 
238 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 
239 

ib. 
240 

i}>. 

ib. 

ib. 
241 

ih. 
242 
243 


XVII.  And  now,  with  all  thy  pencil's  truth  244 
XVIIL  Now  the  star  of  day  is  high  .  .245 
XIX.  Here  recline  you,  gentle  maid  .  246 
XX.  One  day  the  Muses  twined  the  hand*  ih. 
XXI  Observe  when  mother  Earth  is  dry  247 
XXII  The  Phrygian  rock  that  braves  the 

storm  ....  ih. 

XXIII  I  often  wish  this  languid  lyre  .  248 
XXIV.  To  .ill  tliat  breathe  the  airs  of  heaven  il). 
XXV.  Once  in  each  revolving  year  .       249 

XXVI.  Thy  harp  may  sing  of  Troy's  alarms  ib. 
XXVII.  We  read  the  flying  courser's  name  ih. 
KXVIII   As  in  the  Lcmiiian  caves  of  fire  250 


Paff 

XXIX.  Yes — loving  is  a  painful  thrill   .         .     H 

XXX.  'T  was  in  an  airy  dream  of  night  .       251 

XXXI.  Arm'd  with  a  bya.jinthine  rod    .        .     ib 

XXXII.  Strew  me  a  breathing  bed  of  leaves       tb 

XXXIII.  'T  was  noon  of  night  when  round  the 

pole 252 

XXXIV.  Oh  thou   of  all  creation  blesi'd         .     ib 
XXXV.  Cupid  once  upon  a  bed  .       253 

XXXVI.  If  hoarded  gold  possess'd  a  power         ib. 

XXXVn.  'T  was  night,  and  many  a  circling  bowl  254 

XXXVIII.  Let  us  drain  the  nectar'd  bowl  ih 

XXXIX.  How  1  love  the  festive  boy        .         .  255 

XL.  I  know  that  Heaven  ordains  me  here    ib. 

XLI.  When  Spring  begems  the  dewy  scene    ib 

XLII.  Yes,  be  the  glprious  revel  mine         .  256 

XLIII.  While  our  rosy  fillets  shed     .         .        ib 

—   XLIV.  Buds  of  roses,  virgin  flowers     .         .     ib 

XLV.  Within  this  goblet,  rich  and  deep  .       257 

XLVI.  See,  the  young,  the  rosy  spring  ib 

XLVII.  'T  is  true,  my  fading  years  decUne         H), 

XLVIII.  When  my  thirsty  soul  I  steep    .  258 

XLIX.  When  Bacchus,  Jove's  immortal  bov     ib. 

L.  When  I  drink,  I  feel,  I  feel  ib. 

LI.  Fly  not  thus  my  brow  of  snow  25i» 

LII.  Away,  away,  you  men  of  rules  ib 

LIII.  When  I  behold  the  festive  train  ib 

LIV.  Mcthinks  the  pictured  bull  we  see     .  260 

LV.  While  we  invoke  the  wreathed  spring    ib 

LVI.  He  who  instructs  the  youthful  crew     26J 

LVII.  And  whose  immortal  hand  could  shed  262 

LVIII.  Wlien  gold,  as  fleet  as  Zephyr's  pinion     ib 

LIX.  Sabled  by  the  solar  beam       .  263 

LX.  Awake  to  life,  my  dulcet  shell   .         .  264 

LXI.  Golden  hues  of  youth  are  fled        .         ih. 

LXII.  Fill  me,  boy,  as  deep  a  draught  .  265 

LXIII.  To  Love,  the  soft  and  blooming  child     ib 

LXIV.  Haste   thee,  nymph,  whose   winged 

spear ib. 

LXV.  Like  some  wanton  filly  sporting        .     (7). 

LXVI.  To  thee,  the  queen  of  nymplis  divine  266 

LXVII.  Gentle  youth !  whose  looks  assume  .     ib 

LXVIII.  Rich  in  bliss,  I  proudly  scorn         .         ib 

LXTX.  Now  Neptune's  sullen  month  appears     ih. 

LXX.  They  wove  the  lotus  band,  to  deci<  .  267 

LXXI.  A  broken  cake,  with  honey  sweet  ib. 

LXXII.  With  twenty  chords  my  lyre  is  hurg      w. 

LXXIII.  Fare  thee  well,  perfidious  maid         .     ib 

LXXIV.  I  bloom'd  awhile,  a  happy  flower  .         ff) 

LXXV.  Monarch  Love  !  resistless  boy   .         .     th 

LXXVI.  Spirit  of  Love,  whose  tresses  shine       ii 

LXXVII.  Hither,  gentle  muse  of  mine  .       26c 

LXXVIII.  Would  that  I  were  a  tunefid  lyie  il 

LXXIX.  When  Cupid  sees  my  beard  of  snow     ih 

Fragments 

Cupid,  whose  lamp  has  lent  the  ray  .        ih 

Let  me  resign  a  wretched  breath          .  ib 

I  know  thou  lovest  a  brimming  measure  .         tb 

1  fear  that  love  disturbs  my  rest   .  .     ib 

From  dread  Leucadia's  frowning  steep  .         ib 

Mix  me,  child,  a  cup  divine                   .  .     ih 

Epigrams  translated  kro.m  Antipater 

SlDONIUS. 

Around  the  tomb,  oh  bard  divine!  26f 

Hnre  sleeps  Anacreon,  in  this  ivied  shade        A 


CONTENTS, 


Page. 
Oh  stranger!  if  Anacreon's  shell      .  2G9 

At  length  thy  golden  hours  have  wmg'd  their 

Hight  ...      270 

LITTLE'S  POEMS. 

Preface        ....  .271 

Dedication        ...  .        .       272 


leaf  of  a  Lady's  com- 


To  Julia 

To  a  Lady,  with  some  manuscript  poems 

To  Mrs. 

To  the  large  and  beautiful  Miss 

To  Julia  . 

Inconstancy 

Imitation  of  Catullus 

Epigram 

To  Julia  . 

Song    . 

Nature's  Labels 

To  Mrs.  M 

Song 

To  Julia 

Impromptu 

To  Rosa       . 

Sympathy 

To  Julia 

To  Mrs. 

On  the  Death  of  a  Lady 
To  Julia  . 

To 

Written  in  the  blank 
mon-place  book 

Song 

To  Rosa 

To  Ditto      ...  .        . 

Rondeau  

An  Argument  to  any  Phillis  or  Chloe 
To  Rosa  ....  .        . 

Anacreoutique 

Ditto 

Oh,  woman,  if  by  simple  wile 

Love  and  Marriage 

The  Kiss 

To  Miss 

Nonsense     ... 
To  Julia,  on  her  birth-day 

Elegiac  Stanzas 

To  Rosa  ....  .         . 

Love  in  a  Storm 

Song         .         .  .... 

The  surprise         .  ... 

To  a  sleeping  maid 

To  Phillis    ^ 

Song         .         .  .... 

The  Ballad- 

To  Mrs. ,  on  her  translation  of  Voi- 

lure's  Kiss 

To  a  Lady,  on  her  Singing 

A  Dream 

Written  in  a  common-place  book 

To  the  pretty  little  Mrs. 

Song    .        .  

The  tear  .         .  .        . 

To 


.    ib. 

if,. 

273 

,    ih. 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 
274 

ih. 

ib. 

ih. 
275 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 

ih. 
27G 

ib. 

ih. 

ih. 

Hi. 

H,. 
,  277 

U). 
.    ib. 

ib. 
.    ib. 

ih. 
278 

ih. 

ih. 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 
279 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 

ih. 

ib. 
280 

ib 

ib 


The  Shield 
To  3Irs. 


Elegiac  Stanzas 
Fanny  of  Timmol 
A  Night-thought 
Elegiac  Stanzas  . 
The  Kiss 

To 

A  reflection  at  Sea  . 
An  Invitation  to  Supper 
An  ode  upon  morning 

Song 

Come,  tell  me  where  the  maid  is  found 

Sweetest  love  !  I'  11  not  forget  thee 

If  I  swear  by  that  eye 

Julia's  Kiss 

To .        . 


P.lgC 

282 

ib 

283 

.    * 

ih 
.  2*1 

il). 

ih 

U> 

.    ih. 

285 

.    ib 

2tt6 

ib. 

ib. 

lb. 

ib. 
.  287 

ib 
.    w 

ib 
.  288 

ih. 


To  Juiia  weeping 
Song 


ib. 

ib. 
ib. 
ib. 
281 
ib. 
ib. 
ib. 
ib. 
ib. 
ih. 


Fly  from  the  world,  O  Bessy !  to  me  . 

Think  on  tiiat  look  of  humid  ray 

A  captive  thus  to  thee 

The  Catalogue  .... 

A  Fragment         .        .  .        . 

Where  is  the  nymph 

When  time  who  steals  our  years  away         .     id. 

The  Shrine ^. 

Reuben  and  Rose        ....  289 

The  Ring '     if>. 

Of  all  my  happiest  hours  of  joy  .  292 

To  a  boy  with  a  watch     ...  ib. 

Fragments  of  College  exercises  .  .  .  ib. 
Mary,  1  believed  thee  true  .  .  .  293 
Why  does  azure  deck  the  sky      .  .    ib. 

Morality,  a  familiar  epistle  .  .  .  ib. 
The  Natal  Genius,  a  dream  .         .         .  294 

THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 

Preface,  etc 295 

Notes  .  .        .        .311 

IRISH  3IEL0DIES.— No.  I. 

Advertisement  to  the  First  and  Second  Num- 
bers            316 

Go  where  glory  waits  thee           .        .  .     ih. 

Remember  the  glories  of  Rrien  the  brave  317 

Erin  !  the  tear  and  the  smile  in  thine  eyes  ib. 

Oh  I  breathe  not  his  name            .        .  .     jj 

When  he  who  adores  thee        .         .         .  ib 

The  harp  that  once  through  Tara's  halls  .     ib. 

Fly  not  yet,  't  is  just  the  hour  .  313 

Oh !  think  not  my  spirits  are  always  as  light  ib. 

Though  the  last  glimpse  of  Erin          .  .     ib. 

Rich  and  rare  were  the  gems  she  wore    .  ih. 

As  a  beam  o'er  the  face  of  the  waters  .319 

There  is  not  in  this  wide  world        .        .  j7j. 

No  II. 

Oh!  haste  and  leave  this  sacred  isle  .  .  ib. 
How  dear  to  me  the  hour  when  daylight  dies  ib 
Take  back  the  virgin  page  .  .  .  jft. 
When  in  death  I  shall  calm  recline  .  .  320 
How  oft  has  the  Benshee  cried  .  .  ib. 
We  may  roam  through  this  world  .  ,  in. 
Oh  !  weep  for  the  hour  ....  321 
Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of  old  .     ih 

Silent,  oh  Moyle  !  be  the  roar  of  thy  water  ib 
Come,  send  round  the  wine  i), 


CONTENTS 


Sublime  was   'he  warning  which    Liberty 

spoke         ......       322 

Believe   me,  if  aQ  those  endearing  young 

charms  ...  .Hi. 

So  III. 

Letter  to  the  JLirchioness  Dowager  of  Do- 
negal   '"&• 

Like  the  bright  lamp  that  shone  .  .  .  325 
Drink  to  her,  who  long     .         .         .  ib. 

Oh !  blame  not  the  bard       .  .         .  326 

While  gazing  on  the  moon's  light  .        ib. 

When  daylight  was  yet  sleeping  under  the 

billow ib- 

By  the  hope,  within  us  springing  .  .  327 
Night  closed  around  the  conqueror's  way  ib. 
Oh !  t'  is  sweet  to  think,  that,  where'er  we 

roam  ' ib. 

Through  grief  and  through  danger  .  .  328 
When  through  life  un bless' d  we  rove  .  ih. 
It  is  not  the  tear  at  this  moment  shed  .  .  ib. 
'T  is  believed  that  this  harp,  which  I  wake 

now ib. 

No.  IV. 

Advertisement  329 

Oh !  the  days  are  gone,  when  beauty  bright  ib. 
Though  dark  are  our  sorrows,  to-day  we  '11 

forget  them ib. 

Weep  on,  vveep  on,  your  hour  is  past  ,  .  330 
Lesbia  hath  a  beaming  eye  .  .  .  ib. 
I  saw  thy  form  in  youthful  prime  .         .    ib. 

By  that  lake,  whose  gloomy  shore  .  .  331 
She  is  far  from  the  land  where  her  young 

hero  sleeps ib. 

Nay,  tell  me  not,  dear,  that  the  goblet  drowns  ib. 
Avenging  and  bright  fell  the  swift  sword  of 

Erin  ....  .        ib. 

What  the  bee  is  to  the  floweret    .  .  332 

Here  we  dwell,  in  holiest  bowers  .  .  ih. 
This  life  is  all  chequer'd  with  pleasures  and 

woes     t        .  .  .         .     ib. 

So.  V. 

Advertisement 333 

Through  Erin's  isle ib. 

At  the  'mid  hour  of  night,  when  stars  are 

weeping ib. 

One  bumper  at  parting  I — though  many  .  334 
'T  is  the  last  rose  of  summer  .  .  .  ib. 
The  young  M;iy-moon  is  beaming,  love  .  ib. 
The  minstrel-boy  to  the  war  is  gone  .  ib. 
The  valley  lay  smiling  before  me  .  .  ih. 
Oh!  had  we  some  bright  little  isle  .  .  33S 
Farewell ! — but  whenever  you  welcome  the 

hour ih. 

Oh  !  doubt  me  not — the  season         .         .        ih. 
You  remember  Ellen,  our  hamlet's  pride        330 
I'd  mourn  the  hopes  that  leave  me      .         .     ib. 
Vo.  VI. 

Advertisement ib. 

Come  o'er  the  sea ih. 

Has  sorrow  thy  young  days  shaded  .       337 

No,  not  more  welcome  the  fairy  numbers  ib. 
When  first  I  met  thee,  warm  and  young  .  ib. 
While    History's   muse  the  memorial  was 

><ecpinK 338 


No, 


Pag": 
The  time  I  've  lost  in  wooing  33e 

Where  is  the  slave,  so  lowly  .        .     it 

Come,  rest  in  this  bosom,  .         .        ib. 

'T  is  gone,  and  for  ever,  the  light  we  saw 

breaking        ...  .  33S 

I  saw  fiom  the  beach        .         .  ib. 

Fill  the  bumper  fair !  .        .  ih 

Dear  harp  of  my  country  .        .  A 

VII. 

Advertisement 340 

My  gentle  harp  !  once  more  I  waken  i}> 

As  slow  our  ship  her  foamy  track         .  ib 

In  the  morning  of  life,  when  its  cares  are 

unknown  .  .       34 

When  cold  in  the  earth  lies  the  friend  .     it 

Remember  thee  I  yes,  while  there  's  life  in 

this  heart  .  .         .  ib 

Wreath  the  bowl  ...  .    ii 

Whene'er  I  see  those  smiling  eyes  .  .  342 
If  thou  'It  be  mine,  the  treasures  of  air  .  ih. 
To  ladies'  eyes  a  round,  boy  .  .  .  ib. 
Forget  not  the  field  where  they  perish'd  .  ib 
They  may  rail  at  this  life — from  the  hour  J 

began  it 343 

Oh  for  the  swords  of  former  time    .        .         ib 
No.  VIII. 

Ne'er  ask  the  hour — what  is  it  to  us  ib. 

Sail  on,  sail  on,  thou  fearless  bark    .  ib. 

Yes,  sad  one  of  Sion — if  closely  resembling  344 
Drink  of  this  cup — you  '11  find  there  's  a  spell  ih 
Down  in  the  valley  come  meet  me  to-nignt  ib 
Oh,  ye  dead !  oh,  ye  dead  !  whom  we  know  345 
Of  all  the  fair  months  that  round  the  sun  ib 

How  sweet  the  answer  Echo  makes  .  .  ib 
Oh,  banquet  not  in  those  shining  bowers  ib. 

The  dawning  of  morn,  the  daylight's  sinking  346 
Shall  the  harp  then  be  silent  .  .  .  ih. 
Oh,  the  sight  entrancing  .        .         .        ib. 

No.  IX. 

Sweet  Innisfallen,  fare  thee  well  .  j4* 

'T  was  one  of  those  dreams  .  ,  .  ib 
Fairest!  put  on  awhile  ....  ih. 
Quick !  we  have  but  a  second  .        .      348 

And  doth  not  a  meeting  like  this  .        .    ib. 

In  yonder  valley  there  dwelt,  alone  .       349 

As  vanquished  Erin  wept  beside  .         .     ib. 

By  the  Feal's  wave  benighted  .         .        ih. 

They  know  not  my  heart     .         .  .    ib 

I  wish  I  was  by  that  dim  lake  .  .  .  3X 
She  sung  of  love, — while  o'er  her  lyre  .  ih. 
Sing,  sing,  music  was  given      .         .  ih 

NATIONAL  AIRS.— No.  L 

Advertisement  .....  351 

A  temple  to  Friendship. — Spnni.th  Air  .  i") 
p'low  on,  thou  shining  river. — Portiigue.'ie. 

Air    .         .  ...  -5. 

AH  that's  bright  must  fade. — Inilidn  Air  .  ib. 
So  warmly  wo  met. — Hunf^arion  Air  .  ib 
Those  evening  hells. — Air,  The  Bells  of  St. 

Pctcrxhurish  .  35^ 

Should  those  fond  hopes. — Porfugut.fe  Air  ih 
Reason,  Folly,  and  Beauty. — ItnUan  An  ih 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one  : — Sicilian 

Air  to 


CONTENTS. 


Dost  thou  remember  ? — Portuguese  Ait  . 
Oh  !  come  to  me  when  daylight  sets. — Fe- 

nitliiii  Air    ...... 

Oft,  in  the  stilly  night. — Scotch  Air 

Hark!  the  vesper  hymn  is  stealing. — Russian 

Air 


352 
.  353 


ih. 


No.  II. 

Love  and  Tlope. — Swiss  Air    . 
There  comes  a  time. — Genruin  Air.     . 
My  harp  has  one  unchanging  theme. — Sive- 

disli  Air 

Oh !  no — not  e'en  when  first  we  loved. — 

Cushmerian  Air    ... 
Peace  be  around  thee  ! — Scotch  Air 
Common  Sense  and  (Renins. — French  Air  . 
Then,  fare  thee  well ! — Old  EnglUh  Air 
Gaily  sounds  the  castanet. — Maltese  Air 
Love  is  a  hunter-boy. — iMiiguedocian  Air 
Come,   chase   that    starting    tear    away. — 

Freiich  Air 

Joys  of  youth,  how   fleeting! — Po'tugnese 

Air ib. 

Hear  me  but  once. — French  Air  ,        .  356 

No  in. 

When  Love  was  a  child. — Swedi.'^h  Air  .  ib. 

Say,  what  shall  be  our  sport  to-day? — Sici- 
lian Air         ...                   .         .  ih. 

Bright  be  thy  dreams  ! — Wehh  Air  .        .  ib. 

Go,  then — 't  is  vain. — Sicilian  Air       .         .  ib. 

The  crystal  hunters. — Smss  Air      .        ,  ib. 

-•        Row  gently  here. — Venitian  Air          .        .  357 

Oh !  the  days  of  youth. — French  Air        ,  ih. 

When  first  that  smile. —  Venetian  Air  .        .  ib. 

Peace  to  the  slumbereis  ! — Catalonian  Air  ib. 

W^hen  thou  shalt  wander. — Sicilian  Air  ib. 

Who'll  buy  my  love-knots? — Portuguese  Air  ib. 

See,   the  dawn    from    Heaven. — Sung  at 

Rome  on  Christ?nas  Eve        .        .  358 
Vo.  IV. 

Nets  and  cages. — Swedish  Air         .        .  ih. 

When  through  the  piazzetta. —  Venetian  Air  ih. 

Go,  now,  and  dream. — Sicilian  Air    .        .  ih. 

Take  hence  the  bowl. — Neapolitan  Air   .  359 

Farewell,  Theresa! — Venetian  Air      .        .  ib. 

How  oft,  when  watching  stars. — Savoyard 

Air ib. 

When  the  first  summer  bee. — German  Air  ib. 

Though  't  is  all  but  a  dream. — French  Air  ib. 

'T  is  when  the  cup  is  smiling. — Italian  Air  ib. 

Where  shall  we  bury  our  shame? — Neapoli- 
tan Air 360 

Ne'er  talk  of  Wisdom's  gloomy  schools. — 

Mahralta  Air     .....  j6. 

Here  sleeps  the  bard. — Highland  Air  .         .  ib. 

5ACRED  SONGS.    No.  L 

Thou  art,  oh  God !            ....  36r 

This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show          .        .  ib. 

Fallen  is  thy  throne          .        .        .        .  ih. 

Who  is  the  maid  ? 362 

The  bird,  let  loose ib. 

'Jh  !  Thou  who  dry'st  the  mourner's  tear  ib. 

Weep  not  for  those ib. 

The  turf  shall  be  my  fragrant  shrine         .  363 


Sound  the  loud  timbrel 

(io,  let  me  weep 

Come  not,  oh  Lord  !    . 

Were  not  the  sinful  Mary's  tears 

As  down  in  the  sunless  retreats  . 

Hut  who  shall  see  7 

Almighty  God  ! — Chorus  of  priests 

Oh,  fair!  oh,  purest 

No.  II. 

Angel  of  Charity 

Behold  the  sun 

Lord,  who  shall  bear  that  day? 

Oh  !  teach  me  to  love  thee 

VV'ecp,  children  of  Israel 

Like  mornmg,  when  her  early  breeze 

Come,  ye  disconsolate 

Awake,  arise,  thy  light  is  come 

There  is  a  bleak  desert 

Since  first  thy  word 

Hark  !  't  is  the  breeze  . 

Where  is  your  dwelling,  ye  sainted  ? 

How  lightly  mounts  the  mpse's  wing 

Go  forth  to  the  mount 

Is  it  not  sweet  to  think,  hereafter? 

War  against  Babylon 

BALLADS,  SONGS,  etc. 

Black  and  Blue  eyes 

Cease,  oh  cease  to  tenij.t! 

Dear  Fanny 

Did  not    .        . 

Fanny,  dearest ! 

Fanny  was  in  the  grove   . 

From  life  without  freedom 

Here  's  the  bower     . 

Holy  be  the  pilgrim's  sleep 

I  can  no  longer  stifle 

I  saw  the  moon  rise  clear    . 

Joys  that  pass  away 

Light  sounds  the  harp 

Little  Mary's  eye 

Love  and  the  Sun-Dial 

Love  and  Time         .... 

Love,  my  Mary,  dwells  with  thee 

Love's  light  summer-cloud 

Love  wand'ring  through  the  golden  maze 
■--     Merrily  every  bosom  boundeth     . 

Now  let  the  w'arrior 

Oh,  lady  fair! 

Oh  !  remember  the  time    . 

Oh  I  see  those  cherries 

Oh  !  soon  return       .... 

Oh,  yes  !  so  well  .... 

^'    Oh,  yes  !  when  the  bloom 

One  dear  smile 

Poh,  Dermot !  go  along  with  your  goster 

Send  the  bowl  round  merrily 

The  Day  of  Love     .... 

The  Probability 

The  Song  of  War    .        .        .        .        , 

The  Tablet  of  Love    . 
The  young  Rose       ..... 
When  in  languor  sleeps  the  heart 
When  'midst  the  gay  1  meet     . 

When  twdight  dews    . 


Piigfl. 
.  363 

ib. 
.  364 

ib. 
.    ib. 

lb 

.    ib. 

365 

.    ifj. 

a, 

.    ib. 

366 

.    *. 

ih 
.    ib. 

ib 
.  367 

ib. 

.  a,. 

363 

.    ih. 

ib. 

.     ib. 

369 

.  370 

ih. 

.     ib 

ib. 

ib. 

371 
.    ib. 

ib. 
.    ib. 

372 
.    ib 

ib 
.    ib 

ih 
.  373 

ii 
.    ib. 

ih 

ib 
37-1 

ib. 

ib. 

ih. 

ih 

ih 
375 

ib. 

if, 

ib. 
376 

lb. 

ih 

lb. 

ih 

37: 
ih 
a 
ih 


Will  you  come  to  the  bower    . 

Young  Jessica      .... 

The  Rabbinical  Origin  of  Women  . 

Farewell,  Bessy  .... 

To-day,  dearest !  is  ours 

When  on  the  lip  the  sigh  delays 

Here,  take  my  heart 

Oh !  call  it  by  some  better  name 

Poor  wounded  heart         .        .        . 

The  East  Indian 

Pale  broken  flower 

The  pretty  rose-tree     , 

Shine  out,  stars        .... 

The  young  muleteer"?  of  Grenada 

Tell  her !  oh  tell  her 

Nights  of  Music 

Our  first  young  love 
MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS- 

A  Melologuc  upon  national  music 

Lines  on  the  death  of  Mr.  P-rc-v-1  . 

Lines  on  the  death  of  Sh-r-d-n    . 

Lines  written  on  hearing  that  the  Austrians 
had  entered  Naples 

The  Insurrection  of  the  Papers 

Parody  of  a  celebrated  Letter 

Anacreontic. — To  a  Plumassier 

Extracts  from  the  Diary  of  a  Politician 

King  Crack  and  his  Idols 

Wreaths  for  the  Ministers    . 

The  new  Costume  of  the  Ministers 

Occasional  Address     .... 

The  sale  of  the  Tools 

Little  Man  and  little  Soul    . 

Reinforcements  for  Lord  Wellington 

Lord  Wellington  and  the  Ministers 

Fum  and  Hum,  the  two  birds  of  royalty 

Epistle  from  Tom  Crib  to  Big  Ben  . 

To  Lady  Holland,  on  Napoleon's  legacy  of 
a  snuff-box 

Correspondence  between  a  lady  and  gentle- 
man      ....  .        . 

Horace,  ode  XI.  lib.  II    . 

,  ode  XXII.  lib.  I 

,  ode  I.  lib.  Ill 

,  ode  XXXVIII.  lib.  L     .        .        . 

To .     Die  when  you  wdl  . 

Impromptu. — Between  Adarn  and  me 

What  is  my  thought  like  ?        .         ,        . 

Epigram.     What  news  to-day?   . 

Said  his  Highness  to  Ned 

I  want  the  court-guide 

— I  never  give  a  kiss 


Pass. 
377 

i6. 

378 
ih. 
ih. 
ih. 


ib. 
379 

ih. 
ih. 
ih. 
if,. 
380 
*. 
ib. 
ib. 

381 
382 

ib. 

383 

ib. 

384 

385 

ib. 

ib. 

387 

ib. 

388 

389 
ih. 
ih. 

390 

ib. 

ib. 
391 

ib. 
392 

ib. 

ih. 
393 

*. 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 

ill. 


On  a  squinting  poetess 
The  torch  of  Liberty 

Epilogue 394 

To  the  memory  of  .1.  Atkinson,  Esq.        .  ih. 

Epitaph  on  a  well-known  poet                      .  ib. 

The  Sylph's  baU  395 

ALCII'IIRON 


Page. 

.  39<i 

ih 

.    ib 

39'5 

ih 

ib 

ib. 

A 

.    ib. 

ib 

.  398 

ib. 

A  .loke  versified ib. 

On  Like  a  snuffers,  tnis  loving 

old  dame ih. 

Factotum  Ned      .        .        .  ,        .     ib. 

Country-dance  and  Quadrille  .  .  .  399 
To  those  we  love  we  've  drank  to-night  400 
Genius  and  Criticism  .        .  401 


Remonstrance  to  Lord  J.  Russell 
Epitaph  on  a  lawyer        .... 

My  birth-day 

Fancy — the  more  I  've  view'd  this  world 

Love  had  a  fever 

Translation  from  Catullus    . 
To  my  mother;  written  in  a  pocket-book 
Illustration  of  a  bore         .        .        .        . 
A  Speculation      ..... 
Ere  Psyche  drank  the  cup  that  shed 
Of  all  the  men  one  meets  about 
Romance  ...... 


ATTRIBUTED  PIECES. 

An   amatory  colloquy  between   Bank  and 
Government  .... 

Ode  to  the  Goddess  Ceres 

Said  a  Sovereign  to  a  Note  . 

An  E.xpostulation  to  Lord  King 

Moral  positions 

Memorabilia  of  last  week         .         ... 

A  hymn  of  welcome  after  the  Recess 

All  in  the  family  way 

Canonization  of  St.  B-tt-rw-rth 

New  Creation  of  peers     . 

Cambridge  university  .         .  .         . 

Lines  written  in  St.  Stephen's  chapel,  after 
the  Dissolution  .... 

Copy  of  an  intercepted  Despatch 

Mr.  Roger  Dodsworth      .... 

The  Millennium  .  .         .        .        . 

The  three  Doctors  .... 

Epitaph  on  a  tuft-hunter       .         .         .        . 

The  petition  of  the  Orangemen  of  Ireland 

A  Vision,  by  the  Author  of  Christabel 

News  for  country  cousins 

An  Incantation,  sung  by  the  bubble  spirit 

A  dream  of  turtle,  by  Sir  W.  Curtis     . 

A  voice  from  Marathon 

Cotton  and  Corn  .*..., 

The  Donkey  and  his  panniers 

Ode  to  the  Sublime  Porte 

Reflections  suggested  by  a  late  correspond- 
ence on  the  Catholic  question  . 

The  Ghost  of  Miltiades 

Corn  and  Catholics  .... 

Crockfordiana 

The  two  Bondsmen  .... 

The  Periwinkles  and  the  Locusts 

A  case  of  libel  

Literary  advertisement 

The  Slave 
420 


402 
ib. 

403 
ib 

404 
ib. 

40,5 

406 
407 

408 

ib. 
409 

ib. 
410 

ib. 

lb. 
411 
412 

*. 
413 

ib. 
414 

ib. 
415 

lb. 

.t). 
416 

ib. 

ib. 
417 

ib. 
413 


A  BIOGRAPHICAL  AND   ClilTICAL   SKETCH 


OP 


THOMAS  MOORE,  Esq. 


COMPRISING  ANECDOTES  OF  ANCIENT  ]\riNSTRELSY,  ILLUSTRATIVE  OF 
THE   "IRISH   MELODIES." 


BY  J.  W.  LAKE. 


N')TwiTHSTANDiNo  the  number  of  literary  Tion  to 
wlioin  IrtlaiuJ  has  given  birth,  there  is  verj  little 
connecteck  with  their  names  which  conveys  to  us  any 
tning  of  a  national  association ;  for  the  land  of  their 
nativity  scarcely  enjoys  a  single  ray  of  that  brilliant 
mind,  wiiich  sheds  its  intellectual  brightness  over  tlie 
sister  country.  Congreve  was  an  apostate,  and  Swifl 
only  by  accident  a  patriot ;  whilst  Goldsmith  was 
weak  enough  to  aifoct  an  air  of  contempt  for  a  peo- 
ple whose  accent  was  indelibly  stamped  on  his  tongue. 
We  could  protract  the  list  of  her  ungrateful  and 
thoughtless- "men  of  mind"  even  to  our  own  day; 
but  the  task  would  be  invidious,  and  we  gladly  turn 
from  it  to  one  who  forms  a  splendid  e.xccption — one 
who  is  not  ashamed  of  Ireland,  and  of  whom  Ireland 
iS  justly  proud. — 

Ijiind  of  the  Muse  I  in  glory's  lay. 

In  history's  leaf  thy  name  shall  soar 
When,  like  a  meteor's  noxious  ray, 

The  reign  of  tyranny  is  o'er; 
Immorial  names  have  honour'd  thee — 

A  Sheridan,  a  Wellesley  ; 
And  still  is  beaming  ronnd  thy  shore 

Tlie  spirit  bright  of  Liberty, 
For  thou  (^aiist  boast  a  p.ilriot,  Miioret 

Mr.  Moore  is  every  way  an  Irishman,  in  heart,  in 
feelings,  and  in  principles.  For  his  country  he  has 
done  more  than  any  m;in  living :  he  has  associated 
her  name,  her  wrongs,  and  her  attributes,  with  poetry 
and  music,  neither  of  which  can  ever  die,  while  taste, 
patriotism,  and  literature  subsists  in  the  world  ;  and 
whilst  these  survive,  Ireland  will  form  the  theme  of 
Beauty's  song,  and  Irish  music  the  charm  of  every 
cultivated  mind  But,  all  extrinsic  circumstances 
apart,  there  is  in  the  melodies  of  .Mr.  Moore  a  sacred 
fire,  which  conveys  its  vividness  to  the  soul  of  his 
readers  ;  and  they  must  be  made  of  sterner  stulf  than 
the  ordinary  race  of  men,  if  their  bosoms  do  not  glow 
<vith  liberal  and  patriotic  enthusiasm,  whde  they  pe- 
■use  the  harmonious  creations  of  a  poet  who  has 
'.loihed  the  wild  and  eccentric  airs  of  his  country  in 


words  that  burn,  and  sentiments  that  find  an  echo  in 
every  generous  breast. 

Had  Mr.  Moore  done  no  more  than  this,  he  would 
be  entitled  to  the  gratitude  of  his  countrymen ;  but 
his  genius,  like  his  own  Peri,  seems  never  pleased., 
but  while  liovering  over  the  region  he  loves  ;  or  if  it 
makes  a  short  e.xcursion,  it  is  only  in  the  hope  of 
securing  some  advantage  that  may  accelerate  tht 
removal  of  those  disqualitications,  which  are  supposed 
to  exclude  happiness  from  the  limits  of  his  countrv 
In  "  Lalla  Rookh"  he  has  given  his  fire-worshippers 
the  wrongs  and  feelings  of  Irishmen ;  while,  in  the 
"Memoirs  of  Captain  Rock,"  he  has  accomplished  a 
most  difficult  task — written  a  history  of  Ireland  that 
has  been  read. 

On  sucii  grounds  we  may  well  claim  for  IMr.  i\Ioore 
what  he  deserves — the  crown  of  patriotism;  but  it  is 
not  on  this  head  alone  he  is  entitled  to  our  praise 
As  a  poet,  since  the  lamented  death  of  Byron,  he 
stands  almost  without  a  competitor;  and  as  a  prose- 
writer,  he  is  highly  respectable. 

Mr.  Moore  is  the  only  son  of  the  late  3Ir.  Garret 
Moore,  formerly  a  respectable  tradesman  in  Dublin, 
where  our  poet  was  born  on  the  28th  of  May,  1780. 
He  has  two  sisters ;  and  his  infantine  days  seem  to 
have  left  the  most  agreeable  impressions  on  liis  m»>- 
mory.  In  an  epistle  to  his  eldest  sister,  dated  Novem- 
ber, 1803,  and  written  from  Norfolk  in  Virginia,  he 
retraces  with  delight  their  childhood,  and  describes 
the  endearments  of  home,  with  a  sensibility  as  exqui 
site  as  that  which  breathes  through  the  lines  of  Cow- 
per  on  receiving  his  mother's  picture. 

He  acquired  the  rudiments  of  an  excellent  education 
under  the  care  of  the  late  3Ir.  Samuel  Whyte,  of 
Grafton-street,  Dublin,  a  gentleman  extensively  knowr, 
and  respected  as  the  early  tutor  of  t^heridan.  He 
evinced  such  talent  in  early  life,  as  determined  Ins 
ftiiher  to  give  him  the  advantages  of  a  superior  edu- 
cation, and  at  the  early  age  of  fourteen,  he  was  entered 
a  student  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin. 

3Ir.  Moore  was  greatly  distinguished  while  at  the 
University,  by  an  enthusiastic  attachment  tn  the  hbertf 

9 


10 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


and  independence  of  his  country,  which  he  more  than 
once  publicly  asserted  with  uncommon  energy  and 
eloquence  ;  and  he  was  equally  admired  for  the  splen- 
dour of  his  classical  attainments,  and  the  sociability 
of  his  disposition.  On  the  I'Jth  November,  179'J,  Mr. 
Moore  entered  himself  a  member  of  the  honourable 
Society  of  the  iMiddle  Temple,  and  in  the  course  of 
the  year  1800,  before  he  had  completed  the  20th  year 
of  his  age,  he  published  his  translation  of  the  "Odes 
of  Anacreon"  into  English  verse  with  notes,  from 
whence,  in  the  vocabulary  of  fashion,  he  has  ever 
since  been  designated  by  the  appellation  of  Anacreon 
Moore.  So  early  as  his  twelfth  year  he  appears  to 
have  meditated  on  executing  this  performance,  which, 
if  not  a  close  version,  must  be  confessed  to  be  a  fas- 
cinating one,  of  this  favourite  bard.  The  work  is 
introduced  by  a  Greek  ode  from  the  pen  of  the  Trans- 
lator, and  is  dedicated,  with  permission,  to  his  Royal 
Highness  the  Prince  of  Wales,  now  George  the 
Fourth.  When  3Ir.  Moore  first  came  to  London,  his 
youthful  appearance  was  such,  that  being  at  a  large 
dinner-party,  and  getting  up  to  escort  the  ladies  to  the 
drawing  room,  a  French  gentleman  observed,  "  Ah!  le 
petit  bon  homme  qui  s'en  val"  Mr.  Moore's  subse- 
quent brilliant  conversation,  however,  soon  proved 
him  to  be,  though  little  of  stature,  yet,  like  Gay,  "  in 
wit  a  man.''  Assuming  the  appropriate  name  of 
Little,  our  author  published,  in  1801,  a  volume  of 
original  poems,  chiefly  amatory.  Of  the  contents  of 
this  volume  it  is  impossible  to  speak  in  terms  of  un- 
qualified commendation.  Several  of  the  poems  e.K- 
hibit  strong  marks  of  genius:  they  were  the  productions 
of  an  age,  when  the  passions  very  often  give  a  colour- 
ing too  warm  to  the  imagination,  which  may  in  some 
degree  palliate,  if  it  cannot  excuse,  that  air  of  lubricity 
which  pervades  too  many  of  them.  In  the  same 
year,  his  "  Philosophy  of  Pleasure"  was  advertised, 
out  was  never  published. 

Mr.  Moore's  diflidence  of  his  poetical  talents  in- 
duced him  to  adopt,  and  with  reluctance  to  reject,  as 
a  motto  for  his  work,  the  quotation  from  Horace, 

Piimurn  ego  nie  lllnrum,  qiiibus  dcdi'rim  esse  jjoetia, 
Excerpam  iiuineio;  neque  eniin  conc.ludere  versus 
Dixeris  es.se  satis — 

and  at  a  later  period,  when  his  reputation  was  fully 
established,  he  spoke  of  bimself  with  his  wonted  mo- 
desty. "  VV^hatever  fame  he  might  have  acquired,  he 
attributed  principally  to  the  versos  which  he  had 
adapted  to  the  delicious  strains  of  Irish  melody.  His 
verses,  in  themselves,  could  boast  of  but  little  merit ; 
but,  like  flies  preserviid  in  amber,  they  were  esteemed 
in  consequence  of  the  precious  material  by  wliich 
they  were  surrounded.' 

Mr.  Sheridan,  in  speaking  of  the  subject  of  this 
memoir,  said,  "  That  there  was  no  man  who  put  so 
much  of  his  heart  into  his  fancy  as  Tom  Moore:  that 
his  soul  seemo<i  as  if  it  were  a  particle  of  flre  sepa- 
rated from  the  sun,  and  was  always  fluttering  to  get 
back  to  that  source  of  light  and  heat." 

Towaids  the  autumn  of  1803,  Mr.  Moore  embarked 
for  Bermuda;*  where  he  had  obtained  the  appoinl- 


*  The  gceno  of  Shakspoarc's  inimiliible  tragedy  of  "  The 
TcinpeBt,"  JB  siiid  to  huve  lieeii  hi'd  in  the  island  of  Ber 
BludB. 


ment  of  Registrar  to  the  Admiralty.  This  was  e 
patent  place,  and  of  a  description  so  unsuitable  to  his 
temper  of  mifid,  that  he  soon  found  it  expedient  to 
<"ulfil  the  duties  of  it  by  a  deputy,  with  whom,  in  con 
sideration  of  circumstances,  he  consented  to  divide 
the  profits  accruing  from  it.  From  this  situation, 
however,  he  never  derived  any  emolument;  though, 
a  few  years  since,  he  sufliered  some  pecuniary  incon- 
venience, owing  to  the  misconduct  of  his  deputy. 
Alluding  to  his  trip  across  the  Atlantic,  in  a  work 
published  soon  after  his  return  to  Europe,  he  says : 
"  Though  curiosity,  therefore,  was  certainly  not  the 
motive  of  my  voyage  to  America,  yet  it  happened 
that  the  gratification  of  curiosity  was  the  only  advan- 
tage which  I  derived  from  it.  Having  remained  about 
a  week  at  New  York,"  he  continues,  "  where  I  saw 
Madame,  the  half  repudiated  wife  of  Jerome  Buona- 
parte, and  felt  a  slight  shock  of  an  earthquake,  the 
only  things  that  particularly  awakened  my  attention, 
I  sailed  again  for  Norfolk,  where  I  proceeded  on  my 
tour  northward  through  Williamsburg,  Richmond," 
etc.  In  October,  1804,  he  quitted  .\merica  on  his 
return  to  England,  in  the  Boston  frigate,  commanded 
by  Capt.  Douglas,  whom  he  has  highly  eulogized  for 
his  attention  during  the  voyage.  In  1806,  he  pub- 
lished his  remarks  on  the  Manners  and  Society  of 
America,  in  a  work  entitled  Odes  and  Epistles.  The 
preface  to  this  little  worK  sufliciently  evinced  the 
talent  of  Mr.  Moore  as  a  writer  of  prose. 

The  fate  of  Addison  with  his  Countess  Pjwager 
holding  out  no  encouragement  for  the  ambitious  love 
of  Mr.  Moore,  he  wisely  and  happily  allowed  his 
good  taste  to  regulate  his  choice  in  a  wife,  and  some 
years  ago  married  Miss  Dyke,  a  lady  of  great  personal 
beauty,  most  amiable  disposition,  and  accomplished 
manners,  in  whose  society  he  passes  much  of  his 
time  in  retirement  at  his  cottage  near  Devizes,  diver- 
sified by  occasional  visits  to  London.  To  complete 
this  picture  of  domestic  happiness,  he  is  the  father  of 
several  lovely  children,  on  whose  education  he  be- 
stows the  most  judicious  and  attentive  care. 

Mr.  Moore  appears  equally  to  have  cultivated  a 
taste  for  music  as  well  as  for  poesy,  and  the  late  cele- 
brated Dr.  Burney  was  perfectly  astonished  at  his 
talent,  which  he  emphatically  called  "  peculiarly  his 
own."  Nor  has  he  neglected  those  more  solid 
attainments  which  should  ever  distinguish  the  well- 
bred  gentleman,  for  he  is  an  excellent  general  scliolar, 
and  particularly  well  read  in  the  literature  of  the 
middle  ages.  His  conversational  powers  are  greai, 
and  his  modest  and  unassuming  manners  have  placed 
him  in  the  highest  rank  of  cultivated  society. 

The  celebrated  poem  of  Lalla  Rookh  appeared  m 
1817;  in  the  summer  of  which  year  our  poet  visited 
the  French  capital,  where  he  collected  the  materials 
for  that  humorous  production,  "The  Fudge  Family 
in  Paris."  In  the  following  year,  he  went  to  Ireland, 
on  which  occasion  a  dinner  was  given  to  him,  on  tlm 
8th  of  June,  1818,  at  Morrison's  Hotel  in  Dublin 
which  was  graced  by  a  large  assemblage  of  the  mos» 
distinguished  literary  and  political  characters.  Tlie 
Earl  of  Cliarhmiont  took  the  head  of  the  table ,  Mr. 
Moore  sat  on  his  right  hand,  and  Mr.  Moore,  sen 
(since  <iead,)  a  venerable  old  gentleman,  the  father  o 
our  bard,  was  on  his  lefl.  As  soon  as  the  cloth  was 
removed,   Non    7wbis,   Domine,   was    sung    by   the 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


vocalists  present ;  numerous  loyal  and  piitriotic  toasts 
rollovved.  The  Earl  of  Charlernont  then  proposed 
the  meinory  of  tiie  late  lamented  Frmccss  Charlotte, 
which  was  drank  m  solemn  silence;  alter  which  a 
pweet  and  plaintive  song  was  sung,  in  commemora- 
tion of  her  laio  Royal  Highness.  After  a  short  inter- 
val, the  I'arl  of  tJharlcniont  again  rose,  and,  with  a 
suitable  eulogiuin,  [)ropo.sed  the  health  of  the  distin- 
guished irishman  who  had  honoured  the  country  with 
his  presence.  When  the  applause  had  subsided,  Mr. 
Moore  rose,  much  affected,  and  spoke  to  the  follow- 
ing effect ; — 

'■  I  feel  this  the  very  proudest  moment  of  my  whole 
life;  to  receive  such  a  tribute  from  an  assembly  like 
this  around  me,  composed  of  some  of  the  warmest 
and  manliest  hearts  that  Ireland  can  boast,  is  indeed 
a  triumph  that  goes  to  my  very  heart,  and  awakens 
there  al!  that  an  Irishman  ought  to  feel,  whom  Irish- 
men like  you  have  selected  for  such  a  distinction. — 
Were  my  merits  a  hundred  times  beyond  what  the 
partiality  of  the  noble  chairman  has  invested  me  witli, 
this  moment,  this  golden  moment  of  my  life,  would 
far  exceed  them  all.  There  are  some  among  you, 
gentlemen,  whose  fritniia.hlp  has  been  the  strength 
and  ornament,  the  'dulce  decus'  of  my  existence; 
who,  however  they  dilfer  from  my  public  sentiments, 
have  never  allowed  that  transient  ruffle  on  the  surface 
to  impede  the  progress  of  the  deep  tide  of  friendship 
beneath;  men  who  feel  that  there  is  something  more 
sacred  than  party,  and  whose  noble  natures,  in  the 
worst  of  times,  would  come  out  of  the  conflict  of 
public  opinion,  like  pebbles  out  of  the  ocean,  but  more 
smooth  and  more  polished  from  its  asperities  by  the 
very  agitation  in  which  they  had  been  revolving.  To 
see  them  beside  me  on  a  day  like  this,  is  pleasure  that 
lies  too  deep  for  words.  To  the  majority  of  you, 
gentlemen,  I  am  unknown  ;  but  as  your  countryman, 
as  one  who  has  ventured  to  touch  the  chords  of  Ire- 
land's Harp,  and  who.se  best  fame  is  made  ont  of  the 
echoes  of  their  sweetness ;  as  one  whose  humble 
talents  have  been  ever  devoted,  and,  with  the  blessing 
of  God,  ever  shall  be  devoted  to  the  honour  and  ad- 
vancement of  his  country's  name ;  whose  love  for 
that  country,  even  they,  who  condemn  his  manner  of 
showing  it,  will  at  least  allow  to  be  sincere,  and  per- 
haps forgive  its  intemperance  for  its  truth — setting 
tiiin  down  as  '  one  who  loved,  not  wisely,  but  too 
well :' — to  most  of  you,  gentlemen,  I  say,  I  am  but 
thus  known.  We  have  hitherto  been  strangers  to 
each  other ;  but  may  I  not  flatter  myself  that  from  this 
night  a  new  era  of  communion  begins  between  us  ? 
The  giving  and  receiving  of  a  tribute  like  this  is  the 
very  hot-bed  of  the  heart,  forcing  at  once  all  its  feel- 
ing into  a  fulness  of  fruit,  which  it  would  take  years 
of  ordinary  ripening  to  produce  ;  and  there  is  not  a 
man  of  you  who  has  pledged  the  cup  of  fellowship 
thi.s  night,  of  whom  I  would  not  claim  the  privihige 
of  grasping  bv  the  hand,  with  all  the  cordiality  of  a 
long'and  well-cemented  friendship.  I  could  not  say 
morv,  if  I  were  to  speak  for  ages.  With  a  heart  full 
as  this  glass,  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  me, 
and  have  the  sincere  gratilication  of  drinking  all  your 
healths." 

Lord  .Vllen  gave  "  the  memory  of  3Ir.  Curran  ;"  on 
which  a  very  modest,  pathetic,  and  eloquent  speech 
■vus  delivered    bv  his  son,  in  a   tone   and  manner 


■_ 11 

that  produced  the  most  lively  emotion  throughout  the 
room. 

A  gentleman  afterwards  sang  a  lively  and  well- 
written  song,  composed  for  the  occasion.  The  sub- 
ject was  the  poets'  Election  in  Olympus,  at  which 
there  were  several  candidates,  such  a.<  IJyron,  Scott, 
Southey,  etc. ;  but  which  ended  in  a  due  return  of 
Moore,  who  had  a  great  majority  of  votes.  This  jcu 
(Texpril  produced  much  merriment,  and  the  health  of 
the  author  was  drank  with  applause. 

Lord  Charlernont  then  gave  '  the  living  Poets  of 
Great  Britain ;'  on  which  Mr.  Moore  said  : — 

"  Gentlemen,  notwithstanding  the  witty  song  which 
you  have  just  heard,  and  tiie  flattering  elevation  which 
the  author  has  assigned  me,  1  cannot  allow  such  a 
mark  of  respect  to  be  paid  to  the  illustrious  names 
that  adorn  the  literature  of  the  present  day,  without 
calling  your  attention  awhile  to  the  singular  constel- 
lation of  genius,  and  asking  you  to  dwell  a  little  on 
the  brightness  of  each  particular  star  that  forms  it. 
Can  I  name  to  you  a  Byron,  without  recalling  to  your 
hearts  recollections  of  all  that  his  mighty  genius  has 
awakened  there ;  his  energy,  his  burning  words,  his 
intense  passion,  that  disposition  of  fine  fancy  to  wan- 
der only  among  the  ruins  of  the  heart,  to  dwell  in 
places  wiiich  the  fire  of  feeling  has  desolated,  and, 
like  the  chesnut-tree,  that  grows  best  in  volcanic 
soils,  to  luxuriate  most  where  the  conflagration  of 
passion  has  left  its  mark  ?  Need  I  mention  to  you  a 
Scott,  that  fertile  and  fascinating  write'  the  vegeta- 
tion of  whose  mind  is  as  rapid  as  that  of  a  northern 
summer,  and  as  rich  as  the  most  golden  harvest  of 
the  south;  whose  beautiful  creations  succeed  each 
other  like  fruits  in  .Vrmida's  enchanted  garden — 'one 
scarce  is  gathered  ere  another  grows  !'  Shall  I  recall 
to  you  a  Rogers  (to  me  endeared  by  friendship  us 
well  as  genius,)  who  has  hung  up  his  own  name  on 
the  shrine  of  memory  among  the  nxost  imperishable 
tablets  there  ?  A  Southey,  not  the  Laureatt:,  but  the 
author  of  "  Don  Roderick,"  one  of  the  noblest  and 
most  eloquent  poems  in  any  language  ?  A  Campbell, 
the  polished  and  spirited  Campbell,  whose  song  of 
"  Innisfal"  is  the  very  tears  of  our  own  Irish  muse, 
crystalized  by  the  touch  of  genius,  and  made  eternal? 
A  Wordsworth,  a  poet,  even  iu  his  puerilities,  who.se 
capacious  mind,  like  the  great  poo'  of  Norway,  draws 
into  its  vortex  not  only  the  mighty  things  of  tlie  deep, 
but  its  minute  weeds  and  refuse  ?  A  Crabbe,  who 
has  shown  what  the  more  than  galvanic  power  of 
talent  can  e.fect,  by  giving  not  only  motion,  but  l.fe 
and  soul  to  subjects  that  seemed  incapable  of  it  ?  I 
could  enumerate,  gentlemen,  still  more,  and  iV'-m 
thence  would  pass  with  delight  to  dwell  upon  the 
living  poets  of  our  own  land  ; — the  dramatic  powers 
of  a  IMaturin  and  a  Shell,  the  former  consecrated  by 
'he  applause  of  a  Scott  and  a  liyron,  and  the  latter 
by  the  tears  of  some  of  the  brightest  eyes  in  the  em- 
pire ;  the  rich  imagination  of  a  Phillips,  who  has 
courted  successfully  more  than  one  muse — the  versa- 
tile genius  of  a  ."Morgan,  who  was  the  first  that  mated 
our  sweet  Irish  strains  with  poetry  worthy  of  their 
pathos  and  their  force.  But  I  feel  1  have  already 
trespassed  too  long  upon  your  patience  and  your 
time.  1  do  not  regret,  however,  that  you  have  deigned 
to  listen  with  patience  to  th's  humble  tribute  to  tho 
living   masters   of  the  English  lyre,  which   1.  'tiio 


12 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE 


meanest  of  the  throng,'  thus  feebly,  but  heartily,  have 
paid  them  " 

In  1822,  our  author  made  a  second  visit  to  Paris, 
where  he  resided  for  a  considerable  time  with  his 
amiable  wife  and  family.  The  fame  of  his  genius,  his 
social  yet  unpretending  manners,  and  his  musical 
talents  and  conversation,  acquired  him  mucli  esteem 
with  the  most  eminent  literary  and  literary-loving 
characters  of  the  French  capital.  During  his  stay  in 
that  city,  at  the  request  of  fllessrs.  Galignani,  he  sat 
for  his  portrait,  which  was  most  ably  executed  by  F. 
Sieurac,  and  is  allowed  by  all  who  have  seen  Mr. 
Moore  to  be  a  masterly  likeness.  An  excellent  en- 
graving from  it,  is  prefixed  to  the  present  edition  of  his 
works.  The  writer  of  this  sketch  may  perhaps  be  ex- 
cused for  introducing  here  an  impromptu  he  wrote,  in 
the  blank  leaf  of  a  book  belonging  to  a  little  girl,  the 
daughter  of  Mr.  Moore,  at  his  house  in  the  Champs 
Elysees,  Pans  : — 

Sweet  nliild  1  wlien  on  thy  beauteous  face,  _ 

The  blush  of  innocence  1  view, 

Tliy  gentle  mother's  features  trace, 

'J'hy  lather's  eye  of  genius  too, 

If  envy  wakes  a  transient  sigh, 

That  face  is  my  apobgy- 

Previous  to  Mr.  Moore  leaving  Paris,  the  British 
nobility  and  gentry  resident  in  that  capital  gave  him  a 
most  splendid  dinner  at  Roberts's.  About  (iO  persons 
were  present;  Lord  Trimblestown  was  in  the  chair, 
supported  on  his  right  by  Mr.  Moore,  and  on  his  left 
by  the  Earl  of  Granard.  The  vice-presidents  were 
Sir  Godfrey  Webster,  Sir  John  Byerley,  and  the 
Reverend  Archibald  Douglas,  who  superintended  the 
preparations  for  the  banquet,  which  consisted  of 
every  luxury  the  gastronomic  art  could  produce.  Mr. 
Moore  was  in  high  health  and  spirits  ;  songs,  catches, 
and  glees,  blended  delightfully  with  the  sparkling 
Champagne.  Several  speeches  were  made  by  Lord 
Trimblestown,  Messrs.  Byerley,  Kenney,  (Jrattan, 
etc. ;  and  Mr.  Moore  introduced  the  toast  of  "  Pros- 
perity to  Old  England"  in  t!ie  following  eloquent 
language : — 

"  As  the  noble  chairman  has,  in  compliment  to  the 
land  of  my  birth,  given  the  ever-welcome  toast  of 
'  Prosperity  to  Ireland,'  I  beg  leave  to  suggest  a 
similar  tribute  to  that  other  country  to  which  we  all 
belong,  and  to  whose  real  greatness  and  solid  glory — 
all  Irishman  as  I  am,  and  with  my  political  and  his- 
torical recollections  fresh  about  me — I  am  most  ready 
to  bear  testimony  and  homage  before  the  world. 
Yes,  gentlemen,  there  may  be,  and  there  are  (for  God 
forbid  that  1  should  circumscribe  virtue  witliin  any 
particular  latitude,)  there  may  be,  and  there  are  high 
minds,  warm  hearts,  and  brave  arms  evfu-y  where. 
But  for  that  genuine  high-mindedness,  which  has 
honesty  for  its  basis — the  only  sure  foundation  upon 
which  any  thing  lofty  was  ever  built — which  can  dis- 
tinguish between  real,  substantial  greatness,  and  that 
false,  Inllated  glory  of  the  moment,  whose  elevation, 
like  thai  of  the  balloon,  is  owing  to  its  emptiness,  or 
if  not  to  its  emptines.^,  at  least  to  the  levity  of  its 
freight — for  that  good  faith,  that  punctuality  in  en- 
gagement.s,  which  is  the  soul  of  all  commercial  as 
well  as  all  moral  relations,  and  which,  while  it  gives 
IO  huainess  the  conlidi'iice  and  good  understanding 
■»f  friendship,  inlrodi'ces  into  frieiid.ship  the  regularity 


and  matter-of-fact  steadiness  of  business — for  iha 
spirit  of  fairness  and  liberality  among  public  men. 
which  extracts  the  virus  of  personality  out  of  partj 
zeal,  and  exhibits  so  often  (too  often,  1  am  sorry  to  say 
pf  late)  the  touching  spectacle  of  the  most  sturdy  po- 
litical chieftains  pouring  out  at  the  grave  of  their  mosi 
violent  antagonists  such  tributes,  not  alone  of  justice, 
but  of  cordial  eulogy,  as  show  how  free  from  all  pri- 
vate rancour  was  the  hostility  that  separated  them — 
and  lastly  (as  I  trust  I  may  say,  not  only  without 
infringing,  but  in  strict  accordance  with,  that  wise 
tact  which  excludes  party  politics  from  a  meeting  like 
the  present,)  for  that  true  and  well-understood  love 
of  liberty,  which,  through  all  changes  of  chance  and 
time,  has  kept  the  old  vessel  of  the  Constitution  sea- 
worthy— which,  in  spite  of  storms  from  without,  and 
momentary  dissensions  between  the  crew  within, 
still  enables  her  to  ride,  the  admiration  of  the  world, 
and  will,  I  trust  in  God,  never  suli'er  her  to  founder— 
for  all  these  qualities,  and  many,  many  more  that 
could  be  enumerated,  equally  lofty  and  equally  valua- 
ble, the  most  widely-travelled  Englishman  may 
proudly  say,  as  he  sets  his  foot  once  more  upon  the 
chalky  clitfs, — '  This  is  my  own,  my  native  land,  and 
I  have  seen  nothing  that  can,  in  the  remotest  degree, 
compare  with  it.' — Gentleinen,  I  could  not  help, — in 
that  fulness  of  heart,  which  they  alone  can  feel  to- 
wards England  who  have  been  doomed  to  live  for 
some  time  out  of  it — paying  this  feeble  tribute  to  that 
most  noble  country ;  nor  can  I  doubt  the  cordiality 
with  which  you  will  drink — '  Prosperity,  a  long  pros- 
perity to  Old  England.'  " 

This  speech  was  hailed  vvith  the  warmest  acclama- 
tions, and  the  utmost  hilarity  prevailed  till  "morning 
grey  began  to  peep."  Never  did  more  gaiety,  good 
humour,  and  cordiality  grace  a  poet's  festival,  than  at 
this  farewell  dinner  to  Tom  Moore. 

To  the  above  specimens  of  our  author's  oratorical 
powers,  we  subjoin  here  two  other  speeches,  of  more 
recent  date,  which  he  delivered  on  occasions  which 
called  forth  all  the  glow  of  his  heart,  and  sympathy 
of  his  nature. 

On  the  6th  of  last  May,  the  anniversary  meeting 
of  tne  patrons  and  friends  of  the  "Artists'  Benevo- 
lent Fund"  was  held  tit  the  Freemasons'  Tawsrn,  the 
Right  Hon.  Frederick  Robinson,  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer,  in  the  chair.  In  the  course  of  the  even- 
ing, Mr.  Shee,  R.  A.,  proposed  as  a  toast  "  The  health 
of  Thomas  Moore,  and  Thomas  Campbell,"  which 
was  drunk  with  enthusiastic  applause.  Immediately 
after  this  Mr.  Moore  rose,  and  returned  thanks  aa 
follows : — 

"  I  assure  the  meeting  that  1  feel  very  sensibly  and 
very  strongly  the  high  honour  which  has  been  con- 
ferred on  inc,  nor  do  I  feel  it  the  less  sensibly,  from 
the  kind  and  warm-hearted  manner  in  which  the  toast 
hast  been  proposed  by  my  excellent  friend  and  fellow- 
countryman.  To  have  my  name  coupled  with  tha' 
of  Mr.  ("ampbcll,  1  feel  to  be  no  ordinary  distinction 
If  a  critical  knowledge  of  the  arts  were  necessary  foi 
a  just  admiration  of  them,  I  must  at  once  admit,  much 
as  1  delight  in  them,  that  I  cannot  boast  of  that  know 
ledge.  I  am  one  of  tliose  uninitiated  worshippers 
who  admire  very  sincerely,  though  perhaps  1  could 
not,  like  the  initiated,  give  a  perftxtly  satisfactory 
reason  for  my  admiration.     I  enjoy  the  arts,  as  h  man 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE 


inacquainted  witli  astronomy  enjoys  the  beauty  of 
Bunset,  or  the  briUiant  wonders  of  a  starry  night. 
Amongst  the  many  objects  of  commiseration  with 
which  tiie  world  unfortunately  abounds,  there  is  not 
one  that,  appeals  more  intensely  to  the  feelings  than 
llie  family  which  a  man  of  genius  leaves  behind  him, 
desolate  and  forsaken ;  their  only  distinction  the  re- 
flected light  of  a  name  which  renders  their  present 
misery  more  conspicuous,  and  the  conieniplation  of 
which  must  add  poignancy  to  their  suflerings.  There 
IS  no  object  under  heaven  more  sure  to  be  visited 
with  the  blessings  of  success  than  that  which  has  in 
view  the  alleviation  of  such  misery.  I  am  happy  to 
(ind  that  the  Government,  of  which  the  Right  Ho- 
nourable CliAirman  forms  a  part,  has  taken  the  fine 
irts  under  their  protection.  It  is  for  them  a  proud 
and  honourable  distinction,  that,  while  they  show 
they  possess  the  talents  of  statesmen,  they  also  prove 
tliey  have  the  liberal  feelings  which  belong  to  men 
of  taste." 

This  speech  was  received  with  repeated  cheering, 
and  the  eloquent  speaker  sat  down  amidst  the  loudest 
applause. 

At  the  37th  Anniversary  of  the  "  Literary  Fund 
Society,"  Sir  John  JIalcolm  introduced  the  health  of 
our  poet  in  the  following  maimer  : — 

"  it  is  another  remarkable  feature  of  this  Institution, 
that  its  applause  may  be  valuable  to  genius,  when  its 
money  \?  not  wanted.  I  allude  to  one  now  present 
amongsf  ,'<!,  whom  1  have  not  the  honour  of  knowing 
persona.lj  but  whose  fame  is  well  known  all  over 
the  world  I  now  claim  tlie  liberty  to  pay  my  tribute 
of  .idmiration  to  the  individual  in  question  ;  for,  al- 
though I  have  spent  a  great  part  of  my  life  in  distant 
climes,  liis  fame  has  reached  me ;  and  the  merit  of 
one  of  his  works  I  am  myself  well  able  to  appreciate 
—I  mean  Lalla  Rookh — in  which  the  author  has 
jombuied  the  truth  of  the  historian  with  the  genius 
of  the  poet,  and  the  vigorous  classical  taste  of  his 
own  country  with  the  fervid  imagination  of  the  East. 
I  propose  the  health  of  Mr.  Thomas  3Ioore." 

The  health  was  then  received  with  all  the  honours  ; 
jpon  which  Mr.  flioore  rose  and  said  : — 

"  1  feel  higlily  flattered  by  the  compliment  now 
paid  me,  although  there  are  others  who  might  more 
justly  have  laid  claim  to  it — I  allude  to  the  translator 
of  Oberon  (Mr.  Sotheby,)  whose  genius  instructed, 
enlightened,  and  delighted  the  world,  long  ere  a  lay 
of  mine  appeared  before  the  public.  I  cannot,  how- 
ever, but  feel  myself  highly  honoured  by  the  manner  in 
which  my  health  has  been  received  in  such  an  assem- 
bly as  the  present.  The  soldier  is  delighted  with  the 
applause  of  his  companions  in  arms ;  the  sailor  loves 
vB  hear  the  praises  of  those  who  have  encountered  the 
perils  of  the  deep  and  of  naval  warfare  ;  so  I  cannot 
help  feeling  somewhat  like  a  similar  pleasure  from 
the  approbation-of  those  who  have  laboured  with  me 
m  the  same  field.  This  is  the  higiiest  honour  which 
hey  can  otter,  or  I  can  receive.  As  to  the  Honoura- 
»le  Baronet  who  has  proposed  my  health  in  so  flat- 
ering  a  manner,  I  feel  that  much  of  what  he  has  said 
may  arise  from  the  influence  of  the  sparkling  glass 
which  has  been  circulating  among  us.  (A  laugh.)  I 
do  not  by  any  means  say  that  we  have  yet  reached 
(lie  state  of  double  vision  (a  laugh,)  but  it  is  well 
tuown  that  objects  seen  through  a  glass  appear  mag- 


13 

nilied  and  of  a  higher  elevation.  There  is  an  anec- 
dote in  the  history  of  literature  not  unconnected  witli 
this  topic.  When  the  art  of  printing  was  first  intro- 
duced, the  types  with  which  the  first  works  were 
printed  were  taken  down  and  converted  into  drinking- 
cujjs,  to  celebrate  the  glory  of  the  invention. — To  be 
sure,  there  have  been  other  literary  glasses  not  quiin 
so  jioetical ;  for  it  has  been  said,  that  as  the  warriors 
of  the  North  drank  their  mead  in  the  hall  of  Odin  Dut 
of  the  skulls  of  those  whom  they  had  slain  in  battle — 
so  booksellers  drank  their  wine  out  of  the  skulls  of 
authors.  (Laughter  and  applause.)  But  diflerent 
times  have  now  arrived ;  for  authors  have  got  their 
share  of  the  aurum  potubile,  and  booksellers  have  got 
rather  the  worst  of  it.  There  is  o  le  peculiarity  at- 
tendant upon  genius,  which  is  well  worth  mentioning, 
with  reference  to  the  great  objects  of  this  admirable 
Institution.  Men  of  genius,  like  the  precious  per- 
fumes of  the  East,  are  exceedingly  liable  to  exhaus- 
tion .  and  the  period  often  comes  when  nothing  of  it 
remains  but  its  sensibility  ;  and  the  light,  which  long 
gave  life  to  the  world,  sometimes  terminates  in  be- 
coming a  burden  to  itself  (Great  applause.)  When 
we  add  to  that  the  image  of  Poverty — when  we  con- 
sider the  situation  of  that  innn  of  genius,  who,  in  his 
declining  years  and  exhausti,'d  resources,  sees  nothing 
before  him  but  indigence — it  is  then  only  that  we  can 
estimate  the  value  of  this  Institutix)n,  which  stretches 
out  its  friendly  hand  to  save  him  from  the  dire  ca- 
lamity. (Applause.)  This  is  a  consideration  which 
ought  to  have  its  due  elFect  upon  the  minds  of  the 
easy  and  opident,  who  may  themselves  be  men  of 
genius ;  but  there  may  be  others  who  have  no  property 
to  bestow  upon  them ;  and  the  person  who  now  ad- 
dresses you  speaks  the  more  feelingly,  because  he 
cannot  be  sure  that  the  fate  of  genius,  which  he  has 
just  been  depicting,  may  not  one  day  be  his  own." 
(Immense  applause.) 

In  132:},  3Ir.  !\Ioore  published  "  The  Loves  of  the 
Angels,"  of  which  two  French  translations  soon  after 
appeared  in  Paris.  While  Mr.  3Ioore  was  compos- 
ing this  poem.  Lord  Byron,  who  then  resided  in 
Italy,  was,  by  a  singular  coincidence,  writing  a  similai 
poem,  with  the  title  of  "Heaven  and  Earth,"  both  of 
them  having  taken  the  subject  from  the  second  verse 
of  the  6th  chapter  of  Genesis  :  "  And  it  came  to  pass, 
that  the  sons  of  God  saw  the  daughters  of  men  that 
they  were  fair;  and  they  took  them  wives  of  all 
which  they  chose." 

The  two  poets  presumed  that  the  Sons  of  God  were 
angels,  which  opinion  is  also  entertained  by  some  of 
tho  fathers  of  the  Church. 

We  have  already  alluded  to  our  author's,  "  Memoirs 
of  Captain  Rock,"  the  celebrated  "  Rinaldo  Rin  d- 
dini"  of  Ireland ;  or  ra'her  the  designation  adopted 
by  the  "  Rob  Roys"  of  that  unfortunately  divided 
country.  I\Ir.  Moore  has  since  increased  his  reputa- 
tion, as  a  prose  writer,  by  his  publication  of  the  Life 
of  the  late  Right  Honourable  Richard  Brinsley  Sheri- 
dan, which,  from  the  superior  sources  of  information 
at  his  command,  is,  in  a  literary  point  of  view  it  least, 
a  valuable  acquisition  to  the  lovers  of  biography. 

We  here  anne.x  a  list  of  Mr.  Moore's  works,  with 
their  respective  dates  of  publication,  as  far  as  we  have 
been  able  to  verify  them. 

The  Odes  of  Anucreon,  trii. slated   into    En^rlls^ 


14 


/L  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


verse,  witn  noies ;  dedicated  by  permission  to  his 
Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of  Waics  (his  present 
Wajesly.)    4to.     1300. 

A  Candid  Appeal  to  Public  Confidence,  or  Con- 
■  iderations  on  the  Dangers  of  the  Present  Crisis. 
8vo.     1803. 

Corruption  and  Intolerance,  two  poems. 

Epistles,  Odes,  and  other  Poems.    ISOG. 

Poems,  un  ler  the  assumed  name  of  the  late  Tliomas 
Little,  Esq.    8vo.     1803. 

A  Letter  to  the  Roman  Catholics  of  Dublin.  Svo. 
.810. 

M.  P^  or  the  Blue  Stocking,  a  comic  opera  in  three 
acts,  perfonned  at  the  Lyceum.     1811. 

Intercepted  Letters,  or  the  Twopenny-Post  Bag 
(in  verse,)  by  Tliomas  Brown  the  Younger.  Bvo. 
1812. — Of  this  upwards  of  fourteen  editions  have  ap- 
oeared  in  England. 

A  Selectiof.  of  Irish  Melodies,  continued  to  9  num- 
bers. 

Mr.  Moore  completed  the  translation  of  Sallust, 
which  )iad  been  left  unfinished  by  Mr.  Arthur  Mur- 
phy, and  he  superintended  the  printing  of  the  work 
for  the  purchaser,  3Ir.  Carpenter. 

The  Sceptic,  a  philopojjhical  satire. 

Lalla  Rookh,  an  oriental  romance,  dedicated  to 
Samuel  Rogers,  Esq.     1817. 

The  Fudg'P  Family  in  Paris,  letters  in  verse.    1818. 

National  Airs,  continued  to  four  numbers. 

Sacred  Songs,  two  numbers. 

Ballads,  Songs,  etc. 

Tom  Crib's  Memorial  to  Congress,  in  verse. 

Trifles  Reprinted,  in  verse. 

Loves  of  the  Angels.     1823. 

Rhymes  on  the  Road  extracted  from  the  journal 
of  a  travelling  member  of  the  Pococurante  Society. 

Miscellaneous  Poems,  by  different  members  of  the 
Pococurante  Society. 

Fables  for  the  Holj  Alliance,  in  verse. 

Ballads,  Songs,  Miscellaneous  Poems,  etc. 

Memoirs  of  Captain  Rock. 

The  Life  of  the  late  Right  Honourable  Richard 
Brinsley  Sheridan. 

For  Lalla  RooRh  Mr.  Moore  received  3,000  guineas 
of  Messrs.  Longman  and  Co.  For  the  Life  of  Sheri- 
dan he  was  paid  2,000  guineas  by  the  same  house. — 
Mr.  Mooru  enjoys  an  annuity  of  500/.  from  Power, 
the  music-seller,  for  the  Irish  Melodies  and  other 
lyrical  pieces.  He  has,  moreover,  lately,  we  under- 
stand, engnged  to  write  lor  the  Times  newspaper,  at 
a  salary  of  500/.  per  annum. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  Memoirs  of  the  late  Lord 
Byron,  written  by  himself,  had  been  deposited  in  the 
keeping  of  Mr.  Moore,  and  designed  as  a  legacy  for 
his  berie'jt.  It  is  also  known  that  the  latter,  with  the 
consent  and  at  the  desire  of  his  lordship,  had  long  ago 
Bold  the  manuscript  to  Mr.  Murray,  the  bookseller, 
for  the  sum  of  two  thousand  guineas.  These  me- 
moirs are,  however,  lost  to  the  world  :  the  leading 
facts  relative  to  which  were  related  in  ilie  following 
letter  addressed  by  Mr.  Moore  to  the  English  jour- 
nals • — 

"  Without  entering  into  the  r-spective  claims  of 
Mr.  Murray  and  myself  to  the  ,)roperty  in  these  me- 
moirs (a  qucstif)n  which,  now  that  they  are  destroyed,- 
ran  be  but  of  little  moment  to  any  one,)  it  is  sufficient 


to  say  that,  believing  the  manuscript  still  to  be  mine^ 
I  placed  it  at  the  disposal  of  Lord  Byron's  sister,  Mrs. 
Leigh,  with  the  sole  reservation  of  a  protest  against 
Its  total  destruction — at  least  wfSiout  previous  perusal 
and  consultation  among  the  parties.  The  majoritj 
of  the  persons  present  disagreed  with  this  opinion. 
and  it  ivas  the  only  point  upon  which  there  did  exist 
any  difference  between  us.  The  manuscript  was,  ac- 
cordingly, torn  and  burnt  before  our  eyes ;  and  1 
immediately  paid  to  Mr.  Murray,  in  the  presence  of 
the  gentlemen  assembled,  two  thousand  guineas,  vith 
interest,  etc.,  being  the  amount  of  what  1  owed  him 
upon  the  security  of  my  bond,  and  for  which  1  now 
stand  indebted  to  my  publishers,  Messrs.  Longman 
and  Co. 

"  Since  then  the  f\iinily  of  Lord  Byron  have,  in  a 
manner  highly  honourable  to  themselves,  proposed 
an  arrangement,  by  which  the  sum  thus  paid  to  Mr. 
Murray  might  be  reimbursed  to  me  ;  but,  from  feelings 
and  considerations  wliich  it  is  unnecessary  here  to  ex- 
plain, I  have  respectfully,  but  peremptorily,  declined 
their  offer." 

Before  we  proceed  to  offer  a  few  unprejudiced  ob- 
servations on  this  unpleasant  subject,  we  deem  it 
proper  to  lay  before  our  readers  the  various  opinions, 
pro  et  contra,  to  which  this  letter  of  Mr.  3Ioore  gave 
rise.  It  is  but  justice,  however,  to  Mr.  Moore's  high 
and  unblemished  reputation  to  premise,  that  neither 
by  those  who  regretted  the  burning  of  Byron's  ]Me- 
moirs,  as  a  public  loss,  nor  by  those  who  condemned 
it  as  a  dereliction  of  the  most  important  duty  he  owed 
to  the  memory  and  fame  of  his  noble-minded  friend 
— by  none  of  these,  nor  by  any  one  we  ever  heard  of, 
has  Mr.  Moore's  honour,  disinterestedness,  or  deli- 
cacy— extreme  delicacy — ever  been,  in  the  slightest 
degree  impeached. 

The  enemies  of  "The  Burning"  said,  that  Mr. 
Moore's  explanatory  letter  was  an  ingenious  but  not 
an  ingenuous  one — for  that,  at  any  rate,  it  threw  no 
light  on  the  subject. — They  cavilled  at  the  words 
"and  it  was  the  only  point  on  which  there  did  exist 
any  difference  between  us,"  professing  to  wonder 
what  other  "  point"  of  any  consequence  could  pos- 
sibly have  been  in  discussion,  save  that  of  preserving 
or  destroying  the  manuscript.  They  could  not  see, 
or  were  incapable  of  feeling,  what  paramount  sense 
of  delicacy  or  duty  could  operate  upon  a  mind  like 
Mr.  Moore's  to  counterbalance  the  delicacy  and  duty 
due  to  his  dead  friend's  fame,  which,  according  to 
them,  he  had  thus  abandoned  to  a  sea  of  idle  specu- 
lation.— IMoreover,  they  were  unable  to  comprehend 
what  business  Mr.  IMurray  the  bookseller,  or  any  of 
the  gentlemen  present,  had  with  the  business,  when 
Mr.  Moore  had  redeemed  the  MS.,  "with  interts... 
etc.,"  and  with  his  own  money  (that  is,  the  sum  he 
borrowed  for  the  purpose.)  Finally,  it  was  past  their 
understanding  to  conceive,  how  any  person  coulo 
allow  his  own  fair,  just,  and  hoiu  urably-acqnired  pro- 
perty to  be  burnt  and  destroyed  before  his  eyes,  and 
against  his  own  protested  opinion,  even  if,  from  an 
honest  but  too  sensitive  deference  for  others,  he  had 
conceded  so  far  as  to  withhold  its  publication  to  "a 
more  convenient  season  ;"  or  simply  to  preserve  it  asj 
precious  relic  in  his  family. 

To  this,  the  firm  supporters  of  church  and  state— 
the  pure  sticklers  for  public  morals-  the  friends  o' 


A  SKETi  11  OF  TIIO.MAS  MOORE. 


lo 


Jecoriim  and  decency — the  respecters  of  the  inviola- 
oilitj  of  domestic  privacy — tlie  foes  to  unhcerib-ed  wit 
and  poetic  license — the  disinterested  and  tender  re- 
garders  of  Lord  Byron's  character  itself, — one  and  all 
proudly  repiiwl,  that  Mr.  IMoore  had  performed  otip 
tf  the  most  dillicult  and  most  deiic.iie  duties  that  ever 
foil  to  the  lot  of  man,  friend,  citizpn,  or  christian  to 
perform,  in  the  most  manly,  friendly,  patriotic,  and 
christian-like  manner.  As  a  man,  he  had  nobly 
sacrificed  his  private  interest  and  opinion,  out  of 
respect  to  Lord  Byron's  living  connexions ;  as  a 
friend,  he  had  evinced  a  real  and  rare  friendship  by 
withholding,  at  his  own  personal  loss,  ;!iose  self-and- 
tnoughtlessly-intruded  specks  and  deformities  of  a 
great  character  from  the  popular  gaze,  which  delights 
too  much  lo  feast  on  the  infirmities  of  noble  minds. 
As  a  citizen,  he  lias  forborne  to  display  .sparkling  wit 
at  the  expense  of  sound  morality ;  and,  finally,  as  a 
christian,  he  had  acted  like  a  good  and  faithful  servant 
of  the  church,  in  leaving  his  friend's  memory,  and 
exposing  his  own  reputation,  to  martyrdom,  from  the 
most  religious  and  exalted  motives. 

The  private  and  particular  friends  of  Mr.  Moore 
brielly  and  triumphantly  referred  to  his  unspotted 
character, 

VVhitli  iitvoi  yet  ihe  liroalh  of  calumny  liad  taiiiled, 
and  they  properly  condemned  uncharitable  conjecture 
on  a  subject  of  which  the  most  that  could  be  said  was 
Causa  lau!t,  vis  est  notis.siiiui. 

The  Examiner  newspaper  gave  the  subjoined  state- 
ment, which,  if  it  were  properly  authenticated,  would 
at  once  set  the  matter  at  rest,  to  the  entire  justification 
uf  the  Bard  of  Erin. 

"We  were  going  to  allude  again  this  week  to  the 
question  between  Mr.  Moore  and  the  public,  respect- 
ing the  destruction  of  Lord  Byron's  Memoirs.  We 
have  received  several  letters  expressing  the  extreme 
mortification  of  the  writers  on  learning  the  fact,  and 
venting  their  indignation  in  no  very  measured  terms 
against  the  perpetrators;  and  we  should  not  have  con- 
cealed our  own  opinion  that,  however  nobly  Mr. 
Thomas  Moore  may  have  acted  as  regards  his  own 
interest,  his  publhlwd  letter  makes  out  no  justification 
either  in  regard  to  his  late  illustrious  friend,  whose 
reputation  was  thus  abandoned  without  that  defence, 
which  probably  his  own  pen  could  alone  furnish,  of 
many  misrepresented  passages  in  his  conduct ;  or 
in  regard  to  the  world,  which  is  thus  robbed  of  a 
treasure  that  can  never  be  replaced.  But  we  have 
[earnt  one  fact,  which  puts  a  different  face  upon  the 
A'hole  matter.  It  is,  that  Lord  Byron  himself  did  not 
i  wiah  the  Memoirs  pidilished.  How  they  came  into 
I  the  hands  of  3Ir.  iMoore  and  the  bookseller — for  what 
purpose  and  under  what  reservations — we  shall  pro- 
bably be  at  liberty  to  explain  at  a  future  time ;  for  the 
present,  we  can  only  say  that  such  is  the  fact,  as  the 
noble  poet's  intimate  friends  can  testify." 

This  is  indeed  an  explanation  "devoutly  to  be 
wished,"  nor  can  we  conceive  why  it  should  be  still 
delayed.  It  is  highly  probable,  however,  that  Mr. 
Moore  will  himself  fully  and  satisfactorily  elucidate 
the  affair,  in  the  life  he  is  said  to  be  writing  of  Lord 
Ryrcm. 

Such  were  the  conflicting  opinions  of  the  time  re- 


lating to  this  mysterious  and  painfully  delicate  sul)- 
jcct;  on  which,  however,  we  are  bound  to  introduct 
a  few  summary  remarks. 

When  Lord  Byron's  death  was  once  ascertained 
the  wln.le  interest  of  society  seemed  centered  in  his 
Memoirs.  Cur'osity  swallowed  up  grief;  and  people 
becoming  wearied  by  the  comments  of  other  writem 
on  him  who  was  no  more,  turned  'vith  unexampled 
anxiety  to  know  what  he  had  written  upon  himself 
Whether  or  not  the  public  had  a  right  to  these  Dle- 
moirs,  is  a  question  which  it  is  not,  perhaps,  quite 
useless  to  discuss.  It  is,  at  any  rate,  our  opiniim  that 
they  had  the  right ;  and  that  the  depositary  of  the 
manuscript  was  no  more  than  a  trustee  for  the  public, 
however  his  individual  interest  was  concerned  or 
consulted.  Lord  Byron  bequeathed  his  Memoirs  to 
the  world.  The  profits  of  their  sale  were  alone 
meant  for  Mr.  Moore.  Ix)rd  Byron's  family  had  no 
pretension  whatever  to  the  monopoly.  And  though 
the  delicate  consideration  of  Mr.  Moore  prompted 
his  offer  of  having  the  manuscript  perused  and  puri- 
fied, if  such  be  the  proper  word,  by  the  nearest  sur- 
viving relative  of  Lord  Byron,  we  maintain  that  he 
was  right,  strictly  rigiit,  in  protesting  against  its  un- 
conditional destruction. 

For  ourselves,  we  think  that,  in  respect  to  the 
burning,  lAIr.  Moore's  conduct  is  not  clearly  under- 
stood or  appreciated.  Some  blame,  as  we  have 
shown,  appears  to  have  been  attached  to  his  share  in 
the  matter,  not  only  in  Great  Britain,  but  on  the  con- 
tinent, where  the  subject  excited  an  interest  quite  aa 
lively  as  in  England.  But  it  is  our  opinion  that  Mr 
Moore's  conduct  in  the  affair  has  been  too  hasiily 
condemned.  One  duty,  we  think,  remains  for  hi^ 
performance — but  one,  and  that  most  imperative ;  it 
is  to  give  to  the  world  the  genuine  work  of  Lord 
Byron,  if  it  be  in  his  power  to  do  so.  The  opinion 
is  at  all  events  wide  spread,  if  not  well  founded,  thai 
one  copy  at  least  of  the  original  work  is  in  existenca 
That  opinion  is  afloat,  and  nothing  will  sink  it.  If 
the  life  which  31  r.  Moore  is  supposed  to  be  prepar- 
ing come  out  as  his  own  production,  it  will  be  diffi 
cult,  if  not  impossible,  to  convince  the  public  that  i 
is  not  a  compilation  from  the  copy  which  we  alluds 
to,  or  from  a  memory  powerfully  tenacious  of  tho 
original.  If  it  bo  not  avowed  as  such,  its  genuineness 
will  be  doubted,  and  a  dozen  spurious  lives  will  pro 
bably  appear,  professing  to  be  that  identical  copy,  of 
whose  existence  no  one  will  consent  to  doubt.  No 
reasoning,  nothing,  in  fact,  short  of  Mr.  Moore'a 
positive  assertion  to  the  contrary,  will  persuade  peo- 
ple that  he  could,  for  years,  have  run  the  risk  of 
leaving  so  interesting  a  manuscript,  or  that  he  could 
have  entrusted  it,  without  possessing  a  uuplicate,  in 
the  hands  of  any  one.  And,  at  all  events,  it  will  be 
thought  morally  certain,  that  jnore  thmi  one  of  those 
to  whom  it  was  entrusted  had  curiosity  enough  to 
copy  it ;  and  very  improbable  that  any  one  had  ho- 
nesty enough  to  confess  it. 

Besides  these  reasons  for  the  publication  of  the 
real  Memoirs,  supposing  a  copy  to  exist,  there  is  oni" 
of  such  paramount  importance,  that  we  are  sure  . 
must  have  struck  every  body  who  has  thought  at  all 
upon  the  subject.  We  mean  the  retrospective  injuiy 
done  to  the  character  of  the  deceased,  by  the  conjeo 


16 


A  SKETc:H  of  THOMAS  MOORE 


cures  which  are  abroad,  as  to  the  nature  of  the  Me- 
moirs he  left  behind.  We  do  not  pretend  to  *x>  in 
the  secret  of  their  contents,  but  we  are  qu  ite  sure  they 
can  be  in  no  way  so  reprehensible,  as  the  public  ima- 
gination, and  the  enemies  of  Lord  Byron,  have 
/igured  them  to  be ;  and  there  is  one  notion  concern- 
ing them,  of  a  nature  too  delicate  to  touch  upon,  and 
for  the  removal  of  which  no  sacrifice  of  individual  or 
family  vanity  would  be  a  price  too  high.  We  have, 
moreover,  good  authority  for  believing  that  the  Me- 
moirs might  and  ought  to  have  been  puWished,  with 
perfect  safety  to  public  morals,  and  with  a  very  con- 
siderable gratification  to  public  anxiety.  Curiosity, 
which  is  so  contemptible  in  individuals,  assumes  a 
very  different  aspect  when  it  is  shared  by  society  at 
large ;  and  a  satisfaction  which  may  be,  in  most  in- 
stances, withheld  from  the  one,  ought  very  rarely  to 
be  refused  to  the  other.  Nothing  has  ever  had  such 
power  of  excitement  upon  the  mass  of  mankind  as 
private  details  of  illustrious  individuals;  and,  most  of 
all,  what  may  be  called  their  confessions :  and  if  those 
individuals  choose  to  make  their  opinions  as  much 
the  property  of  the  world  after  their  death,  as  their 
conduct  and  works  had  been  before,  we  repeat,  that 
it  is  nothing  short  of  a  fraud  upon  the  public  to  snatch 
away  the  treasure  of  which  they  were  the  just  in- 
heritors. Nor  must  it  be  said  that  the  property  in 
question  is  of  no  intrinsic  value.  Every  thing  which 
ministers  to  the  public  indulgence  is  of  wealth  pro- 
portioned to  its  rarity — and  in  this  point  of  view  Lord 
Byron's  Memoirs  were  beyond  price.  If  they  con- 
tain gross  scandal,  or  indecent  disclosure,  let  such 
parts  be  suppressed ;  and  enough  will  remain  amply 
to  satisfy  all  readers.  But  we  say  this  merely  for  the 
sake  of  supposition,  and  for  the  purpose  of  refuting 
an  argument  founded  in  an  extreme  case ;  we  have 
great  pleasure  in  beheving  that  the  only  pretence  for 
such  an  imputation  on  the  manuscript,  was  the  selfish 
or  squeamish  act  of  its  suppression. 

We  trust  that  Mr.  Moore  will  yet  consider  well  the 
part  he  has  to  perform  ;  that  he  is  not  insensible  to 
the  narrow  scrutiny  which  the  public  displays  in  this 
affair,  and  which  posterity  will  confirm ;  and  that  he 
will,  on  this  occasion,  uphold  the  character  for  in- 
tegrity and  frankness  which  is  so  pre-eminently  his. 
We  speak  with  certitude  of  his  disinterested  and  up- 
right feelings  throughout ;  we  only  hope  liis  delicacy 
towards  others  may  not  lead  him  too  far  towards  the 
risk  of  his  own  popularity,  or  the  sacrifice  of  what  we 
designate  once  more  the  public  property. 

If  credit  may  be  given  to  (/aptain  Medwin,  Lord 
Ryron  was  most  desirous  for  the  posthumous  print- 
ing of  his  Memoirs  ;  and  he  seetns,  indeed,  to  have 
intrusted  them  to  Mr.  Moore,  as  a  safeguard  against 
that  very  accident  into  which  the  high-wrought  no- 
tions of  delicacy  of  the  trustee,  and  his  deference  to 
Ae  relations  and  friends  of  the  illustrious  deceased, 
actually  betrayed  them.  Lord  Byron  seems  to  have 
been  aware  of  the  prudery  of  his  own  immediate  con- 
nexions; and  in  the  way  in  which  he  bestowed  the 
manuscript,  to  have  consulted  at  once  his  generous 
i^isposition  towards  a  friend,  and  his  desire  of  security 
•(gainst  mutilation  or  suppression.  On  this  subject 
faptain  Mcdwin's  .lourrial  makes  him  speak  as  fol- 
lows :  "  I  am  sorry  not  to  have  a  copv  of  my  Memoirs 


to  show  you     I  gave  them  to  Moore,  or  rather  to 
RIoore's  little  boy."* 

"  I  remember  saying,  '  Here  are  two  thousand 
pounds  for  you,  my  young  friend.'  I  made  one  re- 
servation in  the  gift — that  they  were  not  to  be  publish- 
ed till  after  my  death." 

"  1  have  not  the  least  objection  to  their  being  cir- 
culated ;  in  fact  they  have  been  read  by  some  of  mine 
and  several  of  3Ioore's  friends  and  acquaintances 
among  others  they  were  lent  to  Lady  Buighersh.  On 
returning  the  manuscript,  her  ladyship  told  Moore 
that  she  had  transcribed  the  whole  work.  This 
was  un  peu  fort,  and  he  suggested  the  propriety  of 
her  destroying  the  copy.  She  did  so,  by  putting  it 
into  the  fire  in  his  presence.  Ever  since  this  hap- 
pened, Douglas  Kinnaird  has  been  recommending 
me  to  resume  possession  of  the  manuscript,  thinking 
to  frighten  me  by  saying,  that  a  spurious  or  a  real 
copy,  surreptitiously  obtained,  may  go  forth  to  the 
world.  I  am  quite  indifferent  about  the  world  know- 
ing all  that  they  contain.  There  are  very  few  licen- 
tious adventures  of  my  own,  or  scandalous  anecdotes 
that  will  affect  others,  in  the  book.  It  is  taken  up 
from  my  earliest  recollections,  almost  from  child- 
hood— very  incoherent,  written  in  a  very  loose  and 
familiar  style.  The  second  part  will  prove  a  good 
lesson  to  young  men;  for  it  treats  of  the  irregular 
life  I  led  at  one  period,  and  the  fatal  consequences 
of  dissipation.  There  are  few  parts  that  may  not, 
and  none  that  will  not,  be  read  by  women." 

In  this  particular  Lord  Byron's  fate  has  been  sin- 
gular ;  and  a  superstitious  person  might  be  startled  at 
the  coincidence  of  so  many  causes,  all  tending  to 
hide  his  character  from  the  public.  That  scandal 
and  envy  should  have  been  at  work  with  such  a  man 
is  not  very  extraordinary ;  but  the  burning  of  his  Me- 
moirs, and  the  subsequent  injunction  on  the  publica- 
tion of  his  Letters  to  his  Mother,  seem  as  if  some- 
thing more  than  mere  chance  had  operated  to  preserve 
unconfuted  the  calumnies  of  the  day,  for  the  benefit 
of  future  biographers.  Of  these  Letters  a  friend  of 
ours  was  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  a  glimpse,  and 
never,  lie  told  us,  was  more  innocent,  and  at  the 
same  time  more  valuable  matter,  so  withheld  from 
the  world.  It  were,  he  observed,  but  an  act  of  cold 
justice  to  the  memory  of  Lord  Byron  to  state,  pub- 
licly, that  they  appear  the  reflections  of  as  generous 
a  mind  as  ever  committed  its  expression  to  paper : 
for  though,  indeed,  the  traces  of  his  temperament,  and 
of  his  false  position  in  society,  are  there,  still  the  sen- 
timents are  lofty  and  enthusiastic ;  and  every  line  be- 
trays the  warmest  sympathy  with  human  suflering, 
and  a  scornful  indignation  against  mean  and  disgrace- 
ful vice. 

The  extempore  song,  addressed  by  Lord  Byron  to 
Mr.  Moore,  on  the  hitter's  last  visit  to  Italy,  proves 
the  familiar  intercourse  and  friendship  that  subsisted 
between  him  and  the  subject  of  this  memoir.  The 
following  stanzas  are  very  expressive  : — 


*Tliore  IB  siiniH  trifling  inacciiiacy  in  this,  n8  Moore' 
son  WHS  not  with  him  in  lliily.  Ft  is  nevorlh(!les8  truo,  as 
we  aro  assured,  that  this  was  the  turn  which  IjorrI  Hyron 
guvn  to  his  present,  in  order  to  mal<o  it  more  acceptable  lo 
liis  f'rirnd. 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORK. 


17 


Were  'I  the  lar.t  .Irop  in  llie  well, 

As  I  giisp'd  I'lioii  lliu  lirliik, 
Ere  my  liiiEiting  spiril  fill, 

'T  is  to  Ikce  lliiit  I  would  ilriiik. 

In  thut  watiT,  ns  this  wine, 

'J'lie  librttioii  I  would  pour 
S'lould  be — Peace  to  ihine  uiid  mine, 

And  a  liralth  to  ihce,  'l\im  Jloorr,! 

W}ien  Lord  Byron  had  published  his  celebrated 
satire  <<f  "  Eiighsh  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,"  in 
nliic.h  our  poet,  in  common  with  most  of  his  distin- 
(juishe'l  contemporaries  was  visited  rather  "too 
roughly  by  the  nobie  modern  Juvenal,  iiis  lordship 
expected  to  be  "  called  out,"  as  the  fashionable  phrase 
is;  Vit  no  one  had  courage  to  try  his  prowess  in  the 
held,  save  llr.  Moore,  who  did  not  relish  the  joke 
about  "  Little's  leaclless  pistols,"  and  sent  a  letter  to 
his  lordship  in  the  nature  of  a  challenge,  but  which 
he,  by  his  leaving  the  country,  did  not  receive.  On 
Byron's  return,  Mr.  Moore  made  inquiry  if  he  had 
received  the  epistle,  and  stated  that,  on  account  of 
certain  changes  in  his  circumstances,  he  wished  to 
recal  it,  and  become  the  friend  of  Byron,  through 
Rogers,  the  author  of  "The  Pleasures  of  3Iemory," 
and  who  was  intimate  with  both  the  distinguished 
bards.  The  letter,  addressed  to  the  care  of  Mr. 
Hanson,  had  been  mislaid ;  search  was  made  for  it, 
and  Byroii,  who  at  first  did  not  like  this  offer,  of  one 
hand  with  a  pistol,  and  the  other  to  shake  in  fcllow- 
ehip,  felt  very  awkward.  On  the  letter  being  re- 
covered, however,  he  delivered  it  unopened  to  3Ir. 
i\Ioorc,  and  they  afterwards  continued,  to  the  last, 
most  particular  friends. 

It  is  but  jrstice  to  the  unquestionable  courage  and 
ijpirited  conducf  of  the  Bard  of  Erin,  to  ob.serve  here, 
that,  though  Byron  had  stated  the  truth  about  the  said 
"leadless  pistols,"  he  had  not  stated  the  whole  truth. 
Tlie  facts  were  these :  IMr.  .le'frey,  the  celebrated 
critic,  and  editor  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  had,  in 
■'  good  set  phrase."  abused  tne  Poems  cf  Thomas  j 
Little,  Esq.,  alia.i  Thomas  3Ioore,  Esq. ;  and  the  lat- 1 
ter,  not  choosing  to  put  up  with  the  fidgeilation  ot  | 
the  then  modern  Aristarchus,  challenged  him.  When 
they  arrived  at  Chalk  Farm,  the  place  fixed  on  for  the 
duel,  the  police  were  ready,  and  deprived  them  of 
their  lire-arms.  On  drawing  their  contents,  the  com- 
pound of  "  villanous  saltpetre"  was  found,  but  the 
cold  lead, 

Tlie  pious  iiiet;il  most  in  ri'ipiisition 
On  such  occusioiis, 

had  somehow  disappeared.  Tlie  cause  was  this : 
One  of  the  balls  had  fallen  out  in  the  carriage,  and 
the  seconds,  with  a  laudable  anxirty  to  preserve  the 
public  peace,  to  save  the  shedduig  of  such  valuable 
blootl,  and  'o  make  both  equal,  drew  the  other  ball. 

In  his  youth  Mr.  Moore  was  in  the  high  road  to 
court  favour,  and  had  his  spirit  been  lesn  independent, 
we  might  even  have  had  a  Sir  Thomas  More  in  our 
days.  It  IS  said  that  when  the  juvenile  .\nacreon  was 
iniroduced  to  the  then  Prince  of  Wales,  His  Royal 
Highness  inquired  of  him  whether  he  was  a  son  of 
Dr.  i"\loore,  the  celebrated  author  of  Zelnco  ;  and  that 
the  bard  promptly  replied,  "  No,  Sir;  I  am  the  son  of 
a  grocer  at  Dublin  !" 

The  following  anecdote  shows  that  His  Majesty 
B 


King  Ceorge  the  Fourth  did  not  forgot  to  pay  off  the 
Pritice  of  Wales's  "old  score"  with  our  poet: — In 
the  king's  presence,  a  critic,  speaking  of  the  "Lifb 
of  Sheridan,"  declared  that  Moore  had  murdered  hia 
friend.  "  Vou  are  too  severe,"  said  his  Majesty,  "  I 
cannot  admit  that  Mr.  Moore  has  murdered  Sheridan, 
but  he  has  certainly  ullcinpted  his  life." 

It  was  not  till  after  the  Prince  of  Wales's  invest- 
ment with  regal  power,  that  ]\Ir.  IMoore  levelled  the 
'  keen  shafts  of  his  "grey  goose  quill"  against  thai 
illustrious  personage.  lie  had  previously  dedicated 
the  translation  of  Anacrcon  to  His  Royal  Highness, 
by  whom,  it  is  said,  his  poetry  was  much  admired. 
We  question,  though,  if  his  verse  was  as  palatable  to 
the  Prince  Regent,  as  it  had  been  to  the  Prince  of 
Wales.  Mr.  Moore,  perhaps,  thought  as  one  of  his 
predecessors  had  done  on  this  subject,  of  whom  the 
following  anecdote  is  recorded.  Pope,  dining  one 
day  with  Frederic,  Prince  of  Wales,  paid  the  prince 
many  compliments.  "  I  wonder,"  said  his  Royal 
Highness,  "that  you,  who  are  so  severe  on  kings, 
should  be  so  complaisant  to  me."  "It  is,"  replied 
the  witty  bard,  "because  I  like  the  lion  before  his 
claws  are  grown." 

The  name  of  Anacreon  IMoore,  by  which  our  an 
thor  is  distinguished,  is  not  so  much  his  due  from  the 
mere  circumstance  of  his  having  translated  the  odes 
of  the  Teian  bard,  as  from  the  social  qualities  which 
he  is  known  to  possess,  and  the  convivial  spirit  of  his 
tnuse.  Mr.  Moore  seems  to  be  of  opinion,  that 
It  with  water  you  fill  up  your  glasses, 

Vou'll  nuvcr  write  any  thing  wise; 
For  wine  is  th;;  horse  of  Parnassus, 
VVliich  hiir.ies  a  bard  to  the  skies. 

He  is  not,  however,  ungrateful  for  whatever  share 
conviviality  may  have  had  in  inspiring  his  muse,  but 
has  amply  acknowledged  it  in  the  elegant  and  glow- 
ing terms  in  which  he  has  celebrated  its  praises.  No 
individual  presides  with  more  grace  at  the  convivial 
board,  nor  is  there  one  whose  absence  is  more  iiaon 
to  be  regretted  by  his  friends. 

Iic!::g  on  one  occasion  prevented  from  attending  a 
banquet  where  he  was  an  expected  sfuest.  and  where, 
ill  consequence,  every  thing  seemed  (to  use  a  familiar 
phrase)  out  of  sorts,  a  gentleman,  in  the  fervour  of 
his  disappointment,  exclaimed,  "Give  us  but  one 
.\nacreon  more,  ye  gods,  whatever  else  ye  do  denj 
us." 

Presiding  once  at  a  tavern  dinnei,  where  some  of 
the  company  were  complaining  that  there  was  no 
game  at  the  table,  a  gentleman  present,  alluding  to 
the  fascinating  manners  of  Mr.  Moore,  who  "  kept  the 
table  in  a  roar,"  said,  "  Wiiy.  gentlemen,  what  better 
game  would  you  wish  than  7/worgame,  of  which  I  am 
sure  yon  have  abundance  V 

At  another  time,  afteV  the  pleasures  of  the  evening 
had  been  extended  to  a  pretty  late  hour,  Mr.  D.  pro- 
posed, as  a  concluding  bumper,  the  health  of  Mr. 
Moore  ;  a  toast  which,  having  been  twice  drank  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  was  objected  to  as  unneces- 
sary. Mr.  D.,  however,  persisted  in  giving  the  toast; 
and  quoted  in  support  of  it  the  following  passage  I'roro 
3Ir.  Moore's  translation  of  the  eighth  ode  of  Ana 
creon.     "  Let  us  drink  it  now,"  said  he, 

I'oi  dcMlh  may  come  with  brow  unpleasant, 
May  come  wln'ii  least  we  wish  liiiii  preheiit, 


18 


A  SKETc;H  of  TII031AS  MOORE. 


Ami  biMkon  K.  lll..•s:ll)lL■^lu.i 
Ami  gri  1  ly  b:(l  iis — ilnnk  iiu 


Wo  here  terminate  the  Biographical  part  of  our 
sketch  ;  and,  after  a  few  introductory  and  general  re- 
marks, shall  proceed  to  take  a  critical  review  of  our 
author's  principal  works,  including  some  interesting 
sketches  and  anecdotes  of  ancient  minstrelsy,  illus- 
trative of  the  "  Irish  Melodies." 

Moore  is  not,  l:ke  Wordsworth  or  Coleridge,  the 
poet's  poet ;  nor  is  it  necessary,  in  order  to  enjoy  his 
writings,  that  we  should  create  a  taste  for  them  other 
tliar  wh^'.  wr  received  from  nature  and  education. 
Vethisstjle  is  condemned  as  tinsel  and  artificial, 
whereas  the  great  praise  bestowed  on  those  preferred 
to  it  is,  that  they  are  the  only  true  natu.'al. — Now  if 
it  requires  study  and  progressive  taste  to  arrive  at  a 
sense  of  the  natural,  and  but  common  feeling  to  enjoy 
thf  beauties  of  the  artiticial,  then  certainly  these  names 
have  changed  places  since  we  met  them  in  the  dic- 
tionary. 

Formerly,  people  were  content  with  estimating 
hooks — persons  are  the  present  objects  universally. 
It  is  not  the  pleasure  or  utility  a  volume  affords,  which 
IS  taken  into  consideration,  but  the  genius  which  it 
indicates.  Each  person  is  anxious  to  form  his  scale] 
of  excellence,  and  to  range  great  names,  living  or 
dead,  at  certain  intervals  and  in  different  grades,  self 
being  the  hidden  centre  whither  all  tiie  comparisons 
verge.  In  former  times  works  of  authors  were  com- 
posed with  ideal  or  ancient  models, — the  humble 
crowd  of  readers  were  content  to  peruse  and  admire. 
At  present  it  is  otherwise, — every  one  is  conscious  of 
having  either  written,  or  at  least  having  been  able  to 
wTite  a  book,  and  consequently  all  lilerary  decisions 
affect  them  personally  : — 

i^r.rihivili  niliil  a  ine  aliciiiini  I'Uto, 

is  the  language  of  the  age;  and  the  most  insignificant 
calculate  on  the  wonders  they  might  have  effected, 
had  chance  thrown  a  pen  in  their  way. — The  literary 
character  has,  in  fact,  extended  itself  over  the  whole 
Sace  of  society,  with  all  the  evils  that  P' Israeli  has 
enumerated,  and  ten  times  more — it  has  spread  its 
fibres  through  all  ranks,  sexes,  and  ages.  There  no 
lontrer  exists  wliat  writers  used  to  call  a  public — that 
disinterested  tribunal  has  long  since  merijed  in  the 
body  it  used  to  try.  Put  your  finger  on  any  head  in 
a  crowd — it  belongs  to  an  author,  or  the  friend  of  one, 
and  your  great  authors  are  supposed  to  possess  a 
quantity  of  communicable  celebrity  ;  an  intimacy  with 
one  of  them  is  a  s<Mt  of  principality,  and  a  stray  anec- 
dote picked  up,  rather  a  valuable  sort  of  possession. 
These  people  are  always  crying  out  against  person- 
ality, and  personality  is  the  whole  business  of  their 
lives.  They  can  consider  nothing  as  it  is  by  itself; 
the  cry  is,  "  who  wrote  it?" — "what  manner  of  man 
is  he  ?" — "where  did  he  borrow  it?"  They  make 
puppets  of  literary  men  by  their  impatient  curiosity ; 
and  when  one  of  themselves  is  dragged  fiom  his  ma- 
lign obscurity  in  banter  or  whimsical  revenge,  he  calls 
upon  all  the  gods  to  bear  witness  to  the  malignity  he 
is  made  to  siilfer. 

It  IS  this  spirit  which  has  perverted  criticism,  and 
reduced  it  to  a  play  of  wruvls.  To  fivoiir  this  vain 
I'nceriif'ss  of  conip  irison,  all  powers  and  f:i(-ulties  are 
rexfilvcd  .It  once  into  gcuiuK — that  vajjuc  (]uality,  the 


supposition  of  wl'.ich  is  at  every  one's  command  ;  am, 
characters,  sublime  in  one  respect,  as  they  are  con 
teniptiblc  in  another,  are  viewed  under  this  ont 
aspect.  The  man,  the  poet,  the  philosopher,  are 
blended,  and  the  attributes  of  each  applied  to  all 
without  distinction.  One  person  inquires  the  name 
of  a  poet,  because  he  is  a  reasoner ;  another,  because 
he  is  mad  ;  another,  because  he  is  conceited.  John 
son's  assertion  is  taken  for  granted — that  genius  is 
but  great  natural  power  directed  towards  a  particular 
object:  thus  all  are  reduced  to  the  same  scale,  anJ 
measured  by  the  same  standard.  This  fury  of  com- 
parison knows  no  bounds ;  its  abettors,  at  the  same 
time  that  they  reserve  to  themselves  the  full  advan- 
tage of  dormant  merit,  make  no  such  allowance  to 
established  authors.  They  judge  them  rigidly  by  thei- 
pages,  assume  that  their  love  of  fame  and  emolument 
would  not  allow  them  to  let  any  talent  be  idle,  and 
will  not  hear  any  arguments  advanced  for  their  unex- 
pected capabilities. 

Tlie  simplest  and  easiest  effort  of  the  mind  is 
egotism, — it  is  but  baring  one's  own  breast,  disclosing 
its  curious  mechanism,  and  giving  exaggerated  ex 
pressions  to  every-day  feeling.  Yet  no  production? 
have  met  with  such  success  ; — what  authors  can  com- 
pete, as  to  popularity,  with  Montaigne,  Byron,  Rous- 
seau ?  Yet  we  cannot  but  believe  that  there  have 
been  thousands  of  men  in  the  world  who  could  have 
walked  the  same  path,  and  perhaps  met  with  the  same 
success,  if  they  had  had  the  same  confidence.  Pas- 
sionate and  reflecting  minds  are  not  so  rare  as  we 
suppose,  but  the  boldness  that  sets  at  nought  society 
is.  Nor  could  want  of  courage  be  the  only  obstacle 
there  are,  and  have  been,  we  trust,  many  who  would 
not  exchange  the  privacy  of  their  mental  sanctuary, 
for  the  indulgence  of  spleen,  or  the  feverish  dream  of 
popular  celebrity.  And  if  we  can  give  credit  for  this 
power  to  the  many  who  have  lived  unknown  and 
shunned  publicity,  how  much  more  must  we  not  be 
inclined  to  allow  to  him  of  acknowledged  genius,  ana 
who  has  manifested  it  in  works  of  equal  beauty,  and 
of  greater  merit,  inasmuch  as  they  are  removed  from 
self?  It  has  been  said  by  a  great  living  author  and 
poet,*  that  "  the  choice  of  a  subject,  removed  from 
self,  is  the  test  of  genius." 

Tliese  considerations  ought,  at  least,  to  prevent  us 
from  altogether  merging  a  writer's  genius  in  his 
works,  and  from  using  the  name  of  the  poem  and  that 
of  the  poet  indifferently.  Ff)r  our  part,  we  think  that 
if  Thomas  IMoore  had  the  misfortune  to  be  meta- 
physical, he  might  have  written  such  a  poem  as  the 
Excursion, — that  had  he  condescended  to  borrow,  and 
at  the  same  time  disguise  the  feelings  ofthe  great  Lake 
Poets,  he  might  perhaps  have  written  the  best  parts 
of  Childe  Harold — and  had  he  the  disposition  or  the 
whim  to  be  egotistical,  he  might  lay  bare  a  mind  of 
his  own  as  proudly  and  as  passionately  organized  as 
the  great  lord  did,  whom  some  one  describes  "to  have 
gutted  himsielf  body  and  soul,  for  all  the  world  tc 
walk  in  and  see  the  show." 

So  much  for  the  preliminary  cavils  which  are 
thrown  in  the  teeth  of  Moore's  admirers.  They  have 
been  picked  up  by  the  small  fry  of  critics,  who  com- 
menced  their  career  with   a  furious  attack  on  him, 


*  ("olfridpe 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOOKE. 


19 


I'ope,  .tnd  <  'anipbel!,  but  have  since  thoii<»ht  it  becom- 
ing to  grow  out  oflheir  e^iriy  likings.  And  ;it  present 
they  profess  to  profcr  the  great  works  vvliich  lh<>y 
have  never  read,  and  whicli  they  will  never  be  able  to 
read,  to  those  classic  poeina,  of  which  tliey  have  been 
the  most  destructive  enemies,  by  beihumbing  and 
quoting  their  beauties  into  triteness  and  cominon- 
phice. 

Tiie  merits  of  Pope  and  ."\Ioore  have  suffered  de- 
preciation from  the  same  cause — the  facility  of  being 
inii'tted  to  a  certain  degree.  And  as  vulgar  admira- 
ton  seldohi  penetrates  beyond  this  degree,  the  con- 
clusion is,  that  notiiing  ca.-i  be  easier  than  to  write 
like,  and  even  equal  to,  either  of  these  poets.  !n  the 
universal  self-comparison,  whicli  is  above  mentioned, 
as  the  founda'ion  of  modern  criticism,  feeling  is  as- 
sumed to  be  genius — the  passive  is  consideied  to 
imply  the  active  power.  No  opinion  is  more  com- 
mon or  more  fallacious — ii  is  the  "  flattering  unction" 
which  has  inundated  the  world  with  versifiers,  and 
which  seems  to  under-rate  the  merit  of  compositions, 
in  which  there  is  more  ingenuity  and  ologance  than 
passion,  (renins  is  considered  to  be  little  more  than 
a  capability  of  e.xcitetnent — the  greater  the  passion 
'.he  greater  the  merit ;  and  the  school-boy  key  on 
which  3Ir.  Moore's  love  and  heroism  are  usually  set, 
is  not  considered  by  any  reader  beyond  his  reach. 
This  is  certainly  Moore's  great  defect;  but  it  is  more 
that  of  his  taste  tlian  ^t  .my  superior  faculty. 

We  shall  now  proceed  to  notice  the  most  laboured 
and  most  splendid  of  Mr.  Moose's  productions — 
"  I.alla  Kookh  :" — 

Tlieii  il',  while  scenes  so  graiui, 

Si)  buautil'ul,  shine  before  ihee, 
Pride,  Ibi  thine  own  dear  land, 

Sliould  haply  he  stealing  o'er  thee; 
Oh  '.  lei  grief  come  first, 

O'er  pride  itself  victorious, 
To  think  how  n.an  hath  ciust, 

What  Heaven  luilh  made  so  glorious. 

Several  of  our  modern  poets  had  already  chosen 
the  luxuriant  climate  of  tl:e  East  for  their  imagina- 
tions to  revel  in,  and  body  forth  their  shapes  of  light ; 
but  il  is  no  less  observable  that  they  had  generally 
failed,  and  the  cause  we  believe  to  be  this — that  the 
partial  conception  and  confined  knowledge  which 
they  n-Jturally  possessed  of  a  country,  so  opposed  in 
the  character  of  its  inhabitants  and  the  aspect  of  its 
scenery  to  their  own,  occasion  them,  after  the  man- 
ner of  all  imperfect  apprcheiiders,  to  seize  upon  its 
oromiiicnt  features  and  obvious  characteristics,  with- 
out entering  more  deeply  into  its  spirit,  or  catching 
its  retired  and  less  paljiable  beauties.  The  sudden 
transplantation  of  an  European  mind  into  Asiatic 
scenes  can  seldom  be  favourable  to  its  well-being  and 
progress,  at  least  none  but  tnose  of  the  first  order 
would  be  enabled  to  keep  their  imaginations  fmm  de- 
generating into  inconsistency  and  bombast,  amid  the 
svarms  of  novelties  whicl;  start  up  at  every  step. 
Thus  it  is  that,  in  nearly  all  the  oriental  poems  added 
to  our  literal  ire,  we  had  the  same  moiioronoiis  as- 
semblage of  I  isipid  images,  drawn  from  the  peculiar 
phenomena  and  natural  appeatances  of  the  country. 

We  have  always  considered  rVsia  as  naturally  the 
"lome  of  poetry,  and  the  creator  of  poets.  What 
makes  Greece  so  f  jetical  a  country  is,  that  at  e  ery 


step  we  st'tmb'e  over  recollections  of  departed  gran 
dfur,  and  behold  the  scenes  where  the  human  iniiK' 
has  glorihed  itself  for  evc^r,  and  played  a  part,  t'.ie  re 
cords  of  wliich  can  never  die.  But  in  Asia,  to  tht 
same  charm  of  viewing  the  places  of  former  power — 
of  comparing  the  present  with  the  past — there  it 
added  a  lu.xuriance  of  clirtiate,  and  an  unrivalled 
beauty  of  e.\ternal  nature,  which,  ever  according  with 
tlie  poet's  soul, 

Temper,  and  do  befit  him  to  obey 
High  inspiration. 

It  was  reserved  for  Mr.  Moore  to  redeem  the 
character  of  oriental  poetry,  in  a  work  which  stande 
distinct,  alone,  and  proudly  pre-eminent  above  all 
that  had  preceded  it  on  the  sime  subject. 

Never,  indeed,  has  the  land  of  the  sun  shone  out  so 
brightly  on  the  children  of  the  north — nor  the  sweets 
of  Asia  been  poured  forth — nor  her  gorgeousness 
displayed  so  profusely  to  the  delighted  senses  of  Eu- 
rope, as  in  the  fine  oriental  romance  of  Lalla  l[ookli. 
The  beauteous  forms,  the  dazzling  splendours,  the 
breathing  odours  of  the  East,  found,  at  last,  a  kindred 
poet  in  that  Green  Isle  of  the  West,  whose  genius  has 
long  been  suspected  to  be  derived  from  a  warmer 
clime,  and  here  wantons  and  lu.xuriates  in  these  vo- 
luptuous regions,  as  if  it  fell  that  it  had  at  length  re- 
cognized its  native  element.  It  is  amazing,  indeed, 
how  much  at  home  Mr.  Moore  seems  to  be  in  India, 
Persia,  and  Arabia ;  and  how  purely  and  strictly 
Asiatic  all  the  colouring  and  imagery  of  his  poem  ap- 
pears. He  is  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  character 
of  the  scenes  to  which  he  transports  us;  and  yet  the 
extent  of  his  knowledge  is  less  wondeiful  than  the 
dexterity  and  apparent  facility  v.-ith  which  he  has 
turned  it  to  account,  in  the  elucidation  and  emtellish- 
ment  of  his  poetry.  There  is  not  a  simile,  a  descrip- 
tion, a  name,  a  trait  of  history,  or  allusion  of  romance 
which  belongs  to  F'uropean  experience,  that  does  not 
indicate  entire  familiarity  with  the  life,  nature,  and 
learning  of  the  East. 

Nor  arc  the  barbaric  ornaments  thinly  scattered  to 
make  up  a  show.  They  are  showered  lavishly  over 
the  whole  work ;  and  form,  perhaps  too  much,  the 
staple  of  the  poetry,  and  the  riches  of  that  which  is 
chiefly  distinguished  for  its  richness.  We  would  con- 
tine  this  remark,  however,  to  the  descriptions  of  ex- 
ternal objects,  and  the  allusions  to  literature  and 
history — to  what  may  be  termed  the  materiel  of  the 
poetry  we  are  speaking  of  The  characters  and  sen- 
timents are  of  a  different  order.  They  cannot,  in- 
deed, be  said  to  be  copies  of  an  European  nature; 
but  still  less  like  that  of  any  other  region.  They  arc, 
in  truth,  poetical  irtiagiiiations ; — but  it  is  to  the  poe- 
try of  rational,  honourable,  considerite,  and  humane 
Europe  that  they  belong — and  not  to  the  childish;iess, 
cruelty,  and  profligacy  of  Asia. 

There  is  something  very  extraordinary,  we  think, 
jin  this  work — •md  something  wliic  i  indicates  in  the 
I  author,  not  only  a  great  exuberance  of  talent,  but  a 
very  singular  constitution  of  genius.  While  it  is  n'OK 
splendid  in  imagery — and  for  the  most  part  in  ver> 
good  taste — more  rich  in  sparkling  thoughts  ano 
original  conceptions,  and  more  full  indeed  of  e.\qii>- 
]  site  pictures,  both  of  all  sorts  of  lieauties,  ;uid  all  sorts 
of  virtues,  and  all  sorts  of  sufferings  and  crimes,  than 
I  any  other  poem  which  we  know  cf;  we  rather  thinl' 


20 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  3IOORE. 


we  spe:ik  the  sense  ofdll  classes  of  readers,  when  we 
add,  that  the  eifeci  of  the  wliole  is  to  mingle  a  certain 
feehng  of  disappointment  with  that  of  admiration — 
to  excite  admiration  rather  tlian  any  warmer  senti- 
ment of  deligiit — to  daz/.le  more  tlian  to  enchant — 
and,  in  the  end,  more  frequently  to  startle  the  fancy, 
and  fatigue  the  attention,  with  the  constant  succession 
of  glittering  images  and  high-strained  emotions,  than 
to  maintain  a  rising  interest,  or  win  a  growing  sympa- 
thy, by  a  less  profuse  or  more  systematic  display  of 
utrai'tions. 

The  style  is,  on  the  whole,  rather  diffuse,  and  too 
imvaried  in  its  character.  But  its  greatest  fault  is  the 
uniformity  of  its  brilliancy — the  want  of  plainness, 
simplicity,  and  repose.  We  have  heard  it  observed 
by  some  very  zealous  admirers  of  Mr.  Moore's  genius, 
that  you  cannot  open  tliis  book  without  finding  a 
cluster  of  beauties  in  every  page.  Now,  this  is  only 
another  way  of  expressing  what  we  think  its  greatest 
defect.  No  work,  consisting  of  many  pages,  should 
have  detached  and  distinguishable  beauties  in  every 
one  of  them.  No  great  work,  indeed,  should  have 
many  beauties :  if  it  were  perfect  it  would  have  but 
one,  and  that  but  faintly  perceptible,  e.xcept  on  a  view 
of  the  whole.  Look,  for  example,  at  what  is  the  most 
finished  and  exquisite  production  of  human  art — the 
design  and  elevation  of  a  Grecian  temple,  in  its  old 
severe  simplicity.  'What  penury  of  ornament — what 
netrlect  of  beauties  of  detail — what  masses  of  plain 
surface — wnat  rigid  economical  limitation  to  tlie 
useful  and  the  necessary  !  The  cottage  of  a  peasant 
is  scarcely  more  simple  in  its  structure,  and  has  not 
fewer  parts  that  are  superfluous.  Yet  what  grandeur 
— what  elegance — what  grace  and  completene>:s  in 
the  eflcct !  The  whole  is  beautiful — because  the 
beauty  is  in  the  whole  ;  but  there  is  little  merit  in  any 
of  the  parts  except  that  of  fitness  and  careful  finishing. 
Contrast  this  with  a  Dutch,  or  a  Chinese  pleasure- 
house,  where  every  part  is  meant  to  be  beautiful,  and 
the  result  is  deforin.ty — where  there  is  not  an  inch  of 
the  surface  that  is  not  brilliant  with  colour,  and  rough 
with  curves  and  angles, — and  where  the  effect  of  the 
whole  is  displeasing  to  the  eye  and  the  taste.  We 
are  as  far  as  possible  from  meaning  to  insinuate  that 
Mr.  Moore's  poetry  is  of  this  description  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, we  think  his  ornaments  are,  for  the  most  part, 
truly  and  exquisitely  beautiful ;  and  the  general  design 
of  his  pieces  extremely  elegant  and  ingenious:  all 
that  we  mean  to  say  is,  that  there  is  too  much  orna- 
ment— too  many  insulated  and  independent  beauties 
-  and  that  the  notice  and  the  very  admiration  they 
excite,  hurt  the  interest  of  the  general  design,  and 
withdraw  our  attention  too  importunately  from  it. 

Mr.  IMoore,  it  appears  to  us,  is  too  lavish  of  his 
gems  and  sweets,  and  it  may  truly  be  said  of  him,  in 
his  poetical  capacity,  that  he  would  be  richer  with 
half  his  wealth.  His  works  are  not  only  of  rich  ma- 
'.erials  and  graceful  design,  but  they  are  every  where 
gnstening  with  small  beauties  and  transitory  inspira- 
tions— sudden  flashes  of  fancy  th;it  bla/.e  out  and 
perish ;  like  earth-born  meteors  that  crackle  in  the 
lower  sky,  and  unseasonably  divert  our  eyes  from  the 
great  and  lofty  bodies  which  pursue  their  harmonious 
courses  in  a  sereiicr  region. 

Wp  have  spoken  ot'  these  as  faults  of  style — but 
'lipv    coiila    scarcely    have    existed     without    going 


deeper:  and  though  they  first  strike  us  as  qualities  oi 
the  composition  only,  we  find,  upon  a  little  reflection, 
that  the  same  general  character  belongs  to  the  fable, 
the  characters,  and  the  sentiments — that  they  all  are 
alike  in  the  excess  of  their  means  of  attraction — and 
fail  to  interest,  chielly  by  being  too  int^esting. 

We  have  felt  it  our  duty  to  point  out  the  faults  of 
our  author's  poetry,  particularly  in  respect  to  Lalla 
Rookh;  but  it  would  be  quite  unjust  to  characterize 
that  splendid  poem  by  its  faults,  which  are  infinitely 
less  conspicuous  than  its  manil"old  beauties.  There 
is  not  only  a  richness  and  brilliancy  of  diction  and 
imagery  spread  over  the  whole  work,  that  indicate 
'he  greatest  activity  and  elegance  of  fancy  in  the  au- 
thor ;  but  it  is  every  where  pervaded,  still  more 
strikingly,  by  a  strain  of  tender  and  noble  feeling, 
poured  out  with  such  warmth  and  abundance,  as  to 
steal  insensibly  on  the  heart  of  the  reader,  and  gra- 
dually to  overflow  it  with  a  tide  of  sympathetic  emo- 
tion. There  are  passages,  indeed,  and  these  neither 
lew  nor  brief,  over  which  the  very  genius  of  poetry 
seems  to  have  breathed  his  richest  enchantment — 
where  the  melody  of  the  verse  and  the  beauty  of  the 
images  conspire  so  harmoniously  with  the  force  and 
tenderness  of  the  emotion,  that  the  whole  is  blended 
into  one  deep  and  bright  stream  of  sweetness  and 
feeling,  along  which  the  spirit  of  the  reader  is  borne 
passively  through  long  reaches  of  delight.  Mr 
3Ioore's  poetry,  indeed,  where  liis  happiest  vein  is 
opened,  realizes  more  exactly  than  that  of  any  other 
writer,  the  splendid  account  which  is  given  by  Co 
mils*  of  the  song  of 

His  mother  (;irce,  and  the  sirens  three, 

Amid  tin;  Howeiy-kirlli'd  N.iiades, 

Wlu),  as  ihey  sung,  uouid  lake  Uie  prison'd   poul, 

And  l;i|i  it  in  Elysium. 

And  though  it  is  certainly  to  be  regretted  that  he 
should  occasionally  have  broken  the  measure  with 
more  frivolous  strains,  or  filled  up  its  intervals  with  a 
sort  of  brilliant  falsetto,  it  should  never  be  forgotten, 
that  his  excellences  are  as  peculiar  to  himself  as  his 
faults,  and,  on  the  whole,  we  may  assert,  more 
characteristic  of  his  genius. 

The  legend  of  Lalla  Rookh  is  very  sweetly  and 
gaily  told  ;  and  is  adorned  with  many  tender  as  well 
as  lively  passages — without  reckoning  among  the  lat- 
ter the  occasional  criticisms  of  the  omniscient  Fadla- 
deeii,  the  magnificent  and  most  infallible  grand  cham- 
berlain of  the  haram — whose  sayings  and  remarks, 
by  the  by,  do  not  agree  very  well  with  the  character 
which  is  assigned  him — being  for  the  most  part  very 
smart,  snappish,  and  acute,  and  by  no  means  solemn, 
stupid,  and  pompous,  as  one  would  have  expected. 
Mr.  Moore's  genius  perhaps,  is  too  inveterately  lively, 
to  make  it  possible  for  him  even  to  counterfeit  dul- 
ness.  We  must  now  take  a  slight  glance  at  the 
poetry. 

The  first  piece,  entitled  "The  Veiled  Prophet  of 
Khorassan,"  is  the  longest, and,  we  think,  certainly  lia. 


*  iMihoii,  will)  was  riiiich  patronizt-d  liy  the  illuslrious 
lioiisi!  of"  Kgcrlon,  wrote!  the  Mask  uf  Conius  upon  .lolin 
F.ffi.rton,  then  Earl  of  Bn.l^Hwaler,  when  'hat  noblemnr., 
Ill  lii'.!4,  w!i»  iippointcil  l-ord  Prfsi(!enl  of  llie  principality 
of  Willi's.  It  was  perlbrined  by  tiirec  of  Ids  Lordship  i 
I'hililrcn,  bid'oif  the  Riirl,  nl  T,ndlow  Castle.— Ace  the  IVorkt 
of  the /iresciit  Rail  uf  Uridireicatnr 


A  SKF/rciI  OF  THOMAS  MOORK. 


21 


iho  best  of  ttio  scries.  Tlie  story,  which  is  not  in  all  |  the  iiliimute  result,  even  though  ihey  shouki  appro- 
lis  parts  cxtremtly  intelligible, 's  roiiiKlcd  on  a  vision,  I  ciate  their  own  productions  as  highly  as  Milton  his 
III  d'llerlHlot,  ot'a  daring  impostor  of  the  early  ages  I  Paradise  Lost;  while  tiiey  who  succeed  in  obtaining 
oC  Islaniism,  who  Dietended  u<  have  received  a  later  a  large  share  of  present  applause,  cannot  but  expe^ 
und  more  authoritative  mission  than  that  of  the  Pro-irience  frequent  misgivings  as  to  its  probable  duration  : 
p!ift,  and  to  be  destined  to  overiurn  all  tyrannies  and  prevailing  tastes  have  so  entirely  changed,  and  works, 
.superstitions  on  the  earth,  and  to  rescue  all  souls  that  the  wonder  and  delight  of  one  generation,  have  been 
bcli(!ved  in  him.  To  shade  the  celestial  radiance  of  so  completely  forgotten  in  the  ne.\t,  that  extent  of 
ins  brow,  he  always  wore  a  veil  of  silver  gau7;e,  and  ;  reputation  ought  rather  to  alarm  than  assure  an  author 
was  at  last  attacked  by  the  Caliph,  and  exterminated  i  in  respect  to  his  future  fame. 

with  all  his  adherents.  On  this  story  .Mr.  Moore  lia.s  Rut  M.-.  Moore,  independently  of  poetical  powers 
fiigrafled  a  romantic  and  not  very  probable  tale :  yet,  of  the  highest  order — independently  of  the  place  he 
•II  w;th  all  its  faults,  it  possesses  a  charm  almost  at  present  maintains  in  the  public  estimation — has  se- 


irresistible,  in  the  volume  of  sweet  sounds  and  beau 
lifui  images,  which  are  heaped  together  with  luxurious 
profusion  in  the  general  texture  of  the  style,  and 
invest  even  the  faults  of  the  story  with  the  graceful 
amplitude  of  their  rich  and  figured  veil. 


cured  to  himself  a  strong  hold  of  celebrity,  as  durable 
as  the  English  tongue. 

Almost  every  European  nation  has  a  kind  of  pri- 
mitive music,  peculiar  to  itself,  consisting  of  short 
and  simple  tunes   or  melodies,  which,  at  the  same 


"  I'aradise  and  the  Pen"  has  none  of  the  faults  just  time  that  they  please  cultivated  and  scientdic  ears, 
alluded  to.  It  is  full  of  spirit,  elegance,  and  beauty ;  |  are  the  object  of  passionate  and  almost  exclusive  at- 
und,  tliough  slight  in  its  structure,  breathes  throughout  j  tainment  by  the  great  body  of  the  people,  constituting, 
a  most  pure  and  engaging  morality.  j  in  fact,  pretty  nearly  the  sum  of  their  musical  know- 

"  'J'he  Eire-worshippers"  appears  to  us  to  be  indis- 1  ledge  and  enjoyment.  Being  the  first  sounds  with 
putably  the  finest  and  most  powerful  poem  of  them  which  the  infant  is  soothed  in  his  nursery,  with  which 
ail.  \\  iih  all  the  richness  and  beauty  of  diction  that  he  is  lulled  to  repose  at  night,  and  excited  to  anima- 
belong  to  the  best  parts  of  3Iokanna,  it  has  a  far  more  tion  in  the  day,  they  make  an  impression  on  the  iina- 
interesting  story  ;  and  is  not  liable  to  the  objections  gination  that  can  never  afterwards  be  effaced,  and 
that  arise  against  the  contrivance  and  structure  of  the  are  consequently  handed  down  from  parent  to  child, 
leading  poem.  The  general  tone  of  "The  Fire- wor- ,  from  generation  to  generation,  with  as  much  uni- 
Bhippers"  is  certainly  too  much  strained,  but,  in  spite  formity  as  the  family  features  and  dispositions.  It  is 
of  that,  it  is  a  work  of  great  genius  and  beauty  ;  and   evident,  therefore,  that  he  who  first  successfully  in- 


not  only  delights  the  fancy  by  its  general  brilliancy 
and  spirit,  but  moves  all  the  tender  and  noble  feel- 
ings with  a  deep  and  powerful  agitation. 

The  last  piece,  entitled  "  The  Light  of  the  FLiram," 
IS  the  gayest  of  the  whole ;  and  is  of  a  very  slender 
fabric  as  to  fable  or  invention.  In  truth,  it  has 
Bcarcly  any  story  at  all ;  but  is  made  up  almost  en- 
tirely of  beautiful  songs  and  fascinating  descnp'.ions 


vests  them  with  language,  becomes  thereby  himself  a 
component  part  of  these  airy  existences,  and  commits 
his  bark  to  a  favouring  wind,  before  which  it  shall  pass 
on  to  the  end  of  the  stream  of  time. 

Without  such  a  connexion  as  this  with  the  national 
music  of  Scotland,  it  seems  to  !<,<;,  that  .Mian  Ram- 
say's literary  existence  must  have  terminated  its 
earthly  career  long  since ;  but,  in  the  divine  melody 


On  the  whole,  it  may  be  said  of  "  Lalla  Rookh,"  of  "  The  YelJtnc-hair'd  Laddie."  he  has  secured  a 
th-it  its  great  fault  consists  in  its  profuse  finery;  but  passport  to  future  ages,  which  mightier  poets  might 
it  should  be  ob.served,  that  this  finery  is  not  the  vulgar  '  envy,  and  which  will  be  heard  and  acknowledged  as 
ostentation  which  so  often  disguises  poverty  or  mean- '  long  as  the  world  has  cars  to  hear, 
ness — but,  as  we  have  before  hinted,  the  extravagance  \  This  is  not  a  mere  fancy  of  the  uninitiated,  or  the 
of  excessive  wealth.     Its  sreat  charm  is  in  the  inc.x-   barbarous  exaggeration  of  a  musical  savage  who  nas 


haustible  copiousness  of  its  imagery — the  sweetness 
and  ease  of  its  diction — and  the  beauty  of  the  objects 
and  sentiments  with  which  it  is  conceived. 

Whatever  popularity  Mr.  Moore  may  have  acquired 


lost  his  senses  at  hearing  Orpheus's  hurdy-gurdy,  oe- 
cause  he  never  heard  any  thing  better.  One  oi  the 
greatest  composers  that  ever  charmed  the  world — the 
immortal  Haydn — on  bemg  requested  to  add  sympno- 


as  the  author  of  Lalla  Rookh,  etc.,  it  is  as  the  author  Inies  and  accompaniments  to  the  Scotcii  airs,  was  so 
of  the  "Irish  Melodies"  that  he  will  go  down  to  pos-  convinced  of  their  durability,  that  he  replied — "  ]\Ii 
terity  unrivalled  and  alone  in  that  delightful  species  I  vanto  di  questo  lavoro,  e  per  cio  mi  lusingo  di  vivcre 


of  composition.  Lord  Byron  has  very  justly  and  pro- 
phetically observed,  that  "  Moore  is  one  of  the  few 
vvriterswho  will  survive  the  age  in  which  he  so  de- 
servedly flourishes.  He  will  live  in  his  '  Irish  Melo- 
dies ;'  they  will  go  down  to  posterity  with  the  music  ; 
both  will  last  as  long  as  Ireland,  or  as  music  and 
poetry." 

If,  indeed,  the  anticipation  of  lasting  celebrity  be 
the  chief  pleasure  tor  the  attainment  of  which  poets 
Destow  their  labour,  certainly  no  one  can  have  en- 
gaged so  much  of  it  as  Thomas  Moore.  It  is  evident 
that  writers  who  fail  to  command  immediate  attention, 
and  who  look  only  to  posterity  for  a  just  estimate  of 
'heir  merits,  must  feel  more  or  less  uncertainty  as  to 


in  Scozia  moiti  anni  dopo  la  mia  morte." 

It  is  not  without  reason,  therefore,  that  Mr.  3Iooie 
indulges  in  this  kind  of  second-sight,  and  exclaims  (on 
hearing  one  of  his  own  melodies  n;-echoed  from  a 
bugle  in  the  mountains  of  Killarney,) 

Oil,  forgive,  if,  while  listening  tn  music,  whose  brnatb 
Seem'd  to  circle  his  name  wi^h  a  rhtirm  against  death 
Me  should  feel  a  proud  spirit  witliin  dim  proclaim, 
Kvcn  so  shall  thou  live  in  the  echoes  of  fame; 
Kven  so,  though  thy  mem'ry  should  now  die  away, 
"Twill  be  caught  up  again  in  some  happier  day. 
And  the  hearts  and  the  voices  of  Frin  prolong, 
Tliroiigh  the  answerin^-  fuiure,  ihy  name  and  tliv  simj 

In  truth,  the  subtile  essences  of  these  imcs  presi*n 


no  object  upon  which  time  or  violence  can  act.  Py- 
ratiiids  may  moulder  away,  and  bron/.es  be  decom- 
posed ;  but  the  breeze  of  heaven  which  fanned  them 
in  their  splendour  shall  sigh  around  them  in  decay, 
and  by  its  mournful  sound  awaken  all  the  recollections 
of  their  former  glory.  Thus,  when  generations  shall 
have  sunk  into  the  grave,  and  printed  volumes  been 
consigned  to  oblivion,  traditionary  strains  shall  pro- 
long our  poet's  existence,  and  his  future  fame  shall 
not  be  less  certain  than  his  present  celebrity 

Lilco  the  gfde  that  siglis  along 

Beds  of  uriuntui  Hovvlts, 
(s  the  griitoful  bieadi  of  song, 

That  once  was  lieard  in  lia|i|iier  hours. 
Fill'd  with  balm  the  g:ilc  sighs  on, 

Thougli  tlie  flowers  have  sunk  in  death; 
So  when  the  B;trd  of  Love  is  gone, 

His  mem'ry  lives  in  Music's  breath! 

Almost  every  European  nation,  as  we  before  ob- 
served, has  its  own  peculiar  set  of  popular  melodies, 
differing  as  much  from  each  other  in  character  as  the 
nations  themselves ;  but  there  are  none  more  marked 
or  more  extensively  known  than  those  of  the  Scotch 
and  Irish.  Some  of  these  may  be  traced  to  a  very 
remote  era;  while  of  others  the  origin  is  scarcely 
known  ;  and  this  is  the  case,  especially,  with  the  airs 
of  Ireland.  With  the  exception  of  those  which  were 
produced  by  Carolan,  who  died  in  173S,  there  are 
few  of  which  we  can  discover  the  dates  or  composers. 

That  many  of  these  airs  possess  great  beauty  and 
pathos,  no  one  can  doubt  who  is  actfiiainted  with  the 
selections  that  have  been  made  by  Mr.  Moore ;  but  as 
a  genus  or  a  style,  they  also  exhibit  the  most  unequi- 
vocal proofs  of  a  rude  and  barbarous  origin ;  and 
there  is  scarcely  a  more  striking  instance  of  the  prone- 
ness  of  mankind  to  exalt  the  supposed  wisdom  of 
their  ancestors,  and  to  lend  a  ready  ear  to  the  mar- 
vellous, than  the  exaggerated  praise  which  the  authors 
of  this  music  have  obtained. 

It  is  naiural  to  suppose  that  in  music,  as  in  all 
other  arts,  ine  progress  of  savage  man  was  gradual ; 
thai  there  is  no  more  reason  for  supposing  he  should 
have  discovered  at  once  the  seven  notes  of  the  scale, 
than  that  he  should  have  been  able  at  once  to  find 
appropriate  language  for  all  the  nice  distinctions  of 
nifi'als  or  mijtaphysics.  We  shall  now  pass  to  some 
'ii'-eresting  accounts  of  the  Bards  of  the  '•  olden  tirno," 
wji^ch  come  within  the  scope  of  our  subject  when 
i;i>;-.:king  of  the  present  Bard  of  Erin,  and  his  "  Irish 
•Melodies." 

Dr.  Burney  observes,  that  "the  first  Greek  mu- 
scians  were  gods;  the  second,  heroes;  the  third, 
b;irds,  the  fourth,  beggars  I"  During  the  infancy  of 
iiusic  in  every  country,  the  wonder  and  affections  of 
the  people  were  gained  by  surprise;  but  when  nni- 
Njcians  became  numerous,  and  the  art  was  regarded 
of  easier  acquirement,  they  lost  their  favour;  and, 
•"lom  being  sealed  at  the  t:ible.s  of  kings,  and  helped 
w  the  lirsl  cut,  they  were  reduced  to  the  most  abject 
;-;  lie,  and  ranked  among.st  rogues  and  vagabonds. 
'i'hat  thi.f  was  the  cause  of  the  supposed  relrograda- 
t'on  of  Irish  rniisic,  we  shall  now  proceed  to  show, 
by  some  curiou.s  extracts  frori'  contemporary  writers. 

The  professed  Bards,  of  the  earlie^'t  of  whom  we 
n  ivc  not  any  accounl,  having  united  to  their  capacity 
'<!  inusiciaiis  the  funclioiis  of  priests,  could  not  fail  lo 


obtain  for  themselves,  in  an  age  of  ignorance  and 
credulity,  all  the  intiuence  and  respect  which  llial 
useful  and  deserving  class  of  men  have  never  lailo* 
to  retain,  even  among  nations  who  esteem  thcmsclvet 
the  most  enlightened.  But  the  remotest  period  in 
which  their  character  of  musician  was  disengaged 
from  that  of  priest,  is  also  the  period  assigned  lo  the 
highest  triumph  of  their  secular  musical  skill  and 
respectability.  "It  is  certain,"  says  Mr.  Bunting  (in 
his  Historical  and  Critical  Dissertation  on  the  Harp, 
"  thai  the  further  u:e  explore,  ir/iile  i/el  any  Ugltt  re- 
?jtain!!,  the  more  highly  is  Iruih  border  minstrtUy  ej* 
tolled." 

"The  oldest  Irish  tunes  (says  the  same  writer)  are 
said  to  be  the  moxt  perfect"  and  history  accords  with 
this  opinion.  Vin.  Galilei,  Bacon,  Stanishurst,  Spen- 
ser, and  Camden,  in  the  lOih  century,  sjieak  warmly 
of  Irish  version,  but  not  so  highly  as  Polydoie  Virgil 
and  Major,  in  the  15th,  ('lynii,  in  the  middle  of  the 
14th,  or  Fordun,  in  the  13th.  As  we  recede  yet  fur- 
ther, we  Snd  Giraldus  Cambrensis,  G.  Brompton,  and 
John  of  Salisbury,  in  the  12th  century,  bestowing  still 
more  lofty  encomiums  ;  and  these,  again,  falling  short 
of  the  science  among  us  in  the  11th  and  10th  centu- 
ries. In  conformity  with  this,  Fuller,  in  his  account 
of  the  Crusade  conducted  by  Godfrey  of  Bologne, 
says,  "  Yea,  we  might  well  think  that  all  the  concen 
of  Christendom  in  this  war  would  have  made  no 
music,  if  the  Irish  Hiirp  had  been  waiitisig." 

In  those  early  limes  the  Irish  bards  were  invested 
with  wealth,  honours,  and  influence.  They  wore  a 
robe  of  the  same  colour  as  that  used  by  kings ;  were 
exempted  from  taxes  and  plunder,  and  were  billeted 
on  the  country  from  Allhallow-tide  to  May,  while 
every  chief  bard  had  thirty  of  inferior  note  under  his 
orders,  and  every  second-rate  bard  fifteen. 

John  of  Salisbury,  in  the  Tith  century,  says,  that 
the  great  aristocrats  of  his  day  imitated  Nero  in  their 
extravagant  love  of  fiddling  and  singing;  that  "they 
prostituted  their  favour  by  bestowing  it  on  minstrels 
and  buffoons  ;  and  that,  by  a  certain  foolish  and  shame- 
ful munificence,  they  expended  immense  sums  of  mo- 
nc'y  on  their  frivolous  exhibitions."  "The  courts  of 
princes,"  says  another  contemporary  writer,  "  are 
filled  with  crowds  of  minstrels,  who  extort  from  them 
gold,  silver,  horses,  and  vestments,  by  their  flattering 
songs.  1  have  known  some  princes  who  have  be- 
stowed on  these  minstrels  of  the  Devil,  at  the  very 
lirst  word,  the  most  curious  garments,  beautifully  em- 
broidered with  flowers  and  pictures,  which  had  cost 
them  twenty  or  thirty  marks  of  silver,  and  which  they 
had  not  worn  above  seven  days  !" 

From  the  foregoing  account,  by  Salisbury  John, 
the  twelfth  century  must,  verily,  have  been  ttie  true 
golden  age  for  the  sons  of  tlie  lyre ;  who  were  then,  ii 
seems,  clothed  in  purple  and  line  linen,  and  fared 
sumptuously  every  day  It  is  true,  they  were  flatter- 
ers and  parasites,  and  did  "dirty  work"  for  it  in  those 
days  ;  but,  at  any  rate,  princes  were  then  more 
generous  lo  their  poel-huircates,  and  the  saekbul  and 
the  song  were  better  paid  for  than  in  a  simple  but! 
of  sack. 

I  According  to  Stowe,  the  miiistr(^l  had  >lill  a,  ready 
!  admission  into  the  presence  of  kings  in  the  4th  cen 
tury.  Speaking  of  the  celebration  of  'he  feast  of 
I  Pentecost   ai  Westniinsler.  he  savs    "  In    the  Kical 


nail,  when  sitting  royally  al  the  table,  with  his  peers 
about  him,  there  entered  a  woman  adorned  like  a 
minstrel,  sitting  on  a  great  tiorse,  trapped  as  minstrels 
then  used,  who  rodv  about  the  tabic  showing  pastime  ; 
and  at  length  came  up  to  the  king's  table,  and  laid 
before  lum  a  letter,  and,  t'orlhwith  turning  her  horse, 
saluted  every  one  and  departed  :  when  the  letter  was 
read,  it  was  found  to  contain  animadversions  on  the 
King.  The  door-keeper,  being  threatened  for  admit- 
iiiig  her,  replied,  that  it  was  not  the  custom  of  the 
Kuig's  palace  tc  deny  admission  to  min.stiels,  espe- 
pecially  on  such  higii  solemnities  and  feast-days." 

In  Froissart,  too,  we  may  plainly  see  what  neces- 
sary appendages  to  greatness  the  minstrels  were  es- 
teemed, ami  upon  what  famili;ir  terms  they  lived  with 
their  masters.  When  the  four  Irish  kings,  who  had 
submitted  themselves  to  Richard  II.  of  England,  were 
sat  at  table,  "on  the  first  dish  being  served  they  made 
their  minstrels  and  principal  servants  sit  beside  them, 
and  eat  from  tlieir  plates,  and  drink  from  their  cups." 
The  knight  appointed  by  Richard  to  attend  them 
having  objected  to  this  custom,  on  another  day,  "  or- 
dered the  tables  to  be  laid  out  and  covered,  so  that 
the  kings  sat  at  an  upper  table,  the  minstrels  at  a  mid- 
dle one,  and  the  servants  lower  still.  The  royal 
guests  looked  at  each  other,  and  rtfuscd  to  eat,  say- 
ing, that  he  deprived  them  of  their  good  old  custom 
in  wliich  they  had  been  brought  up.'" 

However,  in  the  reign  of  Rdward  II.,  a  public  edict 
was  issued,  putting  a  check  upon  this  license,  and 
lin:iting  the  number  of  minstrels  to  four  per  diem  ad- 
missible to  the  tables  of  the  great.  It  seems,  too,  that 
Hbout  this  period  the  minstrels  had  sunk  into  a  kind 
of  upper  servants  of  tlie  aristocracy  :  they  wore  their 
lord's  livery,  and  sometimes  shaved  the  crown  of  their 
heads  like  monks. 

When  war  and  hunting  formed  almost  the  e.xclu- 
sivo  occupation  of  the  great;  when  their  surplus  re- 
venues could  only  be  employed  in  supporting  idle 
retainers,  and  no  better  means  could  be  devised  for 
passing  the  long  winter  evenings  than  drunkenness 
and  gambling,  it  may  readily  be  conceived  how  wel- 
come these  itinerant  nnisicians  must  have  been  in 
baronial  halls,  and  how  it  must  have  flattered  the  pride 
of  our  noble  ancestors  to  li.sten  to  the  eulogy  of  their 
own  achievements,  and  the  length  of  their  own  pedi- 
grees. 

Sir  William  Temple  says,  "the  great  men  of  the 
Irish  septs,  among  the  many  officers  of  their  family, 
which  continued  always  in  the  same  races,  had  not 
only  a  physician,  a  huntsman,  a  smith,  and  such  like, 
out  a  poet  and  a  tale-teller.  The  (irst  recorded  and 
sung  the  actions  of  their  ancestors,  and  entertained 
the  company  at  feasts;  the  latter  amused  them  with 
tales  when  they  were  mclanchoiy  and  could  not 
sleep;  and  a  very  gallant  gentleman  of  the  north  of 
Ireland  has  told  me,  of  Ins  own  experience,  that  in 
iis  wolf-huntings  there,  when  he  used  to  be  abroad  in 
the  mountains  three  or  four  days  together,  and  lay 
very  ill  a-nights,  so  as  he  could  not  well  sleep,  they 
would  bring  h-m  one  of  thcs"  tale-tellers,  that  when 
he  lay  down  would  begin  a  story  of  a  king,  a  giant,  a 
dwarf,  or  a  damsel,  and  such  rambling  stu.'f,  and  con- 
*inue  it  all  night  long  in  such  an  even  tone,  that  you 
heard  it  going  on  whenever  you  awaked,  and  believed 
nothing  any  physicians  give  could  liave  so  good  and 


so  innocent  an  effect  to  make  men  sleep,  in  any  pams 
or  distempers  of  body  or  m:nd." 

In  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  however,  civilization  had 
so  far  advanced,  that  the  music  wliich  had  led  avvaj 
the  great  lords  of  antiquity  no  longer  availed  to  de- 
lude the  human  understanding,  or  to  prevent  it  from 
animadverting  on  the  pernicious  effects  produced  by 
those  who  cultivated  the  tuneful  art.  Spenser,  in  liia 
view  of  the  state  of  Ireland,  says,  "  There  is  among 
the  Irish  a  certain  kind  of  people  called  Bardes,  which 
are  to  them  instead  of  poets,  whose  profession  is  to 
set  forth  the  praises  or  dispraises  of  men  in  tlieir 
poems  or  rithmes ;  the  which  are  had  in  so  high  re- 
gard and  estimation  among  them,  that  none  dare  dis- 
please them,  for  fear  to  run  into  reproach  through 
their  otlence,  and  to  be  made  infamous  in  the  moullia 
of  all  men.  For  their  verses  are  taken  up  with  a  ge- 
neral applause,  and  usually  sung  at  all  feasts  and 
meetings  by  certain  other  persons  whose  proper 
function  that  is,  who  also  receive  for  the  same  gre.at 
rewards  and  reputation  among  them.  These  Irish 
Bardes  are,  for  the  most  part,  so  far  from  instructing 
young  men  in  moral  discipline,  that  them.';elves  do 
more  deserve  to  be  sharply  disciplined  ;  for  they  sel- 
dom use  to  choose  unto  themselves  the  doings  of 
good  men  for  the  arguments  of  their  poems ;  but 
whomsoever  they  find  to  be  most  licentious  of  life, 
most  bold  and  lawless  in  his  doings,  most  dangerous 
and  desperate  in  all  parts  of  disobedience  and  rebel- 
lious disposition  :  him  they  set  up  and  "-lorifie  in  their 
rithmes ;  him  they  praise  to  the  people,  and  to  young 
men  make  an  example  to  follow  "  The  moralizing 
poet  then  continues  to  show  the  "effect  of  evil  things 
being  decked  with  the  attire  of  goodly  words,"  on 
the  affections  of  a  young  mind,  which,  as  he  observes, 
"  cannot  rest ;"  for,  "  if  he  be  not  busied  in  some 
goodness,  he  will  find  himself  such  business  as  shall 
soon  busy  all  about  him.  In  which,  if  he  shall  find 
any  to  praise  him,  and  to  give  him  encouragement,  as 
those  Hardes  do  for  liltle.  reward,  or  a  share  of  a  stolen 
cow,  then  waseth  he  most  insolent,  and  half  mad  with 
the  love  of  himself  and  his  own  lewd  deeds.  And  as 
for  words  to  set  forth  such  lewdness,  it  is  not  hani  for 
them  to  give  a  goodly  and  painted  shov,-  thereunto, 
borrowed  even  from  the  praises  wliich  are  proper  to 
virtue  itself;  as  of  a  most  notorious  thief  and  wicked 
outlaw,  which  had  lived  all  his  life-time  of  spoils  and 
robberies,  one  of  their  Bardes  in  his  praise  will  say, 
tliat  he  was  none  of  the  idle  milksops  that  was  brought 
up  to  the  fire-side ;  but  that  most  of  his  days  he  spent 
in  arms  and  valiant  enterprises — that  he  did  never  eat 
his  me.it  before  he  had  won  it  with  his  sword  ;  that 
he  lay  not  all  night  in  slugging  in  a  cabin  under  his' 
mantle,  but  used  commonly  to  keep  others  waking  ti* 
defend  their  lives;  and  did  light  his  candle  at  Ifia 
flames  of  their  houses  to  lead  him  in  the  darkness ; 
that  the  day  was  his  night,  and  the  night  his  day  ;  that 
he  loved  not  to  be  long  wooing  of  wenches  to  y'eld 
to  him,  but,  where  he  came,  he  took  by  force  the  spoil 
of  other  men's  love,  and  left  but  lamentation  to  their 
lovers ;  that  his  music  was  not  the  harp,  nor  the  lays 
of  love,  but  the  cries  of  people  and  the  clashing  of 
armour;  and,  finally,  that  he  died,  not  bewailed  of 
many,  but  made  many  wail  when  he  died,  that  dearly 
bought  his  death." 

It  little  occurred  to  Spenser  that,  in  thus  reprobatuig 


24 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


itipsc  poor  bards,  lie  was  giving  a)i  admirable  analysis 
•i(  the  machinery  and  etiects  of  almost  all  that  poets 
have  ever  done  I 

In  1563 severe  enactments  were  issued  against  these 
ecntlemen,  to  which  was  annexed  the  following — 
"  Ilan,  for  thr.t  those  rhfimerx  do,  by  their  ditties  and 
rhymes,  made  to  dyvers  lordes  and  gentlemen  in  Ire- 
land, in  the  commenddcion  and  Itifrlie  praisK  of  extor- 
tion, rebeHinn,  rape,  raven,  and  oulhere  injustice,  eri- 
rourase  those  lordes  and  gentlemen  rather  to  follow 
those  vire.1  than  to  leve  them,  and  for  making  of  such 
rhi/TKes,  rewards  are  given  bi/  the  xaid  lordes  and  gen- 
^.'emeii ;  that  for  abolishiiige  of  soo  hcynouse  an 
louse,"  etc.,  etc. 

Tlie  feudal  system,  which  encouraged  the  poetical 
state  of  manners,  and  afloriied  the  minstrels  worthy 
8ub|ects  for  their  strains,  received  a  severe  blow  from 
the  policy  pursued  by  Elizabeth.  This  was  followed 
lip  by  Oomwell,  and  consummated  by  King  William, 
cf  Orange  memory. 

More  recently  a  Scotch  writer  observes,  "  In  Ire- 
land the  harpers,  the  or  ginal  composers,  and  the 
chief  d(>positories  of  that  music,  have,  t;ll  lately,  been 
uniformly  cherished  and  supported  by  the  nobility  and 
gentry.  They  endeavoured  to  outdo  one  another  in 
playing  the  airs  that  were  most  esteemed,  with  cor- 
rectness, and  with  their  proper  ex[>ression.  The 
taste  for  that  style  of  performance  seems  now,  how- 
ever, to  be  declining.  The  native  harpers  are  not 
much  encouraged.  A  number  of  their  airs  have  come 
into  the  hands  of  foreign  musicians,  who  have  at- 
tempted to  fashion  them  according  to  the  model  of 
the  modern  music ;  and  these  acts  arc  considered  in 
the  country  as  capital  improvements." 

We  have  gone  into  the  above  details,  not  only  be- 
cause they  are  in  themselves  interesting  and  illustra- 
tive of  the  "  Irish  Melodies,"  biit  because  we  fully 
coincide  with  the  bard  of  "(~^hilde  Harold,"  that  the 
lasting  celebrity  of  Moore  will  be  found  in  his  lyrical 
compositions,  with  which  his  name  and  fame  will  be 
inseparably  and  immortally  connected. 

Mr.  Moore  possesses  a  singular  facility  of  seizing 
and  expressing  the  prevailing  association  which  a 
given  air  is  calculated  to  inspire  in  the  minds  of  the 
g'catest  number  of  hearers,  and  has  a  very  felicitous 
talent  in  making  this  discovery,  even  through  the  en- 
velopes of  preijudice  or  vulgarity.  The  alchemy  by 
which  he  is  thus  accustomed  to  turn  dross  into  gold 
IS  really  surprising.  The  air  which  now  seems  framed 
for  tlie  sole  purpose  of  giving  the  highest  etTect  to  the 
refined  and  elegant  ideas  contained  in  the  stanzas 
"•Sing,  sing — music  was  given,"  has  for  years  been 
known  only  as  attached  to  the  words  of"  Oh  !  whack ! 
Judy  0'I''lanag;;n,  etc.,"  and  the  words  usually  sung 
0  the  tune  of  Cumilum  are  of  the  same  low  and  lu- 
dicrous description.  He  possesses,  also,  in  a  high 
decree,  that  remarkable  gift  of  a  poetical  imagination, 
which  consists  in  elevating  and  dignifying  the  mcan- 
SRt  subject  on  which  it  chooses  to  expatiate  : 

As  iIk'V,  who  to  their  nourli  al  iii','lil 
Would  welcome  Hl(;e[),  firsi  (|Mi'iirli  the  liylil — 
Bu  must  tlip  hopcH  that  keep  tliiti  breast 
Awake,  be  f|ucncli'(l,  e'er  it  can  rest. 
CoM,  cold  uiy  heart  mum  grow, 
''nchaugeUhy  either  joy  or  woe, 


Like  IVefXihg  t'uuiils,  win 
Wi  liiti  llieir  curittnl  turni 


ic  :ill  Ihiil'b  tlinjvvn 


The  ingenuity  with  which  the  above  simde  is  ap 
plied,  is  not  more  remarkable  than  the  success  wiiii 
which  the  homely  image  of  putting  out  the  bed-candle 
before  we  sleep,  is  divested  of  every  particle  of  vul- 
garity. 

In  the  same  way,  and  with  equal  faciluy,  the  sud- 
den revival  of  forgotten  feelings,  at  meeting  war, 
1  friends  from  whom  we  have  been  long  se])arated,  is 
compared  to  the  discovering,  by  the  application  ol 
heat,  letters  written  invisibly  with  sympathetic  ink  : — 

What  soften'd  remembianoes  come  o'er  the  lieart 

In  giizing  on  tliose  wo'vi-  Ixiii  lost  to  so  long! 
The  sorrows,  the  joys,  of  which  once  thoy  were  part 

Still  round  tiiem,  like  visions  of  yosliidny,  throng 
As  letters  some  liand  hath  invisibly  traced, 

Whi  n  held  to  Ihf  Hane  will  steal  oul  to  the  sight; 
^=ll  iiiaiiv  ;i  t"  eling  thai  long  seem'd  effuccd. 

Till'  warmtli  of  a  mnetini;  like  this  brink's  to  light, 

"  Rich  and  Rare,"  taking  music,  words  and  al\  is 
worth  an  epic  poem  to  the  Irish  nation, — simple, 'en- 
der,  elegant,  sublime:,  it  is  the  very  essence  of  poeir) 
and  music ; — there  is  not  one  simile  or  conceit,  noi 
one  idle  crotchet  to  be  met  with  throughout. 

The  musical  as^well  as  the  poetical  taste  of  the 
author  is  evident  in  every  line,  nor  is  one  allowed  tc 
shine  at  the  expense  of  the  other.  Moore  has  com 
posed  some  beautiful  airs,  but  seems  shy  of  exercising 
this  ficulty,  dreading,  perhaps,  that  success  in  thai 
pursuit  would  detract  from  his  poetical  fame.  Tl.e 
union  of  these  talents  is  rare,  and  some  have  affirmed 
that  they  even  exclude  one  another.  Wlien  Gretry 
visited  Voltaire  at  Ferney,  the  philosopher  paid  hnn 
a  compliment  at  the  expense  of  his  profession : 
"  Voiis  etes  musicien,"  said  Voltaire,  "et  vous  avez 
de  I'esprit:  cola  est  trop  rare  pour  que  je  ne  prenne 
pas  a  vous  le  plus  vif  interet."  Nature  certainly  may 
be  supposed  not  over-inclined  to  be  prodigal  in  be- 
stowing on  the  same  object  the  several  gifts  that  are 
peculiarly  hers ;  but,  as  far  as  the  assertion  rests  on 
experience,  it  is  powerfully  contradicted  by  the  names 
of  Moore  and  Rousseau. 

The  late  Mr.  Charles  Wolfe,  having  both  a  literary 
and  a  musical  turn,  occasionally  employed  himself  in 
adapting  words  to  national  melodies,  and  in  writing 
characteristic  introductions  to  popular  songs.  Being 
fond  of  "The  Last  Rose  of  Summer"  (Irish  Mei,. 
No.  V.)  he  composed  the  following  tale  for  its  illus- 
tration : 

"This  is  the  grave  of  Dermid  : — He  was  the  ocs* 
minstrel  among  us  all, — a  youth  of  romantic  genius, 
and  of  the  most  tremulous,  and  yet  the  most  impelu 
oils  feeling.  He  knew  all  our  old  nntional  airs,  of 
every  character  and  description :  accortling  as  his 
song  was  in  a  lofty  or  a  mournful  strain,  the  village 
represented  a  camp  or  funeral ;  but  if  Dermid  were 
in  his  merry  mood,  the  lads  and  lasses  hurried  into  n 
dance,  with  a  giddy  and  irresistible  gaiety.  One  day 
our  chieftain  committed  a  cruel  and  wanton  outrage 
against  one  of  our  peaceful  villagers.  Dermid's  harp 
was  in  his  hand  when  he  heard  it : — with  all  the 
thoughtlessness  and  independent  sensibility  of  a  poel'.s 
indignation,  he  struck  the  chords  that  never  spoke 
without  resDonse,  and  the  detestation  l)ecame  liniver- 


sal.     lie  was  driven  from  amongst  us  hy  our  enraged 
chief;  and  all   his  relations,  and  the  maid  he  loved, 
stlended   the   tninstrcl    into   tlie    wide    world.     For 
three  years  there  were  no  tidings  of  Uermid  ;  and  the 
sciiijj  and  the  dance  were  silent;  when  one  of  our  lit- 
tle boys  came  running  in,  and  told  us  that  ho  saw  our 
niiiisirel   approaching  at  a  distance.     Instantly  the 
whole  village  was  in  commotion ;   the  youths  and 
maidens  assembled  on  the  green,  and  agreed  to  ccle- 
hrate   the  arrival   of  their  poet   with   a   tlaiicc ;   they 
fixed  upon  the  air  he  was  to   play  for  them  ;  it  was 
the  merriest  of  his  collection  :  the  ring  was  formed  ; 
all  looked  eagerly  to  tlie  quarter  from  which  he  was 
to  arrive,  determined  to  greet  tiieir  favourite  bard  with 
i  cheer.     But  tliey  were  checked  the  instant  he  ap- 
peared; he  came  slowly,  and  languidly,  and  loitcringly 
along ;  his  countenance  had  a  cold,  dim,  and  careless 
aspect,  very  difl'ereiit  from  that  exjiressive  cheerfulness 
which  marked  his  features,  even  in  his  more  melancho- 
ly moments  ;  his  harp  v,as  swinging  heavily  upon  his 
arm;  it  seemed  a  burthen  to  him;  it  was  nmch  shattered, 
and  some  of  I  he  strings  were  broken.  lie  looked  at  us 
for  a  few  moments,  then,  relapsing  into  vacancy,  ad- 
vanced without  quickening  his  pace,  to  his  accustomed 
stone,  and  sate  down  in  silence.     After  a  pause,  we 
ventured  to  ask  him  for  his  friends  ; — he  first  looked 
up  sharp  in  our  flices,  next  down  upon  his  harp  ;  then 
struck  1  few  notes  of  a  wild  and  desponding  melody, 
which  we  had  never  heard  before  ;  biit  his  hand  drop- 
ped, and  he  did   not  finish  it. — Again  we  paused  : — 
then  knowing  well  that,  if  we  could  give  the  smallest 
mirlhful  impulse  to  his  feelings,  his  whole  soul  would 
soon  follow,  we  asked  him  lor  the  merry  air  we  had 
chosen.     We  were  surprised  at  the  readiness  with 
which  he  seemed  to  comply  ;  but  it  was  the  same  wild 
and   heart-breaking  strain  he  had  commenced.     In 
fact,  we  found  that  the  soul  of  the  minstrel  had  be- 
come an  entire  void,  except  one  solitary  ray  that  vi- 
brated sluggishly  through  its  very  darkest  path  ;  it  was 
like  tlie  sea  in  a  dark  calm,  which  you  only  know  to 
be  in  motion  by  the  paining  which  you  hear.     He 
had  totally  forgotten  every  trace  of  his  former  strains, 
not  only  those  that  were  more  gay  and  airy,  but  even 
those  of  a  more  pensive  cast ;  and  he  had  gotten  in 
their  stead  that  one  dreary  simple  melody ;   it  was 
about  a  Lonely  Rose,  that  had  outlived  all   its  com- 
panions ;  this  he  continued  singing  and  playing  from 
day  to  day,  until  he  spread  an  unusual  gloom  over  the 
whole  village :  he  seemed  to  perceive  it,  for  he  re- 
tired  to  the  church-yard,  and   continued    repairing 
thither  to  sing  it  to  the  day  of  his  death.    The  atllicted 
constantly  resorted  there  to  hear  it,  and  he  died  sing- 
ing it  to  a  maid  who  had  lost  her  lover.     The  orphans 
have  learnt  it,  and  still  chauiit  it  over  Dermid's  grave." 

"The  Fudge  Family  in  Paris"  is  a  most  humorous 
^ork,  written  partly  in  the  style  of  "The  Twopenny- 
Post  Rag."  These  poetical  epistles  reinuid  many 
persons  of  the  "  Hath  (iuide,"  but  a  comparison  can 
h  rdly  be  supported;  the  plan  oi'  Mr.  Moore's  work 
b<  ng  less  extensive,  and  the  subject  more  ephemeral. 
We  pity  the  man,  however,  who  has  not  felt  pleased 
witn  this  book ;  even  those  who  disapprove  the  au- 
thor's politics,  and  his  treating  Royalty  with  so  little 
r'-verence,  must  be  bigoted  and  Joyal  to  an  excess  if 
ihey  deny  his  wit  and  humour. 

I^lr.  Monve,  i"   his  pieface  to  the  "Loves  of  the 


.\ngels,"  states,  that  he  had  somewhat  hasttmed  lii.s 
publication,  to  avoid  the  disadvantage  of  having  his 
work  appear  after  his  friend  Lord  Hyron's  "H<.-iven 
and  Karth;"  or,  as  he  ingeniously  expresses  it,  "by 
an  earlier  appearance  in  the  literary  horizon,  to  give 
myself  the  chance  of  what  astronomers  call  a.lieliunil 
rixirnr,  before  the  luminary,  in  wiiose  light  I  was  to 
be  lost,  should  appear."  This  was  an  amiable,  but  by 
no  means  a  reasonable  modesty.  The  light  that  plays 
round  Mr.  Moore's  verses,  tender,  exquisite,  and  bril- 
liant, was  in  no  danger  of  being  extinguished  even  in 
the  sullen  glare  of  Lord  Byron's  genius.  One  might 
as  well  expect  an  aurora  boreaiis  to  be  put  out  by  an 
eruption  of  Mount  Vesuvius.  Though  both  bright 
stars  in  the  finnament  of  modern  poetry,  they  w^ere  as 
distant  and  unlike  as  Saturn  and  Mercury;  and 
though  their  rising  might  be  at  the  same  time,  they 
never  moved  in  the  same  orb,  nor  met  or  jostled  in 
the  wide  trackless  way  of  fancy  and  invention. 

Though    these   two    celebrated    writers    in   some 
measure  divided  the  poetical  public  between  them, 
yet  it  was  not  the  same  public  whose  favour  they  se- 
verally enjoyed  in  the  highest  degree.     Though  both 
read  and  admired  in  the  same  extended  circle  of  taste 
and  fashion,  each  was  the  favourite  of  a  totally  dift'er- 
ent  set  of  readers.     Thus  a  lover  may  p,ay  the  same 
attention  to  two  different  women  ;  but  he  only  means 
to  Hirt  with  the  one,  while  the  other  is  the  mistress 
of  his  heart.     The  gay,  the  fair,  the  witty,  the  happy, 
idolize  Mr.  Moore's  delightful  muse,  on  her  pedestal 
of  airy  smiles  or  transient  tears.     Lord  Byron's  se- 
verer verse  is  enshrined  in  the  breasts  of  those  whose 
gaiety  has  been  turned  to  gall,  whose  fair  exterior  has 
a  canker  within — whose  mirth  has  received  a  rebuke 
as  if  it  were  folly,  from  whom  happiness  has  fled  like 
a  dream  !     By  comparing  the  odds  upon  the  knowr 
chances  of  human  life,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  ad- 
mirers of  his  lordship's  works  should  be  more  numer- 
ous than  those  of  h's  more  agreeable  rival.     We  are 
not  going  to  soeak  of  any  preference  we  inay  have, 
but  we  beg  leai'e  to  make  a  distinction.     The  poetry 
of  Moore  is  es'fintially  that  of  /unci/,  the  poetry  of 
Byron  that  of  jHixsion.     If  there  is  passion  in  the  eifu. 
sions  of  the  one,  the  fancy  by  which  it  is  expressed 
predominates  over  it ;  if  fancy  is  called  to  the  aid  of 
the  other,  it  is  still  subservient  to  the  passion.     Lord 
Byron's  jests   are   downright   earnest ;   I\Ir.  Jloore. 
when  he  is  most  serious,  seems  half  in  jest.     The 
latter  dallies  and  trifles  with  his  subject,  caresses  and 
grows  enamoured  of  it ;  the  former  grasped  it  eagerly 
to  his  bosom,  lireathed  death  upon  it,  and  turned  from 
it  with  loathing  or  dismay.     The  fine  aroma  that  is 
exhaled  from  the  flowers  of  poesy,  every  where  lends 
its  perfume  to  the  verse  of  the  bard  of  Erin.   The  noble 
bard  (less  fortunate  in  his  muse)  tried  to  extract  poison 
from  them.     If  Lord  Byron  cast  his  own  views  or  feel- 
ings upon  outward  objects  f  jaundicing  the  sun,)  iMr. 
^loore  seems  to  exist  in  the  delights,  the  virgin  fancies 
of  nature.  He  is  free  of  the  Rosicrucian  society;  am' 
in  ethereal  existence  among  troops  of  sylphs  aiul 
spirits, — in  a  perpetual  vision  of  wings,  flowers,  r.iin- 
bows,  smiles,  blushes,  tears,  and  kisses.     Every  page 
of  his  work  is  a  vignette,  every  line  that  he  writes 
glows  or  sparkles,  and  it  would  seem  (to  quote  again 
the  expressive  words  of  Sheridan)  "as  if  his  airy 
spirit,  drawn  from  the  sun,  continually  fluttered  with 


26 


A  SKETCH  OF  TPI03IAS  WOORE. 


Tond  aspirations,  to  regain  that  native  source  of  light 
and  heat."  The  worst  is,  our  author's  mind  is  too 
vivid,  too  active,  to  suti'er  a  moment's  repose.  We 
are  cloyed  with  sweetness,  and  dazzled  with  splen- 
dour. Every  image  must  blush  celestial  rosy  red, 
love's  proper  hue ; — every  syllable  must  breathe  a 
sigh.  A  sentiment  is  lost  m  a  simile — the  simile  is 
overloaded  with  an  epithet.  It  is  "  like  morn  risen  on 
mid-noon."  No  eventful  story,  no  powerful  contrast, 
no  moral,  none  of  the  sordid  details  of  human  life  (all 
IS  ethereal ;)  none  of  its  sharp  calamities,  or,  if  they 
inevitably  occur,  his  muse  throws  a  soft,  glittering 
veil  over  them, 

Like  moDiilight  on  a  tioiibled  sea, 
Briglitt-niiig  llie  storm  it  cannot  calm. 

We  do  not  believe  that  Mr.  Moore  ever  writes  a 
line  that  in  itself  would  not  pass  for  poetry,  that  is  not 
at  least  a  vivid  or  harmonious  common-place.  Lord 
Byron  wrote  whole  pages  of  sullen,  crabbed  prose, 
that,  like  a  long  dreary  road,  however,  leads  to  dole- 
ful shades  or  palaces  of  the  blest.  In  short  Mr. 
Moore's  Parnassus  is  a  blooming  Eden,  and  Lord 
Byron's  a  rugged  wilderness  of  shame  and  sorrow. 
On  the  tree  of  knowledge  of  the  first  you  can  see 
nothing  but  perpetual  flowers  and  verdure  ;  in  the  last 
you  see  the  naked  stem  and  rough  bark  ;  but  it  heaves 
a*,  intervals  with  inarticulate  throes,  and  you  hear  the 
shrieks  of  a  human  voice  within. 

Critically  speakmg,  Mr.  Moore's  poetry  is  chargea- 
ble with  two  peculiarities :  first,  the  pleasure  or  interest 
he  conveys  to  us  is  almost  always  derived  from  the 
first  impressions  or  physical  properties  of  objects,  not 
from  their  connexion  with  passion  or  circumstances. 
His  lights  dazzle  the  eye,  his  perfumes  soothe  the 
smell,  his  sounds  ravish  the  ear;  but  then  they  do  so 
for  and  from  themselves,  and  at  all  times  and  places 
equally — for  the  heart  has  little  to  do  with  it.  Hence 
we  observe  a  kind  of  fastidious  extravagance  in  Mr. 
Moore's  serious  poetry.  Each  thing  must  be  fine, 
soft,  exquisite  in  itself,  for  it  is  never  set  off  by  reflec- 
tion or  contrast,  it  glitters  to  the  sense  through  the 
atmosphere  of  mdiflerence.  Our  indolent  luxurious 
bard  does  not  whet  the  appetite  by  setting  us  to  hunt 
afler  the  game  of  human  passion,  and  's  therefore 
obliged  to  hamper  us  with  dainties,  seasoned  with 
rich  fancy  and  the  nauce  piquante  of  poetic  diction. 
Poetry,  in  his  hands,  becomes  a  kind  nf  cosmetic  art — 
it  is  tho  poetry  of  the  toilet.  His  muse  must  be  as 
fine  as  the  Lady  of  Loretto.  Now,  this  principle  of 
comiiosition  leads  not  only  to  a  defect  of  dramatic 
interest,  but  also  of  imagination.  For  every  thing  in 
this  world,  the  meanest  incident  or  object,  may  re- 
ceive a  light  and  an  importance  from  its  association 
with  other  objects,  and  with  the  heart  of  man  ;  and 
the  variety  thus  created  is  endless  as  it  is  striking  and 
profound.  But  if  we  begin  and  end  in  those  objects 
that  are  beautiful  or  dazzling  in  themselves  and  at  ilio 
first  blush,  wc  shall  soon  be  confined  to  a  human  re- 
gard of  self-pleasing  topics,  and  be  both  superficial 


and  wearisome.  It  is  ihe  fault  of  Mr  Wordsworth'* 
poetry  that  he  has  perversely  relied  too  much  (oi 
wholly)  on  this  reaction  of  the  imagination  on  sub- 
jects that  are  petty  and  repulsive  in  themselves  ;  and 
of  Mr.  Moore's,  that  he  appeals  too  exclusively  to 
the  flattering  support  of  sense  and  fancy.  Secondly, 
we  have  remarked  that  Mr.  Moore  hardly  ever  de 
scribes  entire  objects,  but  abstract  qualities  of  objects 
It  is  not  a  picture  that  he  gives  us,  but  an  inventing 
of  beauty.  He  takes  a  blush,  or  a  smile,  and  runs  on 
whok  stanzas  in  ecstatic  praise  of  it,  and  then  diverges 
to  the  sound  of  a  voice,  and  "discourses  eloquent 
music"  on  the  subject ;  but  it  might  as  well  be  the 
light  of  heaven  that  he  is  describing,  or  the  voice  of 
echo — we  have  no  human  figure  before  us,  no  pal- 
pable reality  answering  to  any  substantive  form  or 
nature.  Hence  we  think  it  may  be  explained  why  it 
is  that  our  author  has  so  little  picturesque  etTect — with 
such  vividness  of  conception,  such  insatiable  ambition 
after  ornament,  and  such  an  inexhaustible  and  de- 
lightful play  of  fancy.  Mr.  Moore  is  a  colourist  id 
poetry,  a  musician  also,  and  has  a  heart  full  of  ten- 
derness and  susceptibility  for  all  that  is  delightful  and 
amiable  in  itself,  and  that  does  not  require  the  ordeal 
of  surtering,  of  crime,  or  of  deep  thought,  to  stamp  it 
with  a  bold  character.  In  this  we  conceive  consists 
the  charm  of  his  poetry,  which  all  the  world  feels, 
but  which  it  is  difficult  to  explain  scientifically,  ana 
in  conformity  to  transcendant  rules.  It  has  the  charic 
of  the  softest  and  most  brilliant  execution  ;  there  is  no 
wrinkle,  no  deformitj'  on  its  smooth  and  shining  sur 
face.  It  has  the  charm  which  arises  from  the  con 
tinual  desire  to  please,  and  from  the  spontaneous 
sense  of  pleasure  in  the  author's  mind.  Without 
being  gross  in  the  smallest  degree,  it  is  voluptuous  in 
the  higliest.  It  is  a  sort  of  sylpli-like  spiritualized 
sensuality.  So  far  from  being  licentious  in  his  Lalla 
Rookh,  Mr.  Moore  has  become  moral  and  sentimental 
(indeed  he  was  always  the  last,)  and  tantalizes  his 
young  and  fair  readers  witli  the  glittering  shadows 
and  mystic  adumbrations  of  evanescent  deliglits 
He,  in  fine,  in  his  courtship  o."  the  Muses,  resembles 
thijfle  lovers  who  always  say  the  soflest  things  on  all 
occasions;  who  smile  with  irresistible  good  humoiii 
It  their  own  success;  whobanisti  pain  and  truth  from 
their  thoughts,  and  who  impart  the  delight  they  feel 
in  tl>einselves  unconsciously  to  others  '  Mr.  Moore's 
poetry  is  the  thornless  rose — its  touch  is  velvet,  its 
liiie  vermilion,  and  its  graceful  form  is  cast  in  beauty's 
mould.  Lord  Byron's,  on  the  contrary,  is  a  prickly 
bramble,  ot  sometimes  a  deadly  upas,  of  form  uncouth 
and  uninviting,  that  has  its  root  in  the  clefts  of  tht 
rock,  and  its  head  mocking  the  skies,  that  wars  with 
the  thunder-cloud  and  tempest,  and  round  which  the 
loud  cataracts  roar. 
We  here  conclude  our  Sketch  of 

Aiiiicreoii  Moore, 
To  wliom  the  Lyre  and  Luui(^ls  iiave  been  given 
With  all  llic  trophies  of  iriurnphant  song— 
/ie  won  l/iem  well,  and  may  he  wear  them  longl 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


Thomas  Moore. 


LAL.L.A  ROOKH; 

AN  ORIExXTAL  ROMANCE. 


TO  SAMUEL  ROGERS,  ESa 
77//.S-  rOKM  IS  nKDIC.iTF.n, 
BY    HIS    VERY    GRATEFUL    AND    AFFECTIONATE    FRIEND, 
May  19,  1817.  THOMAS  MOORE. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


fx  the  eleventh  year  of  the  reign  of  Aiirungzebe, 
Abdal'ii,  King  of  the  Lesser  Biicharia,  a  lineal  de- 
scendant from  the  (ireat  Zingis,  having  abdicated  the 
throne  in  favour  of  his  son,  set  out  on  a  pilgrimage 
to  the  Shrine  of  the  Prophet ;  and,  passing  into  India 
ihrongh  the  delightful  valley  of  ("ashmere,  rested  for 
a  short  time  at  Delhi  on  his  way.  He  was  entertained 
by  Aurung/ebe  in  a  style  of  magnificent  hospitality, 
worthy  alike  of  the  visiter  and  the  host,  and  was 
af'erwards  escorted  with  the  same  splendour  to  Sural, 
where  he  embarked  for  Arabia.  During  the  stay  of 
the  Royal  Pilgrim  at  Delhi,  a  marriage  was  agreed 
ujion  between  the  Prince,  his  son,  and  the  youngest 
daughter  of  the  Emperor,  Lai.i.a  Rookii'  ; — a  Prin- 
cess described  by  poets  of  her  time,  as  more  beauti- 
ful than  Lftlia,  Shrine,  Dewilde,  or  any  of  those  hero- 
ines whose  names  and  loves  embellish  the  songs  of 
Persia  and  Ilindostan.  It  was  intended  that  the  nup- 
tials should  be  celebrated  at  Cashmere ;  where  the 
young  King,  as  soon  as  the  cares  of  empire  would 
permit,  was  to  meet,  for  the  first  time,  his  lovely  bride, 
and  after  a  few  months'  repose  in  that  enchanting 
valley,  conduct  her  over  the  snowy  hills  into  Bucharia. 
The  day  of  Lai.i.a  Rookh's  departure  from  Delhi 
was  as  splendid  as  sunshine  and  pageantry  could 
maKc  it.  The  bazaars  and  baths  were  all  covered 
with  the  richest  tapestry  ;  hundreds  of  gilded  barges 
upon  the  .lumna  floated  with  their  banners  shining  In 
the  water;  while  th.rough  the  streets  groups  of  beau- 
tiful children  went  strewing  the  most  delicious  flow- 
eri  around,  as  in  that  Persian  festival  called  the  Scat- 
*«nng  of  the  Roses- ;  till  every  part  of  the  city  was 


1  Tulip  Cheek. 


2  Gul  Roa/.oe. 


as  fragrant  as  if  a  caravan  of  musk  from  Khoten  hac 
passed  through  it.  The  Princess,  having  taken  leave 
of  her  kind  father,  who  at  parting  hung  a  cornelian 
of  Yemen  round  her  neck,  on  which  was  inscribed  a 
verse  from  the  Koran, — and  having  sent  a  considerable 
present  to  the  Fakirs,  who  kept  jp  the  Perpetual  Lamp 
in  her  sister's  tomb,  meekly  ascended  the  palankeen 
prepared  for  her;  and,  while  xVurungzebe  stood  to 
!  take  the  last  look  from  his  balcony,  tlie  procession 
moved  slowly  on  the  road  to  Lahore. 
I  Seldom  had  the  Eastern  world  seen  a  cavalcade  so 
superb.  From  the  gardens  in  the  suburbs  to  the  Im- 
perial palace,  it  was  one  unbroken  line  of  splendour. 
The  gallant  appearance  of  the  Rajas  and  Mogul  lords, 
distinguished  by  those  insignia  of  the  Kmperor's  fa- 
vour, the  feathers  of  the  egret  of  Cashmere  in  their 
turbans,  and  the  small  silver-rinmied  kettle-drums  ai 
the  bows  of  their  saddles ; — the  costly  armour  of 
their  cavaliers,  who  vied  on  this  occasion,  with  the 
guards  of  the  great  Keder  Khan,  in  the  brightness  of 
their  silver  battle-a.\es  and  ihemassiness  oftlieirmacea 
of  gold  ;^-the  glittering  of  the  gilt  pine  apples  on  the 
tops  of  the  palankeens; — the  embroidered  tj.ippmgs 
of  the  elephants,  bearing  on  their  baclts  small  lurreis, 
in  the  shape  of  little  antique  temples,  within  wh:ch 
the  Ladies  of  La  Li.A  Rookii  lay,  as  it  were,  enshrined, 
the  rose-coloured  veils  of  the  Princess's  own  sump 
tuous  litter,  at  the  front  of  which  a  fair  young  female 
slave  sat  fanning  her  through  the  curtains,  with  fea- 
thers of  the  .-\rgus  pheasant's  wing;  and  the  lovely 
troop  of  Tartarian  and  Cashmcrian  maids  of  honour, 
whom  the  young  King  had  sent  to  accompany  his 
bride,  and  who  rode  on  each  side  of  the  litter,  upon 
small  Arabian  horses; — all  was  brilliant,  tasteful,  and 
magniliccnt,  and  pleased  even  the  critical  and  fasti 
dious  Fadi.auken,  (Tfcal  Nazir  or  Chambfj.-iain  of 
the  Haram,  who  was  borne  in  Uis  palankeen  imin<> 

27 


28 


MOOUhrS  WORKS. 


riiiiK^ly  after  the  Princess,  and  considered  himself  not 
the  least  important  personage  of  llie  pageant. 

Fadi.adken  was  a  judge  of  every  thing,  from  the 
(lencdliiig  of  a  Circassian's  eye-hds  to  the  deepest 
•lucations  of  science  and  literature;  from  the  mixture 
of  a  conserve  of  rose-leaves  to  the  composition  of  an 
epic  poem  ;  and  such  influence  had  his  opinion  upon 
the  various  tastes  of  the  day,  that  all  the  cooks  and 
poets  of  Delhi  stood  in  awe  of  him.  His  political 
conduct  and  opinions  were  founded  upon  that  line  of 
Sadi,  "  Should  the  Prince  at  noon-day  sny,  it  is  night, 
declare  that  you  behold  the  moon  and  stars."  And 
his  zeal  for  religion,  of  which  Aurungzebe  was  a  mu- 
nificent protector,  was  about  as  disinterested  as  that 
of  the  goldsmith  who  fell  in  love  with  the  diamond 
eyes  of  the  idol  of  Jaghernaut. 

During  the  first  days  of  tlieir  journey,  Lalla 
R()()K4i,  who  had  passed  all  her  life  within  the 
shadow  of  the  Royal  Gardens  of  Delhi,  found  enough 
in  the  beauty  of  the  scenery  through  which  they 
passed  to  interest  her  mind  and  delight  her  imagina- 
tion ;  and,  when  at  evening,  or  in  the  heat  of  the 
day,  they  turned  off  from  the  high  road  to  those  re- 
tired and  romantic  places  which  had  been  selected 
for  her  encampments,  sometimes  on  the  banks  of  a 
small  rivulet,  as  clear  as  the  waters  of  the  Lake  of 
Pearl ;  sometimes  under  the  sacred  shade  of  a  Ban- 
yan tree,  from  which  the  view  opened  upon  a  glade 
covered  with  antelopes;  and  often  in  those  hidden, 
embowered  spots,  described  by  one  from  the  Isles 
of  the  West,  as  "  places  of  melancholy,  delight,  and 
sal'ety,  where  all  the  company  around  was  wild  pea- 
cocks and  turtle  doves  ;" — she  felt  a  charm  in  these 
scenes,  so  lovely  and  so  new  to  her,  .which,  for  a 
time,  made  her  indifferent  to  every  other  amusement. 
But 'Lalla  Roqkii  was  young,  and  the  young  love 
variety  ;  nor  could  the  conversation  of  her  ladies  and 
he  (ireat  C^hamberlain,  Fadladkkn,  (the  only  per- 
sons, of  course,  admitted  to  her  pavilion,)  sufliciently 
idliven  those  many  vacant  hours,  which  were  devoted 
neither  to  the  pillow  nor  the  palankeen.  There  was 
a  little  Persian  slave  who  sung  sweetly  to  the  Vina, 
\nd  who  now  and  then  lulled  the  Princess  to  sleep 
with  the  ancient  ditties  of  her  country,  about  the  loves 
of  Wamak  and  Ezra,  the  fair  haired  Zal  and  his  mis- 
tress Rodahver ;  not  forgetting  the  combat  of  Rustam 
with  the  terrible  White  Demon.  At  other  times  she 
was  amused  by  tliose  graceful  dancing  girls  of  Delhi, 
who  had  been  permitted  by  the  Bramir.s  of  the(ireal 
Pagoda  to  attend  her,  much  to  the  horror  of  the  good 
Mussulman  Faiji.adkkn,  who  could  see  nothing 
graceful  or  agreeable  in  idolaters,  and  to  whom  the 
very  tinkling  of  their  golden  anklets  was  an  aboini- 
natujii. 

But  these  and  many  other  diversions  were  repeated 
'ill  they  lost  all  their  charm,  and  the  nights  and  noon- 
days were  beginning  to  move  heavily,  when  at  lengtii. 
It  was  recollected  that,  among  the  attendants  sent  by 
the  bridegroom  was  a  young  poet  of  Oashmcre,  much 
Lclebraied  throughout  the  Valley  for  his  manner  of 
reciting  the  Suiries  of  the  Kast,  on  whom  his  Royal 
Master  had  conferred  the  privilege  of  being  admitted 
:o  the  p.ivilion  of  the  I'rincess^  that  he  might  help  to 
beguile  the  'edioiitrness  of  th>.  journey  by  some  of  his 
nio^t  agreeable  rrcitals.  A  the  mention  of  a  poet 
V  ^DLAliv^'CN  ele  "itt-'J  hie  c  '*'h.\\  eve-brov\s,  and,  hav- 


ing refreshed  his  faculties  with  a  dose  of  that  deli 
cious  opium,  which  is  distilled  from  the  black  poppy 
of  the  Thebais,  gave  orders  for  the  minstrel  to  be 
foithwith  introduced  into  the  presence. 

The  Princess,  who  had  once  in  her  life  seen  a  poet 
from  behind  the  screens  of  gauze  in  her  father's  hall, 
and  had  conceived  from  that  specimen  no  very  fa- 
vourable ideas  of  the  Cast,  e.xpectcd  but  little  in  this 
new  exhibition  to  interest  her ; — she  felt  inclined  how- 
ever to  alter  lier  opinion  on  the  very  first  appearance 
of  Feramorz.  He  was  a  youth  about  Lalla 
RooKii's  own  age,  and  graceful  as  that  idol  of  wo- 
men, Crishna,' — such  as  he  appears  to  their  young 
imaginations,  heroic,  beautiful,  breathing  music  from 
his  very  eyes,  and  exalting  the  religion  of  his  wor- 
shippers into  love.  His  dress  was  simple,  yet  not 
without  some  marks  of  costliness ;  and  the  Ladies  of 
the  Princess  were  not  long  in  discovering  that  the 
cloth,  which  encircled  his  high  Tartarian  cap,  was 
oi'  the  most  delicate  kind  that  the  shawl-goats  ol 
Tibet  supply.  Here  and  there,  too,  over  his  vest, 
which  was  confined  by  a  flowered  girdle  of  Kashan, 
hung  strings  of  fine  pearl,  disposed  with  an  air  ot 
studied  negligence ; — nor  did  the  exquisite  embroi- 
dery of  Ijis  sandals  escape  the  observation  of  these 
fair  critics ;  who,  however  they  might  give  vvay  to 
Faulaueen  upon  the  unimportant  topics  of  religion 
and  government,  had  the  spirits  of  martyrs  in  every 
thing  relating  to  such  momentous  matters  as  jewels 
and  embroidery. 

For  the  purpose  of  relieving  the  pauses  of  recita- 
tion by  music,  the  young  Cashmerian  held  in  his  hand 
a  kitar; — such  as,  in  old  times,  the  Arab  maids  of  the 
West  used  to  listen  to  by  moonliglit  in  the  gardens 
of  the  Alhambra — and  having  premised,  with  much 
humility,  that  the  story  he  was  about  to  relate  was 
founded  on  the  adventures  of  that  Veiled  Prophet  of 
Ivhorassan,  who,  in  the  year  of  the  Hegira  1(53, 
created  such  alarm  throughout  the  Eastern  Empire, 
made  an  obeisance  to  the  Princess,  and  thus  began : — 

THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF 
KllOllASSAN.' 


L\  that  delightful  Province  of  the  Sun, 
The  first  of  Persian  lands  he  shines  upon. 
Where,  all  the  loveliest  children  of  his  beam, 
Flowrets  and  fruits  blush  over  every  stream. 
And,  fairest  of  all  streams,  the  Mijrca  roves. 
Among  JMkrou's^  bright  palaces  and  groves; — 
There,  on  that  throne,  to  which  the  blind  belief 
Of  millions  rais'd  him,  sat  the  Prophet-Chief, 
The  (ireat  Mokanna.     O'er  his  features  hung 
The  Veil,  the  Silver  Veil,  which  he  had  'lung 
In  mercy  there,  to  hide  from  mortal  sight 
His  dazzling  brow,  till  man  could  bear  its  light 
l'"or,  far  less  luminous,  his  votaries  sai<l 
Were  ev'n  the  gleams,  miraculously  shed 
O'er  Moussa's'  clitek,  when  down  the  mount  he  trod 
All  glowing  from  the  presence  of  his  (iod  ! 

On  either  side,  with  ready  hearts  and  hands. 
His  chosen  guard  of  bold  Believers  stands; 

1  'I'll.'  Iiiiliaii  A|i<'ll(i. 

■2  Kluiriissni  si;;iiilirs,  in   tlio  olil  Persian  lan^'iiaijc.  Pro 
viiK-i'.  or  rus'oii  cif  ilic  .-iiM.      .^/>  II  .  .Iinics. 
:t  Oiiii  1)1'  till'  lioyui  cilies  <il'  KlKirassaii.  4  Moso 


I.ALLA  ROOKH 


2'.) 


>'.iiiiig  tire-f')c(l  disputants,  who  duiMii  ilicir  swords, 
Un  points  of  laitli,  more  cloqiK'nl  ihiiii  words; 
And  such  thiMr  /.eul,  there's  not  a  youth  witli  brand 
Uphl'lcd  there,  but,  at  tlie  Chiefs  command, 
Woidd  make  his  own  devoted  heart  its  sheath. 
And  bless  the  hps  that  doomVI  so  dear  a  death  ! 
In  hatred  to  the  Calipli's  hue  of  night,' 
Their  vesture,  helms  and  all,  is  snowy  white; 
Their  weapons  various; — some,  equipp  d  for  speed, 
With  javelins  of  tlic  light  Kathalan  reed  ; 
Or  bows  of  Butlalo  horn,  and  shinnig  ipiivers 
ImDM  with  tlie  stems'-  that  bloom  on  Iran's  rivers; 
While  some,  for  w-ar's  more  terribie  attacks. 
Wield  the  huge  mace  and  ponderous  battle-axe ; 
And,  as  they  wave  aloft  in  morning's  beam 
The  milk-white  plumage  of  their  helms,  they  seem 
liike  a  chenar-tree  grove,  when  Winter  throws 
O'er  all  its  tufted  heads  his  feathering  snows. 
Between  the  porphyry  pillars,  that  uphold 
The  rich  moresque-work  of  the  roof  of  gold. 
Aloft  the  Haram's  curtain'd  galleries  rise. 
Where,  through  the  silken  not-work,  glancing  eyes, 
From  time  to  time,  like  sudden  gleams  that  glow 
Tlirougli  autumn  clouds,  shine  o'er  the  pomj)  below. — 
What  imj)ious  tongue,  ye  blushing  saints,  would  dare 
To  hint  that  aught  but  Heav'n  hat!)  plac'd  you  there? 
Or  that  the  loves  of  this  light  world  could  bind 
In  their  gross  chain,  your  Prophet's  soaring  mind? 
No — wrongful  thought! — commission'd  from  above 
To  people  Eden's  bowers  with  shapes  of  love, 
(Creatines  so  bright,  that  the  same  lips  and  eyes 
They  wear  on  earth  will  sei-ve  in  Paradise) 
There  to  recline  among  Heav'n's  native  maids. 
And  crown  th'  Klect  with  bliss  that  never  fades  ! — 
Well  hatli  the  Propiiet-Chief  his  bidding  done; 
And  every  beauteous  race  beneath  tlie  sun. 
From  those  who  kneel  at  Brahma's  burning  founts,' 
To  the  fresh  nymplis  bountluig  o'er  Yp:.m en's  mounts  ; 
From  Persia's  eyes  of  full  and  fawn-like  ray. 
To  the  small,  half-shut  glances  of  Katiiay  ;" 
And  (iK0R(iiA's  bloom  and  AzAtf's  darker  smiles, 
And  the  gold  ringlets  of  the  Western  Isles^, 
All,  all  are  there  ; — each  land  its  (lower  hath  given. 
To  form  that  fair  young  IS'urseij  for  Heaven ! 

But  why  this  pageant  now  ?  this  ann'd  array  ? 
What  triumph  crowds  the  rich  Divan  to-day 
With  tnrban'd  heads,  of  every  hue  and  race. 
Bowing  before  that  veil'd  and  awful  face. 
Like  tulip-beds,  of  different  shape  and  dyes. 
Bending  teneath  th'  in'^isible  West-wind's  sighs! 
What  new-made  mystery  now,  for  Faith  to  sign. 
And  blood  to  seal,  as  genuine  and  divine, — 
What  dazzling  mimxry  of  (lod's  own  power 
Flath  the  bold  Propliel  plann'd  to  grace  this  hour? 
Not  such  the  pageant  now,  though  not  less  proud,— 
Von  warrior  youth,  advancing  from  the  crowd, 
Willi  silver  bow,  with  belt  of  broider'd  crape. 
And  fur-bound  bonnet  of  Buchanan  shape, 
So  tierccly  beautiful  in  form  and  eye. 
Like  war's  wild  planet  in  a  summer's  sky  ; — 


1  Bliik  w;>s  the  colour  u(li>|ited  liy  llif  Caliphs  of  the 
(loisi^  of  .-X'.ihas,  in  llieir  girnieiils,  luibaiis,  and  sliinilards. 

2  Pirhula,  usrd  aiicieiUly  for  iirrows  by  the  Persians. 

3  The   huining   fouirains  of  Brahma  near  Chillogong, 
it«!eiiied  as  ho'y.     Turutfr. 

I  China 


That  youth  to-day, — a  proselyte,  worth  hordes 
Of  cooler  spirits  and  less  praclis'd  swords. — 
Is  come  to  join,  all  bravery  and  belief, 
The  creed  and  standard  of  the  heav'n-sent  CiiieS 

T.iongh  few  his  years,  the  West  already  knows 
Young  Azi.'m's  fame; — beyond  th'  Olympian  snowi 
Ere  manhood  darken'd  o'er  his  downy  cheek, 
O'erwhelrn'd  in  light  and  captive  to  the  (ireek,' 
lie  linger'd  there,  till  peace  d  ssolv'd  his  chains; 
Oh  !  who  could,  ev'n  in  bondage,  tread  the  plains 
Of  glorious  (Greece,  nor  feel  his  spirit  rise 
Kindling  within  li  m  ?  who,  with  heart  and  eves. 
('ould  walk  where  liberty  had  been,  nor  see 
The  shining  foot-prints  of  her  Ueity, 
Nor  feel  those  god-like  breathings  in  the  air 
VV  Inch  mutely  told  her  spirit  had  been  there  i 
Not  he,  that  youthful  warrior, — no,  too  well 
For  his  soul's  quiet  work'd  th'  awakening  speU ; 
And  now,  returning  to  his  own  dear  land, 
Full  of  those  dreams  of  good,  that,  vainly  grand, 
Haunt  the  young  heart ; — proud  views  of  human-Kind 
Of  men  to  Gods  e.xalted  and  retin'd  ; — 
False  views,  like  that  horizon's  fair  deceit, 
VV^here  earth  and  heav'n  but  seim,  alas,  to  meet !-  - 
Soon  as  he  heard  an  Arm  Divine  was  rais'd 
To  right  the  nations,  and  beheld,  emblaz'd 
On  the  white  flag  Mokanna's  host  unfurl'd, 
Those  words  of  sunshine,  "  Freedom  to  the  Woilo," 
At  once  his  faith,  his  sword,  his  soul  obeytl 
Th'  inspiring  summons  ;  every  chosen  biade. 
That  fought  beneath  that  banner's  sacred  te.\t, 
Seem'd  doubly  edg'd,  for  this  world  and  the  next ; 
And  ne'er  did  Faith  with  her  smooth  bandage  bind 
Eyes  more  devoutly  willing  to  be  blind, 
111  virtue's  cause; — never  was  soul  inspir'd 
Witii  livelier  tnist  in  what  it  most  desir'd. 
Than  his,  th'  enthusi.;st  there,  w'ro,  kneeling,  pale 
With  pious  awe,  before  that  Silve;  Veil, 
Believes  the  form,  to  which  he  benos  his  knee, 
Some  pure,  redeeming  angel,  sent  to  free 
This  fetter'd  world  from  every  bond  and  stain, 
\nA  bnng  its  primal  glories  back  again  . 

Low  as  young  AziM  knelt,  that  motley  crowd 
Of  all  earth's  nations  sunk  the  knee  and  bow'd. 
With  shouts  of  "  Ali.a  !"  echoing  long  and  loud  ; 
While  high  in  air,  above  the  Prophet's  head. 
Hundreds  of  banners,  to  the  sunbeam  spread, 
Wav'd,  like  the  wings  of  the  white  birds  that  fan 
The  flying  throne  of  star-taught  Soli.man  ! 
Then  thus  he  spoke : — "  Stranger,  though  new  ilj« 

frame 
Thy  soul  inhabits  now,  I've  track'd  its  flame 
For  many  an  age,-  in  every  chance  J"^"'  chanse 
Of  that  evijitence,  through  whose  varied  rr.nge, — 
.\s  through  a  torch-race,  w^here,  from  hand  to  hand 
The  flying  youths  transmit  their  shining  brand,- 
From  frame  to  fr;une  the  uncxtinguish'd  soul 
Rapidly  passes,  till  it  reach  the  goal ! 

"  Nor  think  'tis  only  the  gross  Spirits,  warm'd 
With  duskier  fire  and  for  earth's  medium  form'd, 


1  In  the  war  of  the  Cnliph   Mohadi  ag;iinsi   iho  Enipresi 
Irene  :  for  im  iicroiint  of  which,  sue  Gibbon,  vol.  x. 

2  The  triiiismigralioii  of  souls  was  one  of  his  doctrinea 
see  D'  Herbclut. 


30 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


That  run  this  course; — Beings,  the  most  divine, 

Tluis  deign  through  dark  mortality  to  shine. 

Such  was  the  Essence  that  in  Auam  dwelt, 

To  which  all  Heav'n,  except  the  l^roud  One,  knelJ ;' 

Such  the  rohn'd  Intelligence  that  glow'd 

In  3IotrssA's  fiame  ;— and,  thence  descending,  flow'i^ 

Through  many  a  prophet's  breast ; — in  Issa"  shone. 

And  in  Mohammed  burn'd  ;  till,  hastening  on, 

(As  a  blight  river  that,  from  fall  to  fall 

In  many  a  maze  descending,  bright  through  all. 

Finds  some  fair  region  where,  each  labyrinth  past. 

In  one  full  lake  of  light  it  rests  at  last !) 

That  Holy  Spirit,  settling  calm  and  free 

From  lapse  or  shadow,  centres  all  in  me !" 

Again,  throughout  th'  assembly  at  these  words, 
Thousands  of  voices  rung;  the  warrior's  swords 
Were  pointed  up  to  heav'n ;  a  sudden  wind 
In  th'  open  banners  play'd,  and  from  behind 
Those  P«"sian  hangings,  that  but  ill  could  screen 
The  Ilaram's  loveliness,  white  hands  were  seen 
Waving  embroider'd  scarves,  whose  motion  gave 
A  perfume  forth  ;— like  those  the  liouris  wave 
When  beckoning  to  their  bowers  the'  Immortal  Brave. 

"  But  these,"  pursued  the  Chief, "  are  truths  sublime. 
That  claim  a  holier  mood  and  calmer  time 
Than  earth  allows  us  now  ; — this  sword  must  first 
The  darkling  prison-house  of  mankind  burst, 
Ere  Peace  can  visit  them,  or  Truth  let  in 
Her  wakening  day-light  on  a  world  of  sin  ! 
But  then,  celestial  wairiors,  tlien,  when  all 
Earth's  shrines  and  thrones  before  our  banner  fall ; 
When  the  glad  slave  shall  at  these  feet  lay  down 
His  broken  chain,  the  tyrant  Lord  his  crown. 
The  priest  his  book,  the  conqueror  his  wreath. 
And  from  the  lips  of  Truth  one  mighty  breath 
Shall,  like  a  whirlwind,  scatter  in  its  breeze 
That  whole  dark  pile  of  human  mockeries  ; — 
Then  shall  the  reign  of  Mind  commence  on  earth, 
And  starting  fresh,  as  from  a  second  birth, 
Man,  in  the  sunshine  of  the  world's  new  spring. 
Shall  walk  transparent,  like  some  holy  thing! 
Then,  too,  your  Prophet  from  his  angel  brow 
Shall  cast  tiie  Veil  that  hides  its  splendours  now. 
And  gladden'd  Earth  shall,  through  her  wide  expanse. 
Bask  in  the  glories  of  this  countenance! 
For  thee,  young  warrior,  welcome! — thou  hast  yet 
Some  task  to  learn,  some  frailties  to  forget, 
Ere  the  white  war-plume  o'er  thy  brow  can  wave ; — 
But,  once  my  own,  mine  all  till  in  the  grave  !" 
The  pomp  i.s  at  an  end, — the  crowds  are  gone — 
Each  ear  and  heart  still  haunted  by  the  tone 
Of  that  deep  voice,  which  thrill'd  like  Alla'sowh  ! 
The  young  all  dazzled  by  the  plumes  and  lances. 
The  glittering  throne,and  I  iarain's  half-caught  glances: 
The  old  dcf\)  ponderiii^r  on  the  promis'd  reign 
Of  peace  and  truth;  and  all  the  female  train 
Ready  to  risk  their  eyes,  could  they  but  gaze 
A  moinenl  on  that  brow's  miraculous  blaze  ! 

But  there  was  one  among  the  chosen  maids 
Who  blush'd  behind  the  gallery's  silken  shades, — 


I  "  Anil  wli(;ii  we  Haiti  unto  the  Ari?itlr<,  Worship  Ailain, 
itioy  iill  worshii  |iimI  him  exiepl  Eblls,  (I  ucil'ir,)  who  ro- 
hiacil."     T/ie  Koran,  ciiup.  ii. 

'2  JuitUB. 


One,  to  whose  soul  the  pageant  of  to-day 

flas  been  like  death  ; — you  saw  her  pale  dismv 

Ye  wondering  sisterhood,  and  heard  the  burst 

Of  exclamation  from  her  lips,  when  first 

Shs  saw  that  youth,  too  well,  too  dearly  knowi 

Siiently  Kneeling  at  the  Prophet's  throne. 

Ah  Zei.ica!  there  was  a  time,  when  bliss 
Shone  o'er  thy  heart  from  every  look  of  his; 
When  but  to  see  him,  hear  him,  breathe  tlie  air 
In  which  he  dwelt,  was  thy  soul's  fondest  prayfi 
When  round  him  iiung  such  a  perpetual  spell, 
Whate'er  he  did,  none  ever  did  so  well. 
Too  happy  days  !  when,  if  he  touch'd  a  flower 
Or  gem  of  thine,  'twas  sacred  from  that  hour; 
When  thou  didst  study  him,  till  every  tone 
And  gesture  and  dear  look  became  thy  own, — • 
Thy  voice  like  his,  the  changes  of  his  face 
In  thine  reflected  with  still  lovelier  grace. 
Like  echo,  sending  back  sweet  music,  fraught 
With  tvi'ice  th'  a?rial  sweetness  it  had  brought . 
Vet  now  he  comes — brighter  than  even  he 
E'er  beam'd  before, — but  ah  !  not  bright  for  thee' 
No — dread,  unlook'd  for,  like  a  visitant 
From  th'  other  world,  he  comes  as  if  to  haunt 
Thy  guilty  soul  with  dreams  of  lost  delight. 
Long  lost  to  all  biit  memory's  aching  sight : — 
Sad  dreams  !  as  when  the  Spirit  of  our  Youth 
Returns  in  sleep,  sparkling  with  all  the  truth 
And  innocence  once  ours,  and  leads  us  back, 
Jn  mouriil'ul  mockery,  o'er  the  shining  track 
Of  our  young  life,  and  points  out  every  ray 
Of  hope  and  peace  we've  lost  upon  the  way ! 

Once  happy  pair! — in  proud  Bokhara's  grove*^ 
Who  had  not  heard  of  their  first  youthful  loves  ? 
Born  by  that  ancient  flood,'  which  from  its  spring 
In  the  Dark  Mountains  swiftly  wandering, 
Enrich'd  by  every  pilgrim  brook  that  shines 
With  refcs  from  Bucharia's  ruby  mines. 
And,  lending  to  the  Caspian  half  its  strength, 
In  the  cold  Lake  of  Eagles  sinks  at  length; — 
There,  on  the  banks  of  that  bright  river  born, 
The  flowers,  that  hung  above  its  wave  at  morn, 
Biess'd  not  the  waters,  as  they  murmur'd  by, 
With  holier  scent  and  lustre,  than  the  sigh 
And  virgin  glance  of  first  affection  cast 
Upon  their  youth's  smooth  current,  as  it  pass'd  ! 
But  war  disturb'd  this  vision — far  away 
From  her  fond  eyes,  summon'd  to  join  th'  array 
Of  Persia's  warriors  on  the  hills  of  Thrace, 
The  youth  cxchang'd  his  sylvijn  dwelling-place 
For  the  rude  tent  and  war-field  s  deathful  clasri;— 
His  Zelica's  sweet  glances  for  the  flash 
Of  (Grecian  wild-lire, — and  love's  gentle  chains 
For  bleeding  bondage  on  Bv/.antium's  plairis. 

Month  after  month,  in  widowhood  of  soul 
Drooping,  the  uKiiden  saw  two  summers  roll 
Their  suns  away — but,  ah  !  how  cold  and  dim 
E'en  summer  suns,  when  not  beheld  with  him.' 
From  time  to  time  ill-oinen'd  rumours  came, 
(Like  spirit  tongues,  muttering  the  sick  man's  name 


1  The  Ainoo,  which  rises    in   the   Belur  Tag,  or  Dark 

Mdiuitiiins,  iuid  running  nearly  from  cast  to  west,  splits  ints 
iwo  hrani^lics,  mn:  of  which  lulls  inio  tlie  l/aspiuii  Bca,  iino 
Die  other  into  Anil  Nuhr,  or  the  Lake  of  Eagles. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


81 


Just  ere  he  dies,) — at  length  those  sounds  of  dread 
Fell  withering  on  her  soul,  "  AziM  is  dead  !" 
Uh  grief"  beyond  all  other  griefs,  when  fate 
First  leaves  the  young  heart  lone  and  desolate 
!n  tlie  wide  world,  without  that  only  tie 
For  which  it  lov'd  to  live  or  li'ar'd  to  die; — 
Lorn  as  the  hung-up  lute,  that  ne'er  hath  spoken 
Suice  the  sad  day  its  master-chord  was  broken ! 
Fond  maid,  the  sorrow  of  her  soul  was  such 
Ev'n  reason  blighted  sunk  beneath  its  touch; 
And  though,  ere  long,  her  sanguine  spirit  rose 
Above  the  first  dead  pressure  of  its  woes. 
Though  health  and  bloom  return'd,  the  delicate  chain 
Of  thought,  once  tangled,  never  clear'd  again. 
W^urm,  lively,  sofl  as  in  youth's  happiest  day, 
The  mind  was  still  all  there,  but  turn'd  astray; — 
A  wandering  bark,  upon  whose  pathway  shone 
All  stars  of  hcav'n,  except  the  guiding  one  ! 
Again  she  smil'd,  nay,  much  and  brightly  smil'd, 
Bui  'twas  a  lustre,  strange,  unreal,  wild;         4 
.^nd  when  she  sung  to  her  lute's  touching  strain, 
'Twas  like  the  notes,  half  extacy,  half  pain, 
The  bulbul'  utters,  e'er  her  soul  depart. 
When,  vanquish'd  by  some  minstrel's  powerful  art, 
She  dies  upon  the  lute  whose  sweetness  broke  her 

heart ! 
Such  was  the  mood  in  which  that  mission  found 
Young  Zelica, — that  mission,  which  around 
The  Eastern  world,  m  every  region  blest 
With  woman's  smile,  sought  out  its  loveliest, 
To  grace  that  galaw  of  lips  and  eyes, 
Which  the  Veil'd  Prophet  destin'd  for  the  skies  ! — 
And  such  quick  welcome  as  a  spark  receives 
Dropp'd  on  a  bed  of  autumn's  wither'd  leaves, 
Did  every  raie  of  cnese  enthusiasts  find 
[n  the  wild  maiden's  sorrow-blighted  mind. 
All  tire  at  once  the  madd'ning  zeal  she  caught; — 
Elect  of  Paradise  !  blest,  rapturous  thought ; 
Predestiu'd  bride,  in  heaven's  eternal  dome, 
Of  some  brave  youth — ha  !  durst  they  say  "  of  some  ?" 
No — of  the  one,  one  only  object  trac'd 
In  her  heart's  core  too  deep  to  be  eifac'd  ; 
The  one  whose  memory,  fresh  as  life,  is  twin'd 
With  ev'ry  broken  link  of  her  lost  mind  ; 
Whose  image  lives,  though  Reason's  self  be  wreck'd, 
Safe  'mid  the  ruins  of  her  intellect ! 
Alas,  poor  Zei.ica  !  it  needed  all 
The  fantasy,  which  held  thy  mind  in  thrall. 
To  see  in  that  gay  Haram's  glowing  maids 
A  sainted  colony  for  Eden's  shades ; 
Or  dream  that  he, — of  whose  unholy  flame 
Thou  wert  too  soon  the  victim, — shining  came 
From  Paradise,  to  people  its  pure  sphere 
With  souls  like  thine,  which  he  hatli  ruui'd  here! 
No — had  not  Reason's  light  totally  set. 
And  letl  thee  dark,  thou  liad'st  an  amulet 
In  iho  lov'd  image,  graven  on  thy  heart, 
Which  would  have  sav'd  thee  from  the  tempter's  art. 
And  kept  alive,  in  all  its  bloom  of  breath, 
Thar  purity,  whose  fading  is  love's  death  ! — 
Hut  lost,  indam'd,  —a  restless  zeal  took  place 
Of  the  mild  virgin'?  still  and  feminine  grace  ; — 
First  of  the  Proptet's  favourites,  proudly  first 
by  tcd.1  and  charrrs, — ^too  well  th'  Impostor  nurs'd 


1  The  .Wslitai-ali;. 


Iler  soul's  delirium,  in  whose  active  frame, 
Thus  lighting  up  a  young,  luxuriant  llame, 
lie  saw  more  potent  sorceries  to  bind 
To  his  dark  yoke  li.e  spirits  of  mankind, 
.'\Iore  subtle  chains  than  hell  itself  e'er  twin'd 
No  art  was  spar'd,  no  witchery ; — cH  the  skill 
His  demons  taught  him  was  employ'd  lo  fill 
Her  mind  with  gloom  and  extacy  by  turns — 
That  gloom,  through  which  Fren/.ybut  fiercer  burns 
That  extacy,  which  from  the  depth  of  sadness 
Glares  like  the  maniac's  moon,whose  light  is  madnej* 

'Twas  from  a  brilliant  banquet,  where  the  sound 
Of  poesy  and  music  breath'd  around, 
Together  picturing  to  her  mind  and  ear 
The  glories  of  that  heav'n,  her  destin'd  sphere. 
Where  all  was  pure,  where  every  stain  that  lay 
Upon  the  spirit's  light  should  pass  away. 
And,  realizing  more  than  youthful  love 
E'er  wish'd  or  dream'd,  she  should  for  ever  rove 
Through  fields  of  fragrance  by  her  Azrji's  side, 
Ilis  own  bless'd,  purified,  eternal  bride  ! — 
'Twas  from  a  scene,  a  witching  trance  like  this, 
He  hurried  her  away,  yet  breathing  bliss. 
To  the  dim  charnel-house  ; — through  all  its  steams 
Of  damp  and  death,  led  only  by  those  gleams 
Which  foul  Corruption  lights,  as  with  design 
To  show  the  gay  and  proud  she  too  can  shine ! — 
And,  passing  on  thrr)ugh  upright  ranks  of  dead, 
Which  to  the  maiden,  doubly  craz'd  by  dread, 
Seem'd,through  the  bluish  death-light  round  them  cist. 
To  move  their  lips  in  mutlerings  as  she  pass'd — 
There,  in  that  awful  place,  when  each  had  quafTu 
\nd  pledg'd  in  silence  such  a  fearful  draught, 
Such — oh  !  the  look  and  taste  of  that  red  bowl 
Will  haunt  her  till  she  dies — he  bound  her  soul 
By  a  dark  oath,  in  hell's  own  language  fram'd. 
Never,  while  earth  his  mystic  presence  claim'd. 
While  the  blue  arch  of  day  hung  o'er  them  both. 
Never,  by  that  all-imprecating  oath, 
In  joy  or  sorrow  from  his  side  to  sever. — 
She  swore,  and  the  wide  charnel  echoed,  "  Never 
never '" 

From  that  dread  hour,  entirely,  wildly  given 
To  him  and — she  believ'd,  lost  maid  ! — to  Heaven ; 
Her  brain,  her  heart,  her  passions  all  infiam'd, 
How  proud  she  stood,  when  in  full  Haram  nam'd 
The  Priestess  of  the  Faith  ! — how  tlash'd  her  eyes 
With  light,  alas  !  that  was  not  of  the  skies. 
When  round,  in  trances  only  less  than  hers, 
She  saw  the  Haram  kneel,  her  prostrate  worshipper* 
Well  might  .AIoKA.NNA  think  that  form  alone 
Had  spells  enough  to  make  the  world  his  own: — 
Light,  lovely  limbs,  to  which  the  spirit's  play 
(Jave  motion,  airy  as  the  dancing  spray, 
When  from  its  stem  the  small  bird  wings  away  ! 
Lips  in  whose  rosy  labyrinth,  when  she  smil'd, 
The  soul  was  lost;  and  blushes,  swift  and  wild 
As  are  the  momentary  meteors  sent 
.Vcross  tir  uncalm,  but  beauteous  firmament. 
And  then  her  look — oh  !   where's  the  heart  so  wi8« 
Could  unbcwilder'd  meet  those  matchless  eyes? 
Quick,  restless,  strange,  but  exquisite  withal, 
Like  those  of  angels,  Just  before  their  fall ; 
.Now  shadow'd  with  the  shames  of  earth — now  f.tntH 
By  glimpses  of  tlie  heaven  her  lieart  had  lost : 


32 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


In  every  glance  there  broke  without  control, 
The  tiashes  of  a  bright  but  troubled  soul, 
VVhce  sensibility  still  wildly  play'f'. 
Like  lightning,  round  the  ruins  :.  nad  made ! 

And  such  was  r  jw  young  Zelica — so  chang'd 
From  her  wh .,,  some  years  since,  delighted  rang'd 
The  almond  groves,  that  shade  Bokhara's  tide, 
All  life  and  bliss,  with  AziM  by  her  side ! 
So  alter'd  was  she  now,  this  festal  day, 
When,  'mid  the  proud  Divan's  daz/ling  array. 
The  vision  of  that  Youth,  whom  she  had  lov'd, 
And  wept  as  dead,  before  her  breath'd  and  mov'd  ;— 
When— bright,  she  thought,  as  if  from  Fxlen's  track 
But  half-way  trodden,  he  had  wander'd  back 
A^ain  to  earth,  glistening  with  Eden's  liglu— 
Her  beauteous  Azim  shone  before  her  sight. 

Oh  Reason  !  who  shall  say  what  spells  renew, 
When  least  we  look  for  it,  thy  broken  clew  ! 
Through  what  small  vistas  o'er  the  darken'd  brain 
Thy  intellectual  day-beam  bursts  again ; 
And  how,  like  forts,  to  which  beleaguerers  win 
Unhop'd-for  entrance  through  some  friend  within, 
One  clear  idea,  waken'd  in  the  breast 
By  Memory's  magic,  lets  in  all  the  rest ! 
Would  it  were  thus,  unhappy  girl,  with  thee  ! 
But,  though  light  came,  it  came  but  j)artially ; 
Enough  to  show  the  maze,  in  which  thy  sense 
Wander'd  about, — but  not  to  guide  it  thence ; 
Enough  to  glimmer  o'er  the  yawning  wave, 
But  not  to  point  the  harbour  which  might  save, 
[lours  of  delight  and  peace,  long  left  behind. 
With  that  dear  form  came  rushing  o'er  her  mind ; 
But  oh  !  to  think  how  deep  her  soul  had  gone 
In  chame  and  falsehood  since  those  moments  shone ; 
And,  then,  her  oaih—tlwre  madness  lay  again, 
And,  shuddering,  back  she  sunk  into  her  chain 
Of  mental  darkness,  as  if  blest  to  flee 
From  light,  whose  every  glimpse  was  agony  ! 
^'et,  ojie  relief  this  glance  of  former  years 
Krought,  mingled  with  its  pain — tears,  floods  of  tears. 
Long  frozen  at  lier  heart,  but  now  like  rills 
Let  loose  in  spring-time  from  the  snowy  hills, 
And  gushing  warm,  after  a  sleep  of  frost, 
Through  valleys  where  their  flow  had  long  been  lost ! 

Sad  and  subdued,  for  the  first  time  her  frame 
Trembhul  with  horror,  when  the  suninions  came 
(A  summons  proud  and  rare,  which  all  but  she. 
And  she,  till  now,  had  heard  with  cxtacy,) 
To  meet  Moka.xna  at  his  place  of  prayer, 
A  garden  oratory,  cool  and  fair, 
I5y  the  stream's  side,  where  still  at  close  of  day 
Tiie  I'rophet  of  the  Veil  retir'd  to  pray  ; 
Sometimes  alone — but,  ofteiier  far,  with  one, 
i>iie  chosen  nyinph  to  share  his  orison. 

Of  late  none  foimd  such  favour  in  his  sight 
As  the  young  Priestess;  and  though,  since  that  night 
When  the  death-caverns  eclio'd  every  tone 
i)t  the  (lire  oath  that  made  her  all  his  own, 
I'll'  Impostor,  sure  of  his  infntuate  prize, 
Flad,  more  than  once,  thrown  oil' his  soul's  disguise. 
And  uttcr'd  such  unheav'niy,  monstrous  things, 
As  ev'n  across  the  desperate  wanderings 
Of  a  weak  intellect,  whose  lamp  was  out, 
Threw  slari'ir.g  shadows  of  dismay  and  doubt: — 


Yet  zeal,  ambition,  her  tremendous  vow. 
The  thought,  still  haunting  her,  of  that  bright  brow 
Whose  blaze,  as  yet  from  mortal  eye  conceul'd 
Would  soon,  proud  triumph  !  be  to  her  reveal 'd, 
To  her  alone ; — and  then  the  hope  most  dear, 
Most  wild  of  all,  that  her  transgression  here 
Was  but  a  passage  through  earth's  grosser  fire, 
From  which  the  spirit  would  at  last  aspire, 
Ev'n  purer  than  before, — as  perfumes  rise 
Through    flame   and    smoke,  most  welcome  to  t'lt 

skies — 
And  that  when  Azim's  fond,  divine  embrace 
Should  circle  her  in  heav'ii,  no  darkening  trace 
Would  on  that  bosom  he  once  lov'd  remain, 
But  all  be  briglit,  be  pure,  be  hL'<  again  ! — 
These  were  the  wildering  dreams,  whose  curst  decei' 
Had  chain'd  her  soul  beneath  the  tempter's  feet, 
And  made  her  think  ev'n  damning  falsehood  sweet 
But  now  that  Shape  which  had  appall'd  her  view. 
That  Semblance — oh  how  terrible,  if  true  ! — 
Which  came  across  her  frenzy's  full  career 
With  shock  of  consciousness,  cold,  deep,  severe. 
As  when  in  northern  seas,  at  midnight  dark, 
An  isle  of  ice  encounters  some  switl  bark. 
And,  startling  al!  its  wretches  from  their  sleep, 
By  one  cold  impulse  hurls  them  to  the  deep; — 
So  came  that  shock  not  frenzy's  self  could  bear, 
And  waking  up  each  long-lull'd  image  there, 
But  check'd  her  headlong  soul,  to  sink  it  in  despair! 

Wan  and  dejected,  through  the  evening  dusk, 
She  now  went  slowly  to  that  small  kiosk. 
Where,  pondering  alone  his  impious  schemes, 
MoKANNA  waited  her — too  wrapt  in  dreams 
Of  the  fair-ripening  future's  rich  success, 
To  heed  the  sorrow,  pale  and  spiritless. 
That  sat  upon  his  victim's  downcast  brow. 
Or  mark  how  slow  her  step,  how  alter'd  now 
From  the  quick,  ardent  Priestess,  whose  light  bounc 
Came  like  a  spirit's  o'er  th'  unechoing  ground, — 
From  that  wild  Zelica,  whose  every  glance 
Was  thrilling  lire,  whose  every  thought  a  trance ' 

Upon  his  couch  the  Veiled  Mokanna  lay. 
While  lamps  around — not  such  as  lend  their  ray 
(iliniinering  and  cold,  to  those  who  nightly  pray 
In  holy  KooM,'  or  IMkcca's  dim  arcades, — 
But  brilliant,  soft,  such  light  as  lovely  maids 
Look  loveliest  in,  shed  their  luxurious  glow 
Upon  his  mystic  Veil's  white  glittering  flow. 
Beside  him,  'stead  ot  beads  and  books  of  prayer. 
Which  the  world  fondly  thought  he  mused  on  theie 
Stood  vases,  fill'd  with  Ki.smmek's''  golden  wine, 
And  the  red  weepings  of  the  Siiiraz  vine; 
Of  which  his  ciirtaiii'd  li]is  full  many  a  draught 
Took  zealously,  as  if  each  drop  they  quail  "d. 
Like  Zkmzem's  Spring  of  Holiness,'  had  power 
To  freshen  the  soul's  virtues  into  flower! 
And  still  he  drank  and  ponder'd — nor  could  see 
Th'  ap[)roaching  maid,  so  deep  his  reverie  i 


1  'Plio  cities  of  (IJom  [or  Kooin]  nnd  ("ashnn  arc  full^cil 
111081)1108,  inausoliuims,  and  SL-pulehres  ol'  the  doscundants 
of  All,  the  Saints  ol'  Persia.     Ckarilin. 

2  An  Island  in  tlie  Persian  Gulf,  celebrated  for  its  white 
wind. 

;t  Tlio  miraculous  well  at  Mecca;  so  culled,  says  Sale, 
from  the  niurmurin"  of  its  waters'. 


At  Jength,  with  fiendish  laugh,  like  that  which  broke 
From  Eblis  at  the  Fall  of  Man,  he  spoke  : — 
"  Yes,  ye  vile  race,  for  hell's  amusement  given, 
Too  mean  for  earth,  yet  claiming  kin  with  heaven ; 
God's  imag(-s,  forsooth  ! — such  gods  as  he 
Whom  India  serves,  the  monkey  deity;' — 
Ve  creatures  of  a  breath,  proud  things  of  clay, 
To  whom,  if  LuciKER,  as  grandams  say, 
Refus'd,  though  at  the  forfeit  of  Heaven's  light, 
To  bend  in  worship,  Luciter  was  right ! — 
t>oon  shall  I  plant  this  foot  upon  the  neck 
Of  your  foul  race,  and  without  fear  or  check, 
T.uxuriating  in  hate,  avenge  my  shame. 
My  deep-felt,  long-nurst  loathing  of  man's  name ! 
-Soon,  at  the  head  of  myriads,  blind  an!  fierce 
As  hooded  falcons,  through  the  universal 
I'll  sweep  my  darkening,  desolating  way. 
Weak  man  my  instrument,  curst  man  my  prey  ! 

"  Ye  w  ise,  ye  learn'd,  wlio  grope  your  dull  way  on 
Ry  the  dim  twinkling  gleams  of  ages  gone. 
Like  superstitious  thieves,  who  think  the  light 
From  dead  men's  marrow  guides  them  best  at  night^ — 
Ye  shall  have  honours — wealth, — yes,  sages,  yes — 
I  know,  grave  fools,  your  wisdom's  nothingness  ; 
Undazzled  it  can  track  yon  starry  sphere, 
But  a  gilt  stick,  a  bauble  blinds  it  here. 
How  I  shall  laugh  when  trumpeted  along. 
In  lying  speech,  and  still  more  lying  song. 
By  these  lea-n'd  slaves,  the  meanest  of  the  throng ; 
Their  wits  bought  up,  their  wisdom  shrunk  so  small, 
A  sceptre's  puny  point  can  wield  it  all ! 

"  Ye  too,  believers  of  incredible  creeds, 
Whose  faith  enshrines  the  monsters  which  it  breeds  ; 
Who,  bolder  ev'n  than  Nemrod,  think  to  rise 
By  nonsense  heap'd  on  nonsense  to  the  skies ; 
Ye  shall  have  miracles,  aye,  sound  ones  too. 
Seen,  heard,  attested,  every  thing — but  true. 
Your  preaching  zealots,  too  inspired  to  seek 
One  grace  of  meaning  for  the  things  tliey  speak ; 
Your  martyrs,  ready  to  shed  out  their  blood 
For  tniths  too  heavenly  to  be  understood  ; 
And  your  state  priests,  sole  venders  of  the  lore 
That  works  salvation  ; — as  on  Ava's  shore, 
Where  none  hut  priests  are  privileg'd  to  trade 
In  that  best  marble  of  which  gods  are  made  ;^ — 
They  shall  have  mysteries — aye,  precious  stuff 
For  knaves  to  thrive  by — mysteries  enough  ; 
Dark,  tangled  doctrines,  dark  as  fraud  can  weave. 
Which  simple  votaries  shall  on  trust  receive, 
While  craftier  feign  belief,  till  they  believe. 
A  Heav'n  too  ye  must  have,  ye  lords  of  dust, — 
A  splendid  Paradise — pure  souls,  ye  must : 
That  Prophet  ill  sustains  his  holy  call. 
Who  finds  not  heav'ns  to  suit  the  tastes  of  all ; 
Houris  for  boys,  omnisci(^ncc  for  sages. 
And  wings  and  glories  for  all  ranks  and  ages. 
Vain  things  ! — as  lust  or  vanity  inspires. 
The  heav'n  of  each  is  but  what  each  desires, 
And,  soul  or  sense,  whate'er  the  object  be, 
Man  wodd  be  man  to  all  eternity ! 

1  Till'  ^(icl  Hannaman. 

2  A  kind  of  lanUrn  formerly  used  by  robbers,  called  tlie 
Hand  of  Glorv,  the  candle  I'or'wliich  was  made  of  the  fat 
of  a  dead  malefaitor.    This,  however,  was  rallier  a  western 

ban  an  eastern  superstition. 
?  Symes's  Ava,  vol.  ii.  p.  376. 
C 


So  let  him — Eblis  !  grant  this  crowning  curse. 
But  keep  him  what  he  is,  no  hell  were  worse." — 

"  Oh  my  lost  soul !"  exclaim'd  the  shuddering  maiu. 
Whose  ears  had  drunk  like  poison  all  he  said, — 
MoKANNA  started — not  abash'd,  afraid, — 
lie  knew  no  more  of  fear  than  one  who  dwells 
Beneath  the  tropics  knows  of  icicles  ! 
But,  in  those  dismal  words  that  reach'd  his  ear, 
"  Oh  my  lost  soul !"  there  was  a  sound  so  drear, 
So  like  that  voice,  among  the  sinful  dead. 
In  which  the  legend  o'er  Hell's  gate  is  read. 
That,  new  as  'twas  from  her,  whom  nought  could  dim 
Or  sink  till  now,  it  startled  even  him. 

"  Ha,  my  fair  Priestess  !" — thus,  with  ready  wile, 
Th'  impostor  turn'd  to  greet  her — "  thou,  whose  smilo 
Hath  inspiration  in  its  rosy  beam 
Beyond  th'  enthusiast's  hope  or  prophet's  dream  ! 
Light  of  the  Faith  !  who  twin'st  religion's  zeal 
So  close  with  love's,  men  know  not  which  they  fee], 
Nor  which  to  sigh  for  in  their  trance  of  heart. 
The  Heav'n  thou  preachest,  or  the  Heav'n  thou  art ! 
What  should  I  be  without  thee  ?  without  thee 
How  dull  were  power,  how  joyless  victory  ! 
Though  borne  by  angels,  if  that  smile  of  thine 
Bless'd  not  my  banner,  'twere  but  half  divine. 
But — why  so  mournful,  child  ?  those  eyes,  that  shone 
All  life,  last  night — what ! — is  their  glory  gone  ? 
Come,  come — this  morn's  fatigue  hath  made  them  pale, 
They  want  rekindling — suns  themselves  would  fail, 
Did  not  their  comets  bring,  as  I  to  thee. 
From  Light's  own  fount,  supplies  of  brilliancy ! 
Thou  seest  this  cup — no  juice  of  earth  is  here, 
But  the  pure  waters  of  that  upper  sphere, 
Wliose  rills  o'er  ruby  beds  and  topaz  flow. 
Catching  the  gem's  bright  colour,  as  they  go. 
Nightly  my  Genii  come  and  fill  these  urns — 
Nay,  drink — in  every  drop  life's  essence  burns ; 
'Twill  make  that  soul  all  fire,  those  eyes  all  light- 
Come,  come,  I  want  thy  loveliest  smiles  to-night  : 
There  is  a  youth — why  start? — thou  saw'st  him  then 
Look'd  he  not  nobly  ?  such  the  god-like  men 
Tliou'lt  have  to  woo  thee  in  the  bowers  above ; — 
Though  he,  I  fear,  hath  thoughts  too  stern  for  love. 
Too  rul'd  by  that  cold  enemy  of  bliss 
The  world  calls  Virtue — we  must  conquer  this  — 
Nay,  shrink  not,  pretty  sage ;  'tis  not  for  thee 
To  scan  the  mazes  of  Heav'n's  mystery. 
The  steel  must  pass  through  fire,  ere  it  can  yield 
Fit  instruments  for  mighty  hands  to  wield. 
This  very  night  1  mean  to  try  the  art 
Of  powerful  beauty  on  that  warrior's  heart. 
All  that  my  Haram  boasts  of  bloom  and  wit. 
Of  skill  and  charms,  most  rare  and  exquisite. 
Shall  tempt  the  boy; — young  3Iirzala's  blue  eye» 
Whose  sleepy  lid  like  snow  on  violets  lies ; 
Arouya's  cheeks,  warm  as  a  spring-day  sun, 
And  lips,  that,  like  the  seal  of  Solomon, 
Have  magic  in  their  pressure  ;  Zeba's  lute, 
And  Lilla's  dancing  feet,  that  gleam  and  shoot 
Rapid  and  white  as  sea-birds  o'er  the  deep ! — 
All  shall  combine  their  witching  powers  to  steep 
I\Iy  convert's  spirit  in  that  softening  trance. 
From  which  to  Heav'n  is  but  the  next  advance ) 
That  glowing,  yielding  fusion  of  the  breast. 
On  which  Religion  stamps  her  image  best 


34 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


But  hear  me,  Priestess  ' — thougn  each  nymph  of  these 
Hath  some  peculiar  practised  power  to  please, 
Some  glance  or  step,  wliich,  at  the  mirror  tried, 
First  chaiTns  herself,  then  all  the  world  beside ; 
There  still  wants  one  to  make  the  victory  sure. 
One,  who  in  every  look  joins  every  lure; 
Through  whom  all  beauty's  beams  concenter'd  pass, 
Dazzling  and  warm,  as  through  love's  burning-glass ; 
VVliose  gentle  hps  persuade  without  a  word. 
Whose  words,  ev'n  wlien  unmeaning,  are  ador'd, 
Like  inarticulate  breathings  from  a  shrine. 
Which  our  faith  takes  for  granted  are  divine  ! 
Such  is  the  nymph  we  want,  all  warmth  and  light, 
To  crown  the  rich  temptations  of  to-night ; 
Such  the  refined  enchantress  that  must  be 
This  Hero's  vanquisher, — and  thou  art  she  !" 

With  her  hands  clasp'd,  her  lips  apart  and  pale, 
The  maid  had  stood,  gazing  upon  the  Veil 
From  whence  these  words,  like  south-winds  through 

a  fence 
Of  Kerzrah  flow'rs,  came  filled  with  pestilence :' 
So  boldly  utter'd  too  !  as  if  all  dread 
Of  frowns  from  her,  of  virtuous  frowns,  were  fled, 
And  the  wretch  felt  assur'd,  that  once  plung'd  in, 
Her  woman's  soul  would  know  no  pause  in  sin ! 

At  first,  though  mute  she  listen'd,  like  a  dream 
Seem'd  all  he  said  ;  nor  could  her  mind,  whose  beam 
As  yet  was  weak,  penetrate  half  his  scheme. 
But  when,  at  length,  he  utter'd  "  Thou  art  she  !" 
All  flash'd  at  once,  and,  shrieking  piteously, 
"Oh  not  for  worlds!"  she  cried — "Great  God!  to 

whom 
I  once  knelt  innocent,  is  this  my  doom  ? 
Are  all  my  dreams,  my  hopes  of  heavenly  bliss, 
My  purity,  my  pride,  then  come  to  this, — 
To  Uve,  the  wanton  of  a  fiend !  to  be 
The  pander  of  his  guilt — oh,  infamy  ! 
And  sunk,  myself,  as  low  as  hell  can  steep 
In  its  hot  flood,  drag  others  down  as  deep ! 
Others  ? — ha  !  yos — that  youth  who  came  to-day — 
Not  him  I  lov'd — not  him — oh  !  do  but  say, 
But  swear  to  me  this  moment  'tis  not  he. 
And  I  will  serve,  dark  fiend  !  will  worship,  even  thee!" 

•'  Beware,  young  raving  thing ! — in  time  beware. 
Nor  utter  what  I  cannot,  must  not  bear 
Ev'n  from  thi/  lips.     Go — try  thy  lute,  thy  voice ; 
The  boy  must  feel  their  magic — I  rejoice 
To  see  those  fires,  no  matter  whence  they  rise, 
Once  more  illuming  my  fair  Priestess'  eyes ; 
And  should  the  youth,  whom  soon  those  eyes  shall 

warm. 
Indeed  resemble  thy  dead  lover's  form. 
So  much  the  happier  wilt  thou  find  thy  doom, 
As  one  warm  lover,  full  of  life  and  bif)om, 
f'iXcels  ten  thousand  cold  ones  in  the  tomb. — 
Nay,  nay,  no  frowning,  sweet !  those  eyes  were  made 
For  love,  not  anger — I  must  be  obey'd." 

'  Obey'd  ! — 'tis  well — yes,  I  deserve  it  all — 
On  me,  on  me  Heav'n's  vengeance  cannot  fall 
Too  heavily — but  Azim,  brave  and  true, 
And  beautiful — must  he  be  ruin'd  too  ? 


J  "Tt  iR  romtnonly  siiid  in  Persin,  tliat  if  a  man  breatho 
'n  tho  not  Boiith-winil,  wliicli  in  .liirn'  or  .Inly  piissoft  over 
nat  fiowrt  ,  [the  Kerzerah,]  it  will  kill  liiin."     Tlievmiul. 


I  Must  he  too,  glorious  as  he  is,  be  driven 
A  renegade  like  me  from  Love  and  Heaven  ? 
Like  me  ? — weak  wretch,  1  wrong  liim — not  like  me 
No — he's  all  truth,  and  strength,  and  purity  ' 
Fill  up  your  madd'ning  hell-cup  to  the  brim, 
Its  witchery,  fiends,  will  have  no  charm  for  him 
Let  loose  your  glowing  wantons  from  their  boweiia 
He  loves,  he  loves,  and  can  defy  their  powers ! 
Wretch  as  1  am,  in  his  heart  still  I  reign 
Pure  as  when  first  we  met,  without  a  stain ! 
Though  ruin'd — lost — my  memory,  like  a  charm 
Left  by  the  dead,  still  keeps  his  soul  from  harm. 
Oh  !  never  let  him  know  how  deep  the  brow 
He  kiss'd  at  parting  is  dishonour'd  now — 
Ne'er  tell  him  how  debas'd,  how  sunk  is  she, 
Whom  once  he  lov'd — once  ! — still  loves  dotingly  . 
Thou  laugh'st,  tormentor, — what ! — thoul't  brand  my 

name? 
Do,  do — in  vain — he'll  not  believe  my  shame — 
He  thinks  mc  true,  that  nought  beneath  God's  sky 
Could  tempt  or  change  me,  and — so  once  thought  I 
But  this  is  past — though  worse  than  death  my  lot, 
Than  hell — 'tis  nothing,  while  he  knows  it  not. 
Far  off  to  some  beniglited  land  I'll  fly. 
Where  sunbeam  ne'er  shall  enter  till  I  die  ; 
Where  none  will  ask  the  lost  one  whence  she  came 
But  I  may  fade  and  fall  without  a  name ! 
And  thou — curst  man  or  fiend,  whate'er  thou  art, 
Who  found'st  this  burning  plague-spot  in  my  heart, 
And  spread'st  it — oh,  so  quick  I — thro'  soul  and  frame 
With  more  than  demon's  art,  till  I  became 
A  loathsome  thing,  all  pestilence,  all  flame  ! 

If  when  I'm  gone " 

"  Hold,  fearless  maniac,  hold, 
Nor  tempt  my  rage — by  Heav'n,  not  half  so  bold 
The  puny  bird  that  dares  with  teazing  hum 
Within  the  crocodile's  stretch'd  jaws  to  come.' — 
And  so  thou'lt  fly,  forsooth? — what,  give  up  all 
Thy  chaste  dominions  in  the  Haram  hall. 
Where  now  to  Love,  and  now  to  Alla  given, 
Half  mistress  and  half  saint,  thou  hang'st  as  even 
As  doth  Medina's  tomb,  'twi,xt  hell  and  heaven  • 
Tliou'lt  fly? — as  eas'ly  may  reptiles  run. 
The  gaunt  snake  once  hath  fix'd  his  eyes  upon ; 
As  easily,  when  caught,  the  prey  may  be 
Pluck'd  from  his  loving  folds,  as  thou  from  me. 
No,  no,  'tis  fix'd — let  good  or  ill  betide, 
Thou'rt  mine  til!  death,  till  death  Mokanna's  bride 
Hast  thou  forgot  thy  oath  ?" — 

At  this  dread  word 
The  maid,  whose  spirit  his  rude  taunts  had  stirr'd 
Through  all  its  depths,  and  rous'd  an  anger  there, 
That  burst  and  lighten'd  ev'n  through  her  despair! — 
Shrunk  back,  as  if  a  blight  were  in  the  breath 
That  spoke  that  word,  and  stagger'd,  pale  as  death. 

"  Yes,  my  sworn  bride,  let  others  seek  in  bowers 
The  bridal  place — the  charnel  vault  was  ours! 
Instead  of  scents  and  balms,  for  thee  and  me 
Rose  the  rich  steams  of  sweet  mortality ; — 
Gay  flickering  death-lights  shone  while  we  were  wod, 
And,  for  our  guests,  a  row  of  goodly  dead. 


1  Tlio  ancient  story  concerning  the  Trochilus,  or  hum 
■  iiing  l)ird,  enttTiiig  with  impunity  into  the  mouth  of  the 
crocodile,  is  firmly  believed  ut  Java.  Ba'^ow's  Coi-hin 
China. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


'IminorUil  spirits  in  their  tiino,  no  doubt,) 
From  rt'cluiig  shrouds,  upon  the  rite  lootc'd  out! 
'J'hut  o;iih  thou  heurdst  more  hps  than  thine  repeat- 
That  cup — thou  sinidderest,  lady — was  it  sweet  ? 
riiat  cup  we  pledg'd,  the  charnel's  choicest  wine, 
Hath  bound  thee — aye — body  and  soul  all  mine  ; 
Bound  thee  by  chains,  that,  whether  blest  or  curst 
No  matter  now,  not  hell  itself  shall  burst ! — 
Hence,  woman,  to  the  liaram,  and  look  gay, 
Look  wild,  look — any  thing  but  sad  ; — yet  stay — 
One  moment  more — from  what  tiiis  night  hath  pass'd, 
I  sec  that  thou  know'st  mc,  know'st  me  ivell  at  last. 
Ha  !  ha  !  and  so,  fond  thing,  thou  thought' st  all  true, 
And  that  I  love  mankind  ! — 1  do,  1  do — 
As  victims,  love  them  ;  as  the  sea-dog  doats 
Upon  the  small  sweet  fry  that  round  hmi  floats ; 
Or  as  the  Nile-bird  loves  the  slime  that  gives 
That  rank  and  venomous  food  on  which  siie  lives ." 
And,  now  thou  see'st  my  nuuVs  angelic  hue, 
'Tis  time  those  fecturcs  were  uncurtain'd  too; — 
This  brow,  whose  'ight — oh,  rare  celestial  light ! 
Hath  been  rcserv'd  to  bless  thy  favour'd  sight! 
These  "lazzling  eyes,  before  whose  shrouded  might 
Thou  tot  seen  immortal  man  kneel  down  and  quake — 
Would  that  they  were  Heaven's  lightnings  for  his  sake! 
But  turn  and  look — then  wonder,  if  thou  wilt, 
That  1  should  hate,  should  take  revenge,  by  guilt. 
Upon  the  hand,  whose  niisuhief  or  whose  mirth 
Sent  me  thus  maim'd  and  monstrous  upon  earth ; 
And  on  that  race  who,  though  more  vile  they  be 
Than  mowing  apes,  are  deni.-gods  to  me  ! 
Here,  judge,  if  Hell  with  all  its  power  to  damn, 
f^an  add  one  curse  to  the  foul  thing  i  am  I" — 

He  rais'd  his  veil — the  Maid  turn'd  slowly  round, 
Look'd  at  liina — shriek'd — and  sunk  upon  the  grounil. 


On  their  arrival,  next  night,  at  the  place  of  encamp- 
ment, they  were  surprised  and  deliglitcd  to  find  the 
groves  all  round  illuminated ;  some  artists  of  Yam- 
ti  heou  having  been  sent  on  previously  for  the  pur- 
pose On  each  side  of  the  green  alley,  which  led  to 
the  Royal  Pavilion,  artificial  sceneries  of  bamboo- 
work  were  erected,  representing  arches,  minarets, 
and  U  wers,  from  which  hung  thousands  of  silken 
lanterns,  painted  by  the  most  delicate  pencils  of  Can- 
Ion.  Nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  than  the  leaves 
of  the  mango-trees  and  acacias,  shining  in  the  light 
of  the  bamboo  scenery,  which  shed  a  lustre  round  as 
soft  as  that  of  the  nights  of  Peristan. 

Lalla  Rook  11,  however,  who  was  too  much  occu- 
pied by  the  sad  story  of  Zklica  and  her  lover,  to 
give  a  though'  to  any  thing  else,  except,  perhaps,  him 
who  related  it,  hurried  on  through  this  scene  of  splen- 
dour to  her  pavilion, — greatly  to  the  mortification  of 
the  poor  artists  of  Yamtcheou, — and  was  followed 
with  equal  rapidity  by  the  great  Chamberlain,  cursing, 
as  he  went,  that  ancient  i"Mandarin,  whose  parental 
anxiety  in  lighting  up  the  shores  of  the  lake,  where 
his  beloved  daughter  had  wandered  and  been  lost, 
was  the  origin  of  these  fantastic  Chinese  illuminations. 
Without  a  moment's  delay  young  Feramorz  was 


1  Circum  ensdem  ripas  INili,  viz.]  ales  est  Ibis.  Ea  ser- 
pentium  popul.itiir  ova,  gralissiiiiamque  ex  his  nidis  escaiii 
nuis  ref"-t. — Solinus. 


introduced,  and  Fadladkk.n-,  who  could  never  make 
up  his  mind  as  to  the  merits  of  a  poei,  till  he  knew 
the  religious  sect  to  which  he  belonged,  was  about 
to  ask  him  whether  he  was  a  fc^hia  or  a  ISooni,  when 
Lalla  Rookh  impatiently  clapped  her  liand"  for 
silence,  and  the  youth,  being  seated  upon  the  musnud 
near  her,  proceeded  : — 

Prepare  thy  soul,  young  AziM  !  thou  hast  bravd 
The  bands  of  Greece,  still  mighty,  though  enelavd, 
Hast  fac  d  her  phalanx,  arm  d  with  all  its  fume, 
Her  Macedonian  pikes  and  globes  of  flame , 
All  this  hast  fronted,  with  firm  heart  and  brow. 
But  a  more  perilous  trial  waits  thee  now, — 
Woman  s  bright  eyes,  a  dazzling  host  of  eyes 
From  every  land  where  woman  smiles  or  sighs, 
Of  every  hue,  as  Love  may  chance  to  raise 
His  black  or  azure  banner  in  their  blaze; 
And  each  sweet  mode  of  warfare,  from  the  fla.sh 
That  lightens  boldly  through  the  shadowy  lash, 
To  the  sly,  stealing  splendours,  almost  hid. 
Like  swords  half-sheath  d,  beneath  the  downcast  lid 
Such,  AziM,  is  the  lovely,  luminous  host 
Now  led  against  thee  ;  and,  let  conquerors  boast 
Their  fields  of  fame,  he  who  in  virtue  arms 
A  young,  warm  spirit  against  beauty  s  charms, 
Who  feels  her  brightness,  yet  defies  her  thrall, 
Is  the  best,  bravest  conqueror  of  them  all. 

Now,  through  the  Harem  chambers,  moving  bghtk 
And  busy  shapes  proclaim  the  toilet  s  rites  ; — 
From  room  to  room  the  ready  handmaids  hie, 
Some  skill  d  to  wreathe  the  turban  tastefully, 
Or  hang  the  veil,  in  negligence  of  shade, 
O  er  the  warm  blushes  of  the  youthful  maid, 
Who,  if  between  the  folds  but  one  eye  shone, 
Like  Seba  s  Queen  could  vanquish  with  that  onei 
While  some  bring  leaves  of  Henna  to  imbue 
The  fingers'  ends  with  a  bright  roseate  liue,^ 
So  bright,  that  in  the  mirror  s  depth  they  seem 
Like  tips  of  coral  brandies  in  the  stream ; 
And  others  mix  the  Kohol  s  jetty  dye. 
To  give  that  long,  dark  languish  to  the  eye,' 
Which  makes  the  maids,  whonj  kisgs  are  proud  tocuiJ 
From  fair  Circassia  s  vales,  so  beautiful. 

All  is  in  motion ;  rings,  and  plumes,  and  pearls 
Are  shining  every  where; — some  younger  girls 
Are  gone  by  moonlight  to  the  garden  beds. 
To  gather  fresh,  cool  chaplets  for  their  heads ; 
(iay  creatures  !  sweet,  though  mourntui  tis  to  sen 
How  each  prefers  a  garland  from  that  tree 
NV'hich  brings  to  mind  her  childhood  s  innocent  d^y. 
And  the  dear  fields  and  friendships  far  away. 
The  maid  of  India,  blest  again  to  hold 
In  her  full  lap  the  Champac  s  leaves  of  gold,* 
Thinks  of  the  time,  when,  by  the  Ga.noes'  flood, 
Her  little  play-mates  scatter'd  many  a  bud 


1  "'J'liou  liasl  ravislied  my  heart  with  one  of  thine  eyc«. 

—Sul.  .SV^.'^r. 

2  "Tliey  tinged  the  onds  of  lier  fingers  scarlet  with  Hen- 
na, so  that  I  hoy  resi'inbled  branchuii  ol  coral." — isto'-y  o! 
Prince  Fullun  in  Bakardaiiush. 

3  "  Thi-  wmiien  blacken  the  inside  of  their  eyelids  witii 
a  powder  named  tlie  black  (,^obol." — Hussil. 

4  "The  appearance  oflhe  blossor-s  of  tlio  ^old-coloured 
'^ampac  on  the  bhick  hair  of  the  Indian  women,  liiu  sup- 
plie<l  ibe  Siinsci'il  ructs  with  many  elegant  alluaiuns. — S«<r 
.isiattc  Researches    vol.  iv. 


36 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Upon  her  long  black  hair,  with  glossy  gleam 
Just  dripping  from  tlie  consecrated  stream  ; 
While  the  young  Arab,  haunted  by  the  smell 
or  her  own  mountain-Howers,  as  by  a  spell, — 
The  sweet  Elcaya,'  and  that  courteous  tree 
Which  bows  to  all  who  seek  its  canopy-' — 
Sees  call'd  up  round  her  by  these  magic  scents, 
The  well,  the  camels,  and  her  lather's  tents; 
Sighs  for  the  home  she  left  with  httle  pain, 
And  wishes  e'en  its  sorrows  back  again  ! 

Meanwhile,  through  vast  illuminated  halls. 
Silent  and  bright,  where  nothing  but  the  falls 
Of  fragrant  waters,  gushing  with  cool  sound 
From  many  a  jasper  fount,  is  heard  around, 
Voung  AziM  roams  bewilder'd, — nor  can  guess 
What  means  this  maze  of  light  and  loneliness. 
Here  the  way  leads,  o'er  tesselated  floors. 
Or  mats  of  Cairo,  through  long  corridors, 
Where,  rang'd  in  cassolets  and  silver  urns, 
Sweet  wood  of  aloe  or  of  sandal  burns ; 
And  spicy  rods,  such  as  illume  at  night 
The  bowers  of  Tibet,^  send  forth  odorous  light, 
Like  Peris'  wands,  when  pointing  out  the  road 
For  some  pure  Spirit  to  its  blest  abode ! — 
And  here,  at  once,  the  glittering  saloon 
Bursts  on  his  sight,  boundless  and  bright  as  noon ; 
Where,  in  the  midst,  reflecting  back  the  rays 
In  broken  rainbows,  a  fresh  fountain  plays 
High  as  th'  enameli'd  cupola  which  towers 
All  rich  v/ith  arabesques  of  gold  and  flowers ; 
And  the  mosaic  floor  beneath  shines  through 
The  spi inkling  of  that  fountain's  silver}'  dew, 
Like  the  wet,  glistening  shells,  of  every  dye. 
That  on  the  margin  of  the  Red  Sea  lie. 

Here  too  he  traces  the  kind  visitings 
Of  woman's  love  in  those  fair,  living  things 
Of  land  and  wave,  whose  fate, — in  bondage  thrown 
For  their  weak  loveliness — is  like  her  own  ! 
On  one  side,  gleaming  with  a  sudden  grace 
Through  water,  brilliant  as  the  crystal  vase 
In  which  it  undulates,  small  fishes  shine, 
Like  golden  ingots  from  a  fairy  mine ; 
While,  on  the  other,  lattic'd  lightly  in 
With  odoriferous  woods  of  Camorin,* 
Each  brilliant  bird  that  wings  the  air  is  seen ; — 
Gay,  sparkling  loories,  such  as  gleam  between 
The  crimson  blossoms  of  the  coral  tree,' 
In  the  warm  isles  of  India's  sunny  sea  : 
Mecca's  blue  sacred  pigeon,*  and  the  thrush 
Of  Indosian,'  whose  holy  warblings  gush, 


I  "  A  trt.'p  fumoiis  Cor  its  jxjrluine,  ami  common  ou  thu 
hills  of  Yomcn." — JM'irbuhr. 

'2  Of  tht'  genus  inimiisa,  "which  droops  its  branches 
whenever  any  person  approaches  it,  seeming  as  if  it  saluted 
those  who  retire  under  its  shade." — Jfiebuhr. 

3  "Cloves  are  a  principal  ingredient  in  the  C(>mpositlon 
of  the  i)erfumed  rods,  which  men  of  rank  keep  constantly 
burnmg  \n  Ihpir  iiiesinee." — Tamer's  'I'lbct. 

4  "  C'est  d'oi'i  vicnt  lebois  d'aloes,  que  les  Arabes  apjiel- 
lent  Oud  Coinari,  et  celui  du  sandal,  <iui.8'y  trouve  en 
grande  quanllK';." — D' Hirbilut. 

5  "  Thousands  of  variegated  loories  visit  the  coral  trees." 

Karrow. 

f)  "In  Mecca,  there  are  ([uantitics  of  blue  pigeons,  which 
none  will  allright  or  abuse,  much  less  kill." — PitCs  Jiccnunt 
of  the  .Mahomi.tana. 

7  "The  Pagodii  Thrush  is  esteemed  among  the  first  cho- 
risters of  Inclia.  It  sits  ixTchi'd  on  the  sacred  Pagodiis,  and 
I'roin  thence  delivers  its  melodious  song." — Pennant's  Hui- 
dottan 


At  evening,  from  the  tall  pagoda's  top; — 
Those  golden  birds,  that,  in  the  spice-lime,  drop 
About  the  gardens,  drunk  with  that  sweet  food 
Whose  scent  hath  lur'd  them  o'er  the  summer  flooU 
And  those  that  under  Araby's  soft  sun 
Build  their  higii  nests  of  budding  cinnamon  ;'^- 
In  short,  all  rare  and  beauteous  things  that  fly 
Through  the  pure  element,  here  calmly  lie 
Sleeping  in  light,  like  the  green  birds'  that  dwell 
In  Eden's  radiant  fields  of  asphodel ! 

So  on  through  scenes  past  all  imagining, — 
More  like  ihe  luxuries  of  that  impious  King,* 
Whom  Death's  dark  Angel,  with  his  lightning  torch 
Struck  down  and  blasted  even  in  Pleasure's  porch,'  - 
Than  the  pure  dwelling  of  a  Prophet  sent, 
Arm'd  with  Heaven's  sword,  for  man's  enfranchise 

ment — 
Young  AziM  wander'd,  looking  sternly  round: 
His  simple  garb  and  war-boots'  clanking  sound, 
But  ill  according  with  the  pomp  and  grace 
And  silent  lull  of  that  voluptuous  place  ! 

"Is  this,  then,"  thought  the  youth,  "is this  the  way 
To  free  man's  spirit  from  the  deadening  sway 
Of  worldly  sloth ; — to  teach  him,  while  he  lives, 
To  know  no  bliss  but  that  which  virtue  gives ; 
And  when  he  dies,  to  leave  his  lofty  name 
A  light,  a  land-mark  on  the  clitFs  of  fame  ? 
It  was  not  so,  land  of  tlie  generous  thought 
And  daring  deed  !  thy  godlike  sages  taught ; 
It  was  not  thus,  in  bowers  of  wanton  ease. 
Thy  Freedom  nurs'd  her  sacred  energies ; 
Oh  !  not  beneath  th'  enfeebling,  withering  glow 
Of  such  dull  luxury  did  those  myrtles  grow. 
With  which  she  wreath'd  her  sword,  when  she  woulo 

dare 
Immortal  deeds  ;  but  in  the  bracing  air 
Of  toil, — of  temperance, — of  that  high,  rare, 
Ethereal  virtue,  which  alone  can  breathe 
Life,  health,  and  lustre  into  Freedom's  wreath ! 
WTio,  that  surveys  this  span  of  earth  we  press, 
This  speck  of  life  in  time's  great  wilderness. 
This  narrow  isthmus  'twixt  two  boundless  seas, 
The  past,  the  future,  two  eternities ! 
Would  sully  the  bright  spot,  or  leave  it  bare. 
When  he  might  build  him  a  proud  temple  there, 
A  name,  that  long  shall  hallow  all  its  space. 
And  be  each  purer  soul's  high  resting-place? 
But  no — it  cannot  be  that  one,  whom  God 
Has  sent  to  break  the  wizard  Falsehood's  rod, — 
A  Prophet  of  the  trutb,  whose  mission  draws 
Its  rights  from  Heaven,  should  thus  profane  his  cause 
With  the  world's  vulgar  pomps  , — no,  no — I  see — 
He  thinks  me  weak — this  glare  of  luxury 
Is  but  to  tempt,  to  try  the  eaglet  gaze 
Of  my  young  soul ; — shine  on,  'twill  stand  the  blaze !" 


1  Hirds  of  Paradise,  which,  at  the  nutmeg  season,  come 
in  flights  from  the  southern  Isles  to  India,  and  "  Ihe  strength 
of  the  mitincg,"  says  Taocrnier,  "so  intoxicates  them,  that 
they  fill  dead  drunk  to  the  earlh." 

•2  "That  bird  which  livcth  in  Arabia,  and  huildeth  iti 
nest  with  cinnamon." — lirown's  Vulirar  Krro-s, 

3  "  The  spirits  oi  Ihe  martyrs  will  be  lodged  in  Ihe  crop* 
)f  green  birds  " — Oilihon,  vol.  ix.  p.  421. 

4  l^hrdad,  who  made  (he  delicious  gardens  of  Irim,  in 
.mitalion  of  Paradise,  and  was  destroyed  by  lightning  the 
first  nine  he  attempted  to  enter  them 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


37 


So  thought  the  youtli , — but,  ev'n  while  he  defied 
The  witching  scene,  he  felt  its  witcliery  ghde 
Through  every  sense.   The  perfume,  breatiiing  round, 
Like  :t  perN'ading  spirit ; — the  still  sound 
Of  falling  watPrs,  lulling  <is  the  song 
Of  Indian  bees  at  sunset,  when  they  throng 
Around  the  fragrant  Niliga,  and  deep 
[n  its  blue  blossoms  hum  themselves  to  sleep !' 
And  music  too — dear  music  !  that  can  touch 
r?cyond  all  else  the  soul  that  loves  it  much — 
Now  heard  far  oft",  so  far  as  but  to  seem 
Like  the  faint,  exquisite  music  of  a  dream ; — 
All  was  too  much  for  him,  too  full  of  bliss  : 
The  heart  could  nothing  feel,  that  felt  not  this. 
Soften'd,  he  sunk  upon  a  couch,  and  gave 
His  soul  up  to  sweet  thoughts,  like  wave  on  wave 
Succeeding  in  smooth  seas,  when  storms  are  laid; — 
lie  thought  of  Zki.ica,  his  own  dear  maid. 
And  of  the  time,  when,  full  of  blissful  sighs. 
They  sat  and  look'd  into  each  other's  eyes. 
Silent  and  happy — as  if  God  had  given 
Nought  else  worth  looking  at  on  this  side  heaven  ! 

"  O  my  lov'd  mistress  !  whose  enchantments  still 
Are  with  me,  round  me,  wander  where  I  will — 
It  is  for  thee,  for  thee  alone  I  seek 
The  paths  of  glory — to  light  up  thy  check 
With  warm  approval — in  that  gentle  look, 
To  read  my  praise,  as  in  an  angel  s  book, 
And  think  ail  toils  rewarded,  when  from  thee 
I  gain  a  smile,  worth  immortality  ! 
How  shall  I  bear  the  moment,  when  restor'd 
To  that  young  heart  where  1  alone  am  lord, 
Though  of  such  bliss  unworthy, — since  the  best 
Alone  deserve  to  be  the  happiest ! — 
When  from  those  lips,  unbreath'd  upon  for  years, 
I  shall  again  kiss  off  the  soul-felt  tears. 
And  find  those  tears  warm  as  when  last  they  started. 
Those  sacred  kisses  pure  as  when  we  parted ! 
Oh  my  own  life ! — why  should  a  single  day, 
A  moment,  keep  me  from  those  arms  away  ?" 

Wliile  thus  he  thinks,  still  nearer  on  the  breeze 
Come  those  delicio^is,  dream-like  harmonies. 
Each  note  of  which  but  adds  new,  downy  links 
To  the  soft  chain  in  which  his  spirit  sinks. 
He  turns  him  tow'rd  tlie  sound,  and,  far  away 
Through  a  long  vista,  sparkling  with  the  play 
Or  countless  lamps, — like  the  rich  track  which  Day 
Leaves  on  the  watcs,  when  he  sinks  from  us ; 
So  long  the  path,  its  light  so  tremulous  ; — 
He  sees  a  group  of  female  forms  advance, 
Some  chain'd  together  in  the  mazy  dance 
By  fetters,  forg'd  in  the  green  sunny  bowers. 
As  they  were  captives  to  the  King  of  Flowers; — 
And  some  disporting  round,  unlink'd  and  free, 
Who  seem'd  to  mock  their  sister's  slavery. 
And  round  and  round  them  still,  in  wheeling  flight 
Went,  like  gay  moths  about  a  lamp  at  night ; 
While  others  walk'd  as  gracefully  along, 
Their  feet  kept  time,  the  very  soul  of  song 
From  psaltery,  pipe,  and  lutes  of  heavenly  thrill. 
Or  their  own  youthful  voices,  heavenlier  still  I 


1  "My  Pundits  assure  me  that  the  plant  before  us  [the 
Nilica]  is  their  Sephalica,  thus  named  because  the  bees  are 
lupuo^ed  to  sleep  oa  im  bioesoms." — Sir  tV.  Jones. 


And  now  they  come,  now  pass  before  his  eye. 

Forms  such  as  Nature  moulds,  when  she  wtmld  vie 

With  Fancy's  pencil,  and  gave  birth  to  things 

Lovely  beyond  its  fairest  picturings  ! 

Awhile  they  dance  before  him,  then  divide 

Breaking,  like  rosy  clouds  at  even-tide 

;\round  the  rich  pavilion  of  the  sun, 

Till  silently  dispersing,  one  by  one, 

Through  many  a  path  that  from  tiie  chamber  leads 

To  gardens,  terraces,  and  mooidight  meads. 

Their  distant  laughter  comes  upon  the  wind, 

And  but  one  trembling  nymph  remains  behind — 

Beck'ning  them  back  in  vain,  for  they  are  gone, 

And  she  is  lell  in  all  that  light  alone ; 

No  veil  to  curtain  o'er  her  beauteous  brow. 

In  its  young  bashfulness  more  beauteous  now  ; 

But  a  light,  golden  chain-work  round  her  hair, 

Such  as  the  maids  of  Vezd  and  Siiiraz  wear 

From  which,  on  either  side,  gracefully  hung 

A  golden  airxulet,  in  th'  Arab  tongue, 

Engraven  o'er  with  some  immortal  line 

From  holy  writ,  or  bard  scarce  less  divine ; 

While  her  left  hand,  as  shrinkingly  she  stood. 

Held  a  small  lute  of  gold  and  sandal-wood. 

Which  once  or  twice, she  touch'd  with  hurried  straiiy 

Then  took  her  trembling  fingers  otT  again 

But  when  at  length  a  timid  glance  she  stole 

At  AziM,  the  sweet  gravity  of  soul 

She  saw  through  all  his  features  calm'd  her  fear, 

And,  like  a  half-tam'd  antelope,  more  near. 

Though  shrinking  still,  she  catiie  ; — then  sat  her  dowii 

Upon  a  musnud's'  edge  ;  and,  bolder  grown, 

In  the  pathetic  mode  of  Isfahan^ 

Touch'd  a  preluding  strain,  and  thus  began : — 

There's  a  bower  of  roses  by  Bexde.mekr's'  stream. 

And  the  nightingale  sings  round  it  all  the  day  long ; 
In  the  time  of  my  cliildhood  'twais  like  a  sweet  dream. 

To  sit  in  the  roses  and  hear  the  bird's  song. 

That  bower  and  its  music  I  never  forget. 

But  oft  when  alone,  in  the  bloom  of  tht;  year, 

1  think — is  the  nightingale  singing  there  yet  ? 

Are  the  roses  still  bright  by  the  calm  Benuemker/ 

No,  the  roses  soon  wither'd  that  hung  o'ei  the  wave. 

But  some  blossoms  were  gather'd,  while  freshly 

they  shone. 

And  a  dew  was  distiU'd  from  their  flowers,  ihat  gave 

All  the  fragrance  of  summer,  when  summer  was 

gone. 

Thus  memory  draws  from  delight,  ere  it  dies, 
An  essence  that  breathes  of  it  many  a  year; 

Thus  bright  to  my  soul,  as  'twas  then  to  my  eyes 
Is  that  bower  on  the  banks  of  the  calm  Be.nde.meer. 

"  Poor  maiden !"  tliought  the  youth,  "  if  thou  wen 
sent. 
With  thy  soft  lute  and  beauty's  blandishment, 
To  wake  unholy  wishes  in  this  heart. 
Or  tempt  its  truth,  thou  little  know'st  the  art. 


1  Musnuils  are  cushioned  seaU,  usually  reserved  for  per 
sons  of  distinction. 

2  The  Persians,  like  the  ancient  Greeks,  call  their  mumckl 
modes  or  Perdas  by  the  names  ol'  ditfereni  counuiea  of 
cities;   as,  the  mode  ot"  Isfahan,  the  mode  of  Irak,  etc 

3  A  river  which  tluvvs  near  the  ruins  of  Chilminur 


38 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


For  though  thy  hp  should  sweetly  counsel  wrong, 
Those  vestal  eyes  would  disavow  its  song. 
But  thou  hast  breath'd  such  purity,  thy  lay 
Returns  so  fondly  to  youth's  virtuous  day, 
And  leads  thy  soul — if  e'er  it  wander'd  tlience — 
So  gently  back  to  its  first  innocence, 
That  I  would  sooner  stop  th'  unchained  dove. 
When  swift  returning  to  its  home  of  love. 
And  round  its  snowy  wing  new  fetters  twine, 
Than  turn  from  virtue  one  pure  wish  of  thine." 

Scarce  had   this  feeling  pass'd,  when,  sparkling 
through 
The  gently  open'd  curtains  of  light  blue 
That  veil'd  the  breezy  casement,  countless  eyes, 
Peeping  like  stars  through  the  blue  evening  skies, 
Look'd  laughing  in,  as  if  to  mock  the  pair 
That  sat  so  still  and  melancholy  there. — 
And  now  the  curtains  fly  apart,  and  in 
From  the  cool  air,  'mid  showers  of  jessamine 
Which  those  without  fling  after  them  in  play, 
Two  lightsome  maidens  spring,  lightsome  as  they 
Who  live  in  th'  air  on  odours,  and  around 
The  bright  saloon,  scarce  conscious  of  the  ground. 
Chase  one  another  in  a  varying  dance 
Of  mirth  and  languor,  coyness  and  advance. 
Too  eloquently  like  love's  warm  pursuit : — 
While  she,  who  sung  so  gently  to  the  lute 
Her  dream  of  home,  steals  timidly  away. 
Shrinking  as  violets  do  in  summer's  ray, — 
But  takes  with  her  from  Azim's  heart  that  sigh 
We  sometimes  give  to  forms  that  pass  us  by 
In  the  world's  crowd,  too  lovely  to  remain. 
Creatures  of  light  we  never  see  again ! 

Around  the  wliite  necks  of  the  nymphs  who  danc'd. 
Hung  carcanets  of  orieni  gems,  that  glanc'd 
More  brilliant  than  the  sea-glass  glittering  o'er 
The  hills  of  crystal  on  the  Caspian  shore;' 
While  from  their  long,  dark  tresses,  in  a  fall 
Of  curls  descending,  bells  as  musical 
As  those  that,  on  the  golden-shafted  trees 
Of  Eden,  shake  in  the  Eternal  Breeze,^ 
Rung  round  their  steps,  at  every  bound  more  sweet. 
As  'twere  th'  ecstatic  language  of  their  feet ! 
At  length  the  chase  was  o'er,  and  they  stood  wreath'd 
Within  each  other's  arms  ;  while  soft  there  breath'd 
Through  the  cool  casement,  mingled  with  the  sighs 
Of  moonlight  flowers,  music  that  seem'd  to  rise 
Fiom  some  still  lake,  so  liquidly  it  rose ; 
And,  as  it  swcll'd  again  at  each  faint  close. 
The  ear  could  track  through  all  that  maze  of  chords 
And  young  sweet  voices,  these  iinpassion'd  words  : — 

A  Spirit  there  is,  whose  fragrant  sigh 
Is  burning  now  through  earth  and  air ; 

Where  cheeks  are  blushing,  the  Spirit  is  nigh. 
Where  lips  are  meeting,  the  Spirit  is  there ! 


1  "To  tlie  north  of  its,  fon  the  coast  of  the  Caspian,  near 
Badku]  w.iH  a  nionntain  wiiich  sjiarklud  like  diamonds, 
arising  from  tlie  soa-yliiss  and  crystals,  with  vliicli  it 
»bounds." — Journey  of  the  Hussiam.  ^nibassadur  to  Per- 
nia,  1746 

2  "  To  which  will  be  added,  the  sound  of  the  belle,  han^- 
■n<.'  on  the  trees,  which  will  be  put  in  motion  hy  Ihe  wind 
•iroceediiig  from  the  throne  of  God,  as  often  aa  tlie  blessed 
"■wij  for  music." — Sale 


His  breath  is  the  soul  of  flowers  like  these. 

And  his  floating  eyes — oh  !  they  resemble 
Blue  water-lilies,'  when  the  breeze 

Is  making  the  stream  around  them  tremble  ! 
Hail  to  thee,  hail  to  thee,  kindling  power ! 

Spirit  of  Love,  Spirit  of  Bliss  ! 
Thy  holiest  time  is  the  moonlight  hour. 

And  there  never  was  moonhght  so  sweet  na  thit 

By  the  fair  and  brave. 

Who  blushing  unite. 
Like  the  sun  and  the  wave, 

When  they  meet  at  night ! 

By  the  tear  that  shows 

When  passion  is  nigh, 
As  tne  rain-drop  flows 

From  the  heat  of  the  sky ! 

By  the  first  love-beat 

Of  the  youthful  heart. 
By  the  bliss  to  meet. 

And  the  pain  to  part ! 
By  all  that  thou  hast 

To  mortals  given. 
Which — oh  !  could  it  last, 

This  earth  were  heaven ! 

We  call  thee  hither,  entrancing  Power ! 

Spirit  of  Love  !  Spirit  of  Bliss  ! 
Thy  holiest  time  is  the  moonlight  hour ! 

And  there  never  was  moonlight  so  sweet  as  Ulb 


Impatient  of  a  scene,  whose  luxuries  stole, 
Spite  of  himself,  too  deep  into  his  soul. 
And  where,  'inidst  all  that  the  young  heart  loves  most 
Flowers,  music,  smiles,  to  yield  was  to  be  lost; 
The  youth  had  started  up  and  turn'd  away 
From  the  light  nymphs  and  their  luxurious  lay, 
To  muse  upon  the  pictures  that  hung  round, — 
Bright  images,  that  spoke  without  a  sound. 
And  views,  like  vistas  into  fairy  ground. 
But  here  again  new  spells  came  o'er  his  sense; — 
All  that  the  pencil's  mute  omnipotence 
Could  call  up  into  life,  of  soft  and  fair. 
Of  fond  and  passionate,  was  glowing  there ; 
Nor  yet  too  warm,  but  touch'd  with  that  fine  art 
Which  paints  of  pleasure  but  the  purer  part; 
Which  knows  ev'n  Beauty  when  half-veil'd  is  best, 
Like  her  own  radiant  planet  of  the  west, 
Whose  orb  when  half  retir'd  looks  loveliest ! 
There  hung  the  history  of  the  Genii-King, 
Trac'd  through  each  gay,  voluptuous  wandering 
With  her  from  Saha's  bowers,  in  whose  bright  eyes 
He  read  that  to  be  blest  is  to  be  wise  ;^ — 
Here  fond  Zuleika''  woos  with  open  arms 
The  Hebrew  boy,  who  flies  from  her  young  chaims, 
Yet,  flying,  turns  to  gaze,  and,  half  undone. 
Wishes  that  hcav'n  and  she  could  both  be  won ! 


1  The  blue  lotos,  which  grows  in  Cashmere  and  in 
Persia. 

2  F^or  the  loves  of  King  Solomon,  [who  was  supposed  td 
preside  over  the  whole  race  of  Genii]  with  Hiilkis,  the 
(iuecn  of  Sheha  or  Saba,  Bee  W  Uerbc.lot,  and  the  J^Tolej 
on  the  Koran,  chiijt.  2. 

3  The  wif(!  of  I'otiidiar,  thus  named  by  the  Orientals. 
Her  adventure  will)  the  Patriarch  Joscj)h  is  the  subject  ol 
many  of  their  poems  and  romances 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


39 


And  here  Mohammed,  born  for  love  and  guile, 
Forgets  the  Koran  in  his  Mary's  smile  ; — 
Then  beckons  some  kind  angel  from  above 
With  a  new  text  to  consecrate  their  love  !' 

With  rapid  step,  yet  pleas'd  and  lingering  eye. 
Did  the  youth  pass  these  pictur'd  stories  by. 
And  hasten'd  to  a  casement,  where  tlic  light 
Of  the  calm  moon  came  in,  and  freshly  bright 
The  fields  without  were  seen,  sleeping  as  still 
As  if  no  life  remain'd  in  breeze  or  rill. 
Here  paus'd  he,  while  the  music,  now  less  near, 
Breath'd  with  a  holier  language  on  his  ear. 
As  though  the  distance  and  that  heavenly  ray 
Through  which  the  sounds  came  floating,  took  away 
All  that  had  been  too  earthly  in  the  lay. 
Oh  !  could  he  listen  to  such  sounds  unmov'd. 
And  by  that  light — nor  dream  of  her  he  lov'd  ? 
Dream  on,  unconscious  boy !  while  yet  thou  may'st ; 
'Tis  the  last  bliss  thy  soul  shall  ever  taste. 
Clasp  yet  awhile  her  miage  to  thy  heart, 
Ere  all  the  light,  that  made  it  dear,  depart. 
Think  of  her  smiles  as  when  thou  saw'st  them  last. 
Clear,  beautiful,  by  nought  of  earth  o'ercast; 
Recall  her  tears,  to  thee  at  parting  given. 
Pure  as  they  weep,  if  angels  weep,  in  heaven ! 
Think  in  her  own  still  bower  she  waits  thee  now, 
VVith  the  same  glow  of  heart  and  bloom  of  brow, 
Yet  shrin'd  in  solitude — thine  all,  thine  only, 
Like  the  one  star  above  thee,  bright  and  lonely  . 
Oh  that  a  dream  so  sweet,  so  long  enjoy'd. 
Should  be  so  sadly,  cruelly  destroy'd  ! 

The  song  is  liush'd,  the  laughing  nymphs  are  flown, 
And  he  is  left,  musing  of  bliss,  alone  ; — 
Alone  ? — no,  not  alone — that  heavy  sigh, 
Tliat  sob  of  grief,  which  broke  from  some  one  nigh — 
Whose  could  it  be  ? — alas  !  is  misery  found 
Here,  even  here,  on  this  enchanted  ground  ? 
He  turns,  and  sees  a  female  form,  close  veil'd, 
Leaning,  as  if  both  heart  and  strength  had  fail'd, 
Against  a  pillar  near; — not  glittering  o'er 
With  gems  and  wreaths,  such  as  the  other  wore. 
But  in  that  deep-blue  melancholv  dress,^ 
Bokhara's  maidens  wear  in  mindfulness 
Of  friend'-  or  kindred,  dead  or  far  away ; — 
And  such  as  Zelica  had  on  that  day 
He  left  her, — when,  with  heart  too  full  to  speak, 
He  took  away  her  last  warm  tears  upon  his  cheeL 

A  strange  emotion  stirs  within  him, — more 
Than  mere  compassion  ever  wak'd  before  ; 
Unconsciously  he  opes  his  arms,  while  she 
Springs  forward,  as  with  life's  last  energy. 
But,  swooning  in  that  one  convulsive  bound. 
Sinks,  ere  she  reach  his  arms,  upon  the  ground  ; — 
Her  veil  falls  off — her  faint  hands  clasp  his  knees — 
'Tis  she  herself! — 'tis  Zelica  he  sees  ! 
But,  ah,  so  pale,  so  chang'd — none  but  a  lover 
Could  in  that  wreck  of  beauty's  shrine  discover 
The  once  ador'd  divinity  !  ev'n  he 
Stood  for  some  moments  mute,  and  doubtingly 


1  The  particulars  of  Mahomet's  amour  with  Mary,  the 
Coptic  girl,  in  justitic;ition  of  which  he  added  a  new  cliap- 
'er  to  the  Korun,  may  be  found  in  Gagnier's  JVotes  upon 
Jllfulfcda,  ".  151. 

2  ''lJee[A-blue  is  iheir  mourning  colour." — Hanway. 


Put  back  the  ringlets  from  her  brow,  and  gaz'd 

Upon  those  lids,  where  once  such  lustre  biaz'd, 
ICre  he  could  think  she  was  indeed  his  own. 
Own  darliiig  maid,  whom  ho  so  long  had  known 
111  joy  and  sorrow,  beautiful  in  both  ; 
Who,  e'en  when  grief  was  heaviest — when  loih 
He  left  her  for  the  wars — in  that  worst  hour 
Sat  in  her  sorrow  like  the  sweet  night-flower,' 
When  darkness  brings  its  weeping  glories  out. 
And  spreads  its  sighs  like  frankincense  about  1 

"Look  up  my  Zelica — one  moment  show 
Those  gentle  eyes  to  me,  that  I  may  know 
Thy  life,  thy  loveliness  is  not  all  gone. 
But  there,  at  least,  shines  as  it  ever  shone. 
Come,  look  upon  thy  Azim — one  dear  glance, 
Like  those  of  old,  were  heaven !  whatever  chance 
Hath  brought  thee  here,  oh  !  'twas  a  blessed  one  ! 
There — my  sweet  lids — they  move — that  kiss  hath  run 
Like  the  first  shoot  of  life  through  every  vein, 
And  now  I  clasp  her,  mine,  all  mine  again ! 
Oh  the  delight — now,  in  this  very  hour. 
When,  had  the  whole  rich  world  been  in  my  powei 
I  should  have  singled  out  thee,  only  thee. 
From  the  whole  world's  collected  treasury — 
To  have  thee  here — to  hang  thus  fondly  o'er 
j>ly  own  best  purest  Zelica  once  more !" 

It  was  indeed  the  touch  of  those  lov'd  lips 
Upon  her  eyes  that  chas'd  their  short  eclipse, 
And,  gradual  as  the  snow,  at  heaven's  breath, 
3Ielts  off  and  shows  the  azure  flowers  beneath, 
Her  lids  unclos'd,  and  the  bright  eyes  were  seen 
Gazing  on  his, — not,  as  they  late  had  been, 
Quick,  restless,  wild — but  mournfully  serene; 
As  if  to  lie,  ev'n  for  that  tranc'd  minute. 
So  near  his  heart,  had  consolation  in  it ; 
And  thus  to  wake  in  his  belov'd  caress 
Took  from  her  soul  one  half  its  wretchedness. 
But  when  she  heard  him  call  her  good  and  pure 
Oh  'twas  too  much — loo  dreadful  to  endure  ! 
Shuddering  she  broke  away  from  his  embrace. 
And,  hiding  with  both  hands  her  guilty  face. 
Said,  in  a  tone,  whose  anguish  would  have  rivea 
A  heart  of  very  marble,  "  pure ! — oh !  heaven.  — 

That  tone — those  looks  so  chang'd — the  witheriod 

blight. 
That  sin  and  sorrow  leave  where'er  they  hght— 
The  dead  despondency  of  those  sunk  eyes, 
Where  once,  had  he  tlius  met  her  by  surprise. 
He  would  have  seen  himself,  too  happy  boy ! 
Reflected  in  a  thousand  lights  of  joy  ; 
And  then  the  place,  that  bright  unholy  place, 
Where  vice  lay  hid  beneath  each  winning  grace 
And  charm  of  luxury,  as  the  viper  weaves 
Its  wily  covering  of  sweet  balsam-leaves  ;^ — 
All  struck  upon  his  heart,  sudden  and  cold 
As  death  itself; — it  needs  not  to  be  told — 
No,  no — he  sees  it  all,  plain  as  the  brand 
Of  burning  shame  can  mark — whate'er  the  hand. 


1  Tlie  sorrowful  nyctantlics,  which  begins  to  spread  ici 
rich  odour  alter  sunset. 

2  "Concerning  the  vipers,  which  Phny  says  were  Tt* 
qiient  among  llie  balsari-trees,  I  made  very  particular  io 
(|uiry :  several  were  bro  jglit  mo  alive,  both  in  Yumbo  an« 
Jidda." — Bruce 


40 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


That  could  from  heav'n  and  him  such  brightness  sever, 
'Tis  done — lo  heav'n  and  him  she's  lost  for  ever  ! 
It  was  a  dreadlul  moment ;  not  the  tears, 
The  lingering,  lasting  misery  of  years. 
Could  match  that  minute's  anguisli — all  the  worst 
Of  sorrow's  elements  in  that  dark  burst. 
Broke  o'er  his  soul,  and,  with  one  crash  of  fate. 
Laid  the  whole  hopes  of  his  life  desolate ! 

"  Oh  !  curse  me  not,"  she  cried,  as  wild  he  toss'd 
His  desperate  hand  tow'rds  heav'n — "though  1  am 

lost. 
Think  not  that  guilt,  that  falsehood  made  mc  fall; 
No,  no — 'twas  grief,  'twas  madness  did  it  all ! 
Nay,  doubt  me  not — though  all  thy  love  l\afh  ceas'd — 
I  know  it  hath — yet,  yet  believe,  at  least. 
That  every  spark  of  reason's  light  must  be 
Quench'd  in  this  brain,  ere  I  could  stray  from  thee  ! 
They  told  me  thou  wert  dead — why,  AziM,  why. 
Did  we  not  both  of  us  that  instant  die 
When  we  were  parted? — oh, could'st  thou  but  know 
With  what  a  deep  devotedness  of  woe 
I  wept  thy  absence — o'er  and  o'er  again 
Thinking  of  thee,  still  thee,  till  thouglit  grew  pain. 
And  memory,  like  a  drop,  that,  night  and  day. 
Falls  jold  and  ceaseless,  wore  my  heart  away ! 
Didst  thou  but  know  how  pale  I  sat  at  home. 
My  eyes  still  turn'd  the  way  thou  wert  to  come. 
And,  all  the  long,  long  night  of  hope  and  fear, 
Thy  voice  and  step  still  sounding  in  my  ear — 
Oh  God !  thou  would'st  not  wonder,  that,  at  last, 
When  every  hope  was  all  at  once  o'ercast. 
When  I  heard  frightful  voices  round  me  say 
Azim  IS  dead! — this  wretched  brain  gave  way. 
And  I  became  a  wreck,  at  random  driven. 
Without  one  glimpse  of  reason  or  of  Heaven — 
All  wild — and  ev'n  this  quenchless  love  within 
Turn'd  to  foul  fires  to  ligiit  me  into  sin ! 
Thou  pitiest  me — I  knew  thou  would'st — that  sky 
Hath  nought  beneath  it  half  so  lorn  as  I. 
The  fiend,  who  lur'd  me  hither — hist !  come  near. 
Or  thou  too,  tliou  art  lost,  if  he  shoi>ld  hear — 
Told  me  such  things — oh  !  with  such  dev'lish  art, 
As  would  have  ruin'd  ev'n  a  holier  heart — 
Of  thee,  and  of  that  ever-radiant  sphere. 
Where,  bless'd  at  length,  if  1  but  serv'd  him  here, 
1  should  for  ever  live  in  thy  dear  sight. 
And  drink  from  those  pure  eyes  eternal  light! 
Think,  think  liow  lost,  how  madden'd  1  must  be. 
To  hope  that  guilt  could  lead  to  God  or  thee ! 
Thou  weep'st  for  me — do,  weep — oh  !  that  I  durst 
Kiss  off  that  tear !  but,  no — these  lips  are  curst. 
They  must  not  touch  thee ; — one  divine  caress, 
One  blessed  moment  of  forgetfulness 
I've  had  witliin  tiiose  arms,  and  Ihut  shall  lie, 
Shrin'd  in  my  soul's  deep  memory  till  I  die ! 
The  last  of  joy's  last  relics  here  below, 
The  one  sweet  drop  in  all  this  waste  of  woe. 
My  heart  has  treasur'd  from  atfection's  spring. 
To  soothe  and  cool  its  deadly  withering ! 
But  thou — yes,  thou  must  go — for  ever  go ; 
This  place  is  not  for  thee — for  thee  !  oh  no  : 
Did  I  but  tell  thee  half,  thy  tortur'd  brain 
Would  burn  like  mine,  and  mine  go  wild  again! 
£r  ougli,  that  Guilt  reigns  here — that  hearts,  once  good. 
Now  tiinted,  chill'd  and  broken,  are  his  food. 


Enough,  that  we  are  parted — that  there  rolls 
A  flood  of  headlong  fate  between  our  souls. 
Whose  darkness  severs  me  as  wide  from  thee 
As  hell  from  heav'n,  to  all  eternity !" — 

"Zelica!  Zelica  !"  the  youth  e.xclaim'd, 
In  all  the  tortures  of  a  mind  inllani'd 
Almost  to  madness — "by  that  sacred  Heav'n, 
Where  yet,  if  pray'rs  can  move,  thou'll  be  forgivpn. 
As  thou  art  here — here,  in  this  writhing  heart. 
All  sinful,  wild,  and  ruin'd  as  thou  art  I 
By  the  remembrance  of  our  once  pure  love, 
Which,  like  a  church-yard  light,  still  burns  above 
The  grave  of  our  lost  souls — which  guilt  in  thee 
Cannot  extinguish,  nor  despair  in  me  ! 
1  do  conjure,  implore  thee  to  fly  hence — 
If  thou  hast  yet  one  spark  of  innocence. 
Fly  with  me  from  this  place. " 

"  With  thee  !  oh  bliss 
'Tis  worth  whole  years  of  torment  to  hear  this. 
What !  take  the  lost  one  with  thee  ? — let  her  rove 
By  thy  dear  side,  as  in  those  days  of  love. 
When  we  were  both  so  happy,  both  so  pure — 
Too  heavenly  dream !  if  there's  on  earth  a  cure 
For  the  sunk  heart,  'tis  this — day  after  day 
To  be  the  blest  companion  of  thy  way ; — 
To  hear  thy  angel  eloquence — to  see 
Those  virtuous  eyes  for  ever  turn'd  on  me ; 
And  in  their  light  re-chasten'd  silently. 
Like  the  stain'd  web  that  whitens  in  the  sun, 
Grow  pure  by  being  purely  shone  upon ! 
And  thou  wilt  pray  for  me — 1  know  thou  wilt — 
At  the  dim  vesper  hour,  when  thoughts  of  guilt 
Come  heaviest  o'er  the  heart,  thou' It  lift  thine  eyes, 
Full  of  sweet  tears,  unto  the  darkening  skies, 
And  plead  for  me  with  Heav'n,  till  I  can  dare 
To  fix  my  own  weak,  sinful  glances  there ; — 
Till  the  good  angels,  when  they  see  me  cling 
For  ever  near  thee,  pale  and  sorrowing, 
Shall  for  thy  sake  pronounce  my  soul  forgiven, 
And  bid  thee  taiie  thy  weeping  slave  to  heaven ! 
Oh  yes,  I'll  fly  with  thee. " 

Scarce  had  she  said 
These  breathless  words,  when  a  voice,  deep  and  drea»1 
As  that  of  MoNKER,  waking  up  the  dead 
From  tlieir  first  sleep — so  startling  'twas  to  both — 
Rung  through  the  casement  near,  "  Thy  oath !  thj 

oath !" 
Oh  Heav'n,  the  ghastliness  of  that  maid's  look ! — 
"  'Tis  he,"  faintly  she  cried,  while  terror  shook 
Her  inmost  core,  nor  durst  she  lift  her  eyes. 
Though  through  the  casement,  now,  nought  but  the 

skies 
And  moonlight  fields  were  seen,  calm  as  before — 
"  'Tis  he,  and  I  am  his — all,  all  is  o'er — 
Go — tly  this  instant,  or  thou  art  ruin'd  too — 
My  oath,  my  oath,  oh  (Jod  !  'tis  all  too  true, 
True  as  the  worm  in  this  cold  heart  it  is — 
I  am  MoK anna's  bride — his,  Azim,  his. — 
The  Dead  stood  round  us,  while  I  spoke  that  vow 
Their  blue  lips  ccho'd  it — 1  hear  them  now  ! 
Their  eyes  glar'd  on  me,  while  I  pledg'd  that  bowl 
'Twas  burning  blood — 1  feel  it  in  my  soul ! 
And  the  Veil'd  Bridegroom — hist  I  I've  seen  to-mghl 
What  angels  know  not  ol^ — so  foul  a  sieht 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


41 


So  horrible — oh  !  may'st  thou  never  see 

Wliat  Ihtre  lies  hid  from  all  but  hell  and  me ! 

But  1  must  hence — off,  off — I  am  not  thine, 

Nor  Ileav'n's,  nor  Love's,  nor  aught  that  is  divine — 

Hold  me  not — iia! — think'st  thou  the  liends  that  sever 

Hearts,  cannot  sunder  hands  ? — thus,  then — forever!" 

With  all  that  strength  which  madness  lends  the 
weak, 
She  flung  away  his  arm ;  and,  with  a  shriek, — 
Whose  sound,  though  he  should  linger  out  more  years 
Than  wretch  e'er  told,  can  never  leave  his  ears, — 
Flew  up  through  that  long  avenue  of  light. 
Fleetly  as  some  dark,  ominous  bird  of  night, 
Across  the  sun,  and  soon  was  out  of  bight. 


Lalla  Rookh  could  think  of  nothing  all  day  but 
the  misery  of  these  two  young  lovers.  Her  gaiety 
was  gone,  and  she  looked  pensively  even  upon  Fad- 
LADEKX.  She  felt  too,  without  knowing  why,  a  sort 
of  uneasy  pleasure  in  imagining  that  AziM  must  have 
been  just  such  a  youth  as  Feramorz  ;  just  as  worthy 
to  enjoy  all  the  blessings,  without  any  of  the  pangs, 
of  that  illusive  passion,  which  too  often,  like  the 
sunny  apples  of  Istkahar,  is  all  sweetness  on  one  side, 
and  all  bitterness  on  the  other. 

As  they  passed  along  a  sequestered  river  after  sun- 
set, they  saw  a  young  Hindoo  girl  upon  the  bank, 
tt'hose  employment  seemed  to  them  so  strange,  that 
they  stopped  their  palankeens  to  observe  her.  She 
had  lignted  a  small  lamp,  filled  with  oil  of  cocoa, 
and  placing  it  in  an  earthen  dish,  adorned  with  a 
wreath  of  flowers,  had  committed  it  with  a  trembling 
hand  to  the  stream,  and  was  now  anxiously  watching 
its  progress  down  the  current,  heedless  of  the  gay 
cavalcade  which  had  drawn  up  beside  her.  Lali.a 
RooKH  was  all  curiosity  : — when  one  of  her  attend- 
ants, who  had  lived  upon  the  banks  of  the  Ganges, 
(where  this  ceremony  is  so  frequent,  that  often,  in 
the  dusk  of  the  evening,  the  river  is  seen  glittering  all 
over  with  lights,  like  the  Oton-tala  or  Sea  of  Stars,) 
informed  the  Princess  that  it  was  the  usual  way  in 
which  the  friends  of  those  who  had  gone  on  dangerous 
voyages  offered  up  vows  for  their  safe  return.  Jf  the 
lamp  sunk  immediately,  the  omen  was  disastrous ; 
but  if  it  went  shining  down  the  stream,  and  continued 
to  burn  till  entirely  out  of  sight,  the  return  of  the  be- 
loved object  was  considered  as  certain. 

Lalla  Rookh,  as  they  moved  on,  more  than  once 
looked  back,  to  observe  how  the  young  Hindoo's 
lamp  proceeded ;  and,  while  she  saw  with  pleasure 
that  it  was  still  unextinguished,  she  could  not  help 
fearing  that  all  the  hopes  of  this  life  were  no  better 
than  that  feeble  Ught  upon  the  river.  The  remainder 
of  the  journey  was  passed  in  silence  She  now,  for 
the  first  time,  felt  that  shade  of  melancholy,  which 
comes  over  the  youthfid  maiden's  heart,  as  sweet 
and  transient  as  her  own  breath  upon  a  mirror;  nor 
was  it  till  she  heard  the  lute  of  Feramorz,  touched 
lightly  at  the  door  of  her  pavilion,  that  she  waked 
from  the  reverie  in  which  she  had  been  wandering. 
Instantly  her  eyes  were  lighted  up  with  pleasure,  and, 
Hfler  a  few  unheaid  remarks  from  Fadladee.\  upon 
the  mdecorura  of  a  poet  seating  himself  in  presence 


of  a  Princess,  every  thing  was  arranged  as  on  iht 
preceding  evening,  and  all  listened  with  cagcrne4>8 
while  the  story  was  thus  contiimcd  : — 

WiiosK  are  the  gilded  tents  that  crowd  the  way, 
Where  all  was  waste  and  silent  yesterday  7 
This  City  of  War,  which,  in  a  few  short  hours, 
Hath  sprung  up  here,  as  if  the  magic  powers 
Of  Him,  who,  in  the  twinkling  of  a  star. 
Built  the  high  pillar'd  halls  of  Chilmlvar,' 
Had  conjur'd  up,  far  as  tlie  eye  can  see. 
This  world  of  tents,  and  domes,  and  sun-bright  a; 

mory  ! — • 
Princely  pavilions,  screen'd  by  many  a  fold 
Of  crimson  cloth,  and  topp'd  with  balls  of  gold ; — 
Steeds,  with  their  housings  of  rich  silver  spun, 
Their  chains  and  poitrels  glittering  in  the  sun ; 
And  camels,  tufted  o'er  with  Yemen's  shells. 
Shaking  in  every  breeze  their  light-ton'd  bells! 

But  yester-eve,  so  motionless  around, 
So  mute  was  this  wide  plain,  that  not  a  sound 
But  the  far  torrent,  or  the  locust-bird^ 
Hunting  among  the  thickets,  could  be  heard ; — • 
Yet  hark  !  what  discords  now,  of  every  kind, 
Shouts,  laughs,  and  screams,  are  revelling  in  the  wmd 
The  neigh  of  cavalry  ;  the  tinkling  throngs 
Of  laden  camels  and  their  driver's  songs ; — 
Ringing  of  arms,  and  flapping  in  the  breeze 
Of  streamers  tVom  ten  thousand  canopies ; — 
War-music,  bursting  out  from  time  to  time 
With  gong  and  tymbalon's  tremendous  chime  ;— 
Or,  in  the  pause,  when  harsher  sounds  are  mute, 
The  mellow  breathings  of  some  horn  or  flute. 
That,  far  off,  broken  by  the  eagle  note 
Of  th'  Abyssinian  trumpet,'  swell  and  float  ? 

Who  leads  this  mighty  army  ? — ask  ye  "  who  ?'" 
And  mark  ye  not  those  banners  of  dark  hue. 
The  iS'ight  and  Shadow,'  over  yonder  tent  ? — 
It  is  the  Caliph's  glorious  armament. 
Rous'd  in  his  palace  by  the  dread  alarms. 
That  hourly  came,  of  the  false  Prophet's  arms, 
And  of  his  host  of  infidels,  who  hurl'd 
Defiance  fierce  at  Islam'  and  the  world  ; — 
Though  worn  with  Grecian  warfare,  and  behicu 
The  veils  of  his  bright  palace  calm  reclin'd. 
Yet  brook'd  he  not  such  blasphemy  should  stain, 
Thus  unreveng'd,  the  evening  of  his  reign  ; 
But,  having  sworn  upon  the  Holy  Grave"* 
To  conquer  or  to  perish,  once  more  gave 


1  Tlie  edifices  of  Cliihninar  and  B;dber  are  supposed  if 
hive  bioii  built  by  the  Genii,  acting  under  Hie  onlers  uf  Jiii 
bill  .ian,  who  governed  tlie  world  long  before  the  time  o; 
Ad  u  111. 

2  A  native  of  Khorassiin,  and  allured  !<outhward  by  mpaai 
ol"  Hie  water  of  a  I'onntiin,  between  Shiraz  and  Ispahan, 
called  the  Fountain  of  Birds,  of  which  it  is  so  fond  that  it 
will  follow  wherever  that  water  is  carried. 

3  "This  trumpet  is  often  called  in  Abyssinia,  nw^fr  cano 
which  signifies,  The  note  of  the  Eagle." — Kote  of  Bruce't 
editor. 

4  The  two  black  standards  borne  before  the  Caliphs  al 
ih.'  House  of  Ahbas  were  called,  allegorically,  Uie  Night  and 
the  Plmdow.     See  Oihbov. 

.5  The  Mahometan  Religion. 

6  "  The  Persians  swear  by  tlie  Tomb  of  Shah  Rcsade. 
who  is  buried  at  Casbin;  and  when  one  desires  anorhe.'  ta 
asservate  a  matter,  he  will  ask  him  if  he  dare  swear  bv  th' 
Holy  Grave." — Struy. 


42 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


His  shadowy  banners  prouoiy  to  the  breeze, 
And,  with  an  army  nurs'd  in  victories, 
Here  stands  to  crush  the  rebels  that  o'er-run 
His  blest  and  beauteous  Province  of  the  Sun. 

Ne'er  did  the  inarch  of  Mahadi  display 
Sdch  pomp  before ; — not  e'en  when  on  his  way 
To  Mecca's  Temple,  when  both  land  and  sea 
Were  spoil'd  to  feed  the  Pilgrim's  luxury;' 
When  round  him,  'mid  the  burning  sands,  he  saw 
Fruits  of  the  North  in  icy  freshness  thaw, 
And  cool'd  his  thirsty  lip  beneath  the  glow 
Of  Mecca's  sun,  with  urns  of  Persian  snow  :^ — 
Nor  e'er  did  armament  more  grand  tlian  that, 
Pour  from  the  kingdoms  of  the  Caliphat. 
First,  in  the  van,  the  People  of  the  Rock,' 
On  their  light  mountain  steeds,  of  royal  stock  ;* 
Then  Chieftains  of  DaxMASCUS,  proud  to  see 
The  flashing  of  their  swords'  rich  marquetry ;' 
Men  from  the  regions  near  the  Volga's  mouth, 
Mix'd  with  the  rude,  black  archers  of  the  South ; 
And  Indian  lancers,  in  white-turban'd  ranks. 
From  the  far  Sinde,  or  Attock's  sacred  banks. 
With  dusky  legions  from  the  land  of  Myrrh,^ 
And  many  a  mace-arm'd  Moor,  and  Mid-Sea  islander. 

Nor  less  in  number,  though  more  new  and  rude 
In  warfare's  school,  was  the  vast  multitude 
That,  fir'd  by  zeal,  or  by  oppression  wrong'd, 
Round  the  white  standard  of  the  Impostor  throng'd. 
Besides  his  thousands  of  Believers, — blind, 
Burning  and  headlong  as  the  Samiel  wind, — 
Many  who  felt,  and  more  who  fear'd  to  feel 
The  bloody  Islamite's  converting  steel, 
Flock'd  to  his  banner; — Chiefs  of  the  Uzbek  race. 
Waving  their  heron  crests  with  martial  grace  ;' 
Turkomans,  countless  as  their  flocks,  led  forth 
From  th'  aromatic  pastursi-:  of  the  North  ;■ 
Wild  warriors  of  the  turquoise  hills^ — and  those 
Who  dwell  beyond  the  everlasting  snows 
Of  Hindoo  Kosh,^  in  stormy  freedom  bred. 
Their  fort  the  rock,  their  camp  the  torrent's  bed. 
But  none,  of  all  who  own'd  the  Chiers  command, 
Rush'd  to  that  battle-field  with  bolder  hand, 
Or  sterner  hate,  than  Iran's  outlaw  d  men, 
Her  worshippers  of  fire'" — all  panting  then 
For  vengeance  on  the  accursed  Saracen ; 


1  Maliadi,  in  a  single  pilgrimage  to  Mecca,  expended  six 
millioti-i  of  dinars  of  giild. 

2  "Niveni  Meccam  apportavit, rem  ibi  aut  nunquam  aut 
Tnro  visam." — Ahulfeda. 

3  The  inhabitants  of  Hejas  or  Arabia  Peine,  called  by  an 
Eastern  writer  "The  Peopli;  of  the  Rock." — F.hn  Ifau'kal. 

4  "Those  horses,  called  by  the  Arabians,  Kochlaid,  of 
whom  a  written  genealo^'y  has  been  kept  for  2000  years. 
They  are  said  to  derive  tlieir  origin  from  King  Solomon's 
iteeds." — Michuhr. 

5  "  Many  of  the  figures  on  the  blades  of  their  swords,  are 
•.vrouglit  in  gold  or  silver,  or  in  niartjuetry  with  small  gems." 
— Jisiat.  Misc.  vol.  i. 

(i  Azab,  or  Saba. 

7  "  The  Chiefs  of  the  IJzbec  Tartars  wear  a  plume  of 
white  heron's  feathers  in  their  turbans." — Jiccmint  of  Inde- 
pendent 'I'artary. 

8  "  [n  the  mountains  of  Nishapoiir,  and  Tons,  in  Khoras- 
»an,  they  find  lurcjuoiBCS." — F.Uii  Haukal. 

9  For  a  descri|);ion  of  these  sUijiendous  ranges  of  moun- 
luina,  see  F,1  phinUune' a  Cauhul. 

10  The  (Jheliert  or  (Jiiebres,  ihoso  original  natives  of  Per- 
sia, who  arlhered  to  their  ancient  faith,  tlie  religion  of  Zoro- 
aster, and  who,  after  the  corupiest  of  their  country  by  the 
Arabsi,  were  either  persecuted  at  home,  or  forced  to  become 
vnnderera  abroad. 


Vengeance  at  last  for  their  dear  coimtry  spuni'a, 
Her  throne  usurp'd,  and  her  bright  shrines  o'ertum  <( 
From  Yezd's'  eternal  Mansion  of  tne  Fire, 
Where  aged  saints  in  dreams  of  Heav'n  expire , 
From  Badku,  and  those  fountains  of  blue  flame 
That  burn  into  the  Caspian,-  fierce  they  came, 
Careless  for  what  or  whom  the  blow  was  sped, 
So  vengeance  triumph'd,  and  their  tyrants  bled ! 

Such  was  the  wild  and  miscellaneous  host, 
That  high  in  air  their  motly  banners  tost 
Around  the  Prophet  Chief— all  eyes  still  bent 
Upon  that  glittering  Veil,  where'er  it  went, 
That  beacon  through  the  battle's  stormy  flood, 
'  That  rainbow  of  the  field,  whose  showers  were  blood ! 

Twice  hath  the  sun  upon  their  conflict  set, 
And  ris'n  again,  and  found  them  grappling  yet; 
While  steams  of  carnage,  in  his  noon-tide  blaze. 
Smoke  up  to  heav'n — hot  as  that  crimson  haze 
By  which  the  prostrate  Caravan  is  aw'd. 
In  the  red  Desert,  when  the  wind's  abroad ! 
"  On,  swords  of  God  !"  the  panting  Caliph  calls,— 
'•  Thrones  for  the  living — Heav'n  for  him  who  falls !' 
"  On,  brave  avengers,  on,"  Mokanna  cries, 
"  And  Eblis  blast  the  recreant  slave  that  flies!" 
Now  comes  the  brunt,  the  crisis  of  the  day — 
They  clash — they  strive — the  Caliph's  troops  giwe 

way ! 
Mokanna's  self  plucks  the  black  Banner  down. 
And  now  the  Orient  World's  imperial  crown 
Is  just  within  his  grasp — when,  hark  !  that  shout ! 
Some  hand  hath  check'd  the  flying  Moslem's  rout; 
And  now  they  turn — they  rally — at  their  head 
A  warrior,  (like  those  angel  youths  who  led, 
In  glorious  panoply  of  heav'n's  own  mail, 
The  Champions  of  the  Faith  through  Bedar's  vale,)' 
Bold  as  if  gifted  with  ten  thousand  lives. 
Turns  on  the  fierce  pursuers'  blades,  and  drives 
At  once  the  multitudinous  torrent  back, 
While  hope  and  courage  kindle  in  his  track. 
And,  at  each  step,  his  bloody  falchion  makes 
Terrible  vistas,  through  which  victory  breaks ! 
In  vain  Mokanna,  'midst  the  general  flight, 
Stands,  hke  the  red  moon,  on  some  stormy  night. 
Among  the  fugitive  clouds,  that,  hurrying  by. 
Leave  only  her  unshaken  in  the  sky ! — 
In  vain  he  yells  his  desperate  curses  out, 
Deals  death  promiscuously  to  all  about, 
To  foes  that  charge,  and  coward  friends  that  fly, 
And  seems  of  all,  the  Great  Arch-enemy  ! 
The  panic  spreads — "a  miracle  !"  throughout 
The  Moslem  ranks,  "  a  miracle  !"  they  shout, 


1  "  Yezd,  the  chief  residence  of  those  ancient  natives, 
who  worship  the  Sun  and  the  Fire,  whicli  latter  they  have 
carefully  kept  lighted,  without  being  once  oxlingiiished  for 
a  moment,  above  3000  yi^ars,  on  a  mountain  near  Yezd, 
called  Ater  Ciuedah,  signifying  the  House  or  Mansion  of 
the  Fire.  He  is  reckoned  very  unfortunate  who  dies  off 
that  mountain." — Stephens's  Persia. 

2  "  Wlicn  the  weather  is  hazy,  the  springs  of  Naptba  (on 
an  island  near  Baku)  boil  uj)  higher,  and  the  Naptha  often 
takes  fire  on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  and  runs  in  a  flame 
into  the  sea,  to  a  distance  almost  incredible." — flanway  on 
the  enerlasting  Fire  at  Baku 

3  In  the  great  victory  gained  by  Mahomed  at  Bedar,  ho 
was  assisted,  say  the  Mussulmans,  by  throe  thousand  angvls, 

1  by  Gabriel,  in<mntedoii  his  horse  Hiazum. —  TheKoran 
and  its  Camnientatom 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


43 


A.11  gazing  on  that  youth,  whose  coming  seems 
A  light,  a  glory,  such  as  breaks  in  dreams  ; 
And  every  sword,  true  as  o'er  billows  dun 
The  needle  tracks  the  load-star,  following  him  ! 

Right  tow'rds  3I0KANNA  now  ho  cleaves  his  path 
Impatient  cleaves,  as  though  the  boU  of  wrath 
He  bears  from  Heav'n  withhehl  its  awful  burst 
From  weaker  heads,  and  souls  but  half-way  curst, 
To  break  o'er  him,  the  mightiest  and  the  worst  I 
But  vain  his  speed — thougli  in  that  hour  of  blood, 
Had  all  (iod's  seraphs  round  iMokanna  stood, 
With  swords  of  fire,  ready  like  fate  to  fall, 
MoK anna's  sou]  would  have  defied  them  all; — 
Yet  now  the  rush  of  fugitives,  too  strong 
For  human  force,  hurries  e'en  him  along; 
In  vain  he  struggles  'mid  the  wedg'd  array 
Of  Hying  thousands, — he  is  bonis  away ; 
And  the  sole  joy  his  baffled  spirit  knows 
In  this  forc'd  flight  is — murdering,  as  he  goes  ! 
As  a  grim  tiger,  whom  the  torrent's  might 
Surprises  in  some  parch'd  ravine  at  night, 
Turns,  e'en  in  drowning,  on  the  wretched  flocks 
Swept  with  him  in  that  snow-flood  from  the  rocks, 
And,  to  tlie  last,  devouring  on  his  way. 
Bloodies  the  stream  he  hath  not  power  to  stay ! 

"  Alia  il  Alia  !" — the  glad  shout  renew — 
"  Alia  Akbar!"' — the  Caliph  's  in  3Ierou. 
Hang  out  your  gilded  tapestry  in  the  streets. 
And  light  your  shrines,  and  chaunt  your  ziraleets  ;^ 
The  swords  of  God  have  triumph'd — on  his  throne 
Vour  Caliph  sits,  and  the  Veil'd  Chief  hath  flown. 
Who  does  not  envy  that  young  warrior  now, 
To  whom  the  Lord  of  Islam  bends  his  brow, 
In  all  the  graceful  gratitude  of  power. 
For  his  throne's  safely  in  that  perilous  hour? 
Who  does  not  wonder,  when,  amidst  th'  acclaim 
Of  thousands,  heralding  to  heaven  his  name — 
'Mid  all  those  holier  harmonies  of  fame. 
Which  sounds  along  the  path  of  virtuous  souls, 
Like  music  round  a  planet  as  it  rolls ! 
He  turns  away  coldly,  as  if  some  gloom 
Hung  o'er  his  heart  no  triumphs  can  illume ; — 
Some  sightless  grief,  upon  whose  blasted  gaze 
Though  glory's  light  may  play,  in  vain  it  plays ! 
Yes,  wretched  Azim  !  thine  is  such  a  grief. 
Beyond  all  hope,  all  terror,  all  relief; 
A  dark,  cold  calm,  which  nothing  now  can  break, 
Or  warm,  or  brighten, — like  that  Syrian  Lake,' 
Upon  whose  surface  morn  and  summer  shed 
Their  smiles  in  vain,  for  all  beneath  is  dead  ! 
Hearts  there  have  been,  o'er  which  this  weight  of  woe 
Came  by  long  use  of  sufiering,  tame  and  slow ; 
But  thine,  lost  youth  I  was  sudden — over  thee 
It  broke  at  once,  ^''hen  all  seem'd  ecstacy ; 
\Vhen  Hope  look'd  up,  and  saw  the  gloomy  Past 
Melt  into  splendour,  and  Bliss  dawn  at  last — 
'Twas  then,  ev'n  then,  o'er  joys  so  freshly  blown, 
This  mortal  blight  of  misery  came  down ; 
Ev'n  then,  the  full,  warm  gushings  of  thy  heart 
Were  check'd — like  fount-drops,  frozen  as  they  start ! 

1  The  Itcbir,  or  cry  of  the  Arabs,  "  Alia  Akbiir!"  says 
Ockley,  menus  "God  is  most  mishly." 

2  The  ziralcet  is  a  kind  of  chorus,  which  the  women  of 
4e  East  sing  upon  joyful  occasions. 

3  The   Dead   Sea,   which   contains   neither   animal  nor 
resetable  life.  1 


And  there,  like  them,  cold,  sunless  relics  tiang, 
Each  fi.x'd  and  chill'd  into  a  lasting  pang ! 

One  sole  desire,  one  passion  now  remains, 
To  keep  life's  fever  still  witnin  his  veins, — 
Vengeance  ! — dire  vengeance  on  the  wretch  who  ca«l 
O'er  him  and  all  he  lov'd  that  ruinous  blast. 
For  this,  when  rumours  reach'd  him  in  his  flight 
Far,  far  away,  after  that  fatal  iiiglil, — 
Rumours  of  armies,  thronging  to  th'  attack 
Of  the  Veil'd  Chief, — for  this  he  wing'd  him  back, 
Fleet  as  the  vulture  speeds  to  flags  unfurl'd. 
And  came  when  all  seem'd  lost,  and  wildly  hurl'd 
Himself  into  the  scale,  and  sav'd  a  world ! 
For  this  he  still  lives  on,  careless  of  all 
The  wreaths  that  glory  on  his  path  lets  fall ; 
For  this  alone  exists — like  lightning-lire 
To  speed  one  bolt  of  vengeance,  and  expire ! 

But  safe,  as  yet,  that  Spirit  of  Evil  Uvea ; 
With  a  small  band  of  desperate  fugitives, 
The  last  sole  stubborn  fragment,  left  unriven, 
Of  the  proud  host  that  late  stood  fronting  heaven, 
He  gain'd  iMerou — breath'd  a  short  curse  of  blood 
O'er  his  lost  throne — then  pass'd  the  Jiho.n's  flood, 
And  gathering  all,  whose  madness  of  belief 
Still  saw  a  Saviour  in  their  downfall'n  Chief, 
Rais'd  the  white  banner  within  Xeksii Eli's  gates,' 
And  there,  untam'd,  th'  approaching  conqueror  wuts 

Of  all  his  Haram,  all  that  busy  hive, 
W^ith  music  and  with  sweets  sparkling  alive, 
He  took  but  one,  the  partner  of  his  flight. 
One,  not  for  love — not  for  her  beauty's  light — 
For  Zelica  stood  withering  midst  the  gay, 
Wan  as  the  blossom  that  fell  yesterday 
From  the  Alma  tree  and  dies,  while  overhead 
To-day's  young  flower  is  springing  in  its  stead  !* 
No,  not  for  love — the  deepest  damn'd  must  be 
Touch'd  with  heaven's  glory,  ere  such  fiends  as  he 
Can  feel  one  glimpse  of  love's  divinity ! 
But  no,  she  is  his  victim ; — (here  lie  all 
Her  charms  for  him — charms  that  can  never  pall, 
As  long  as  hell  within  his  heart  can  stir, 
Or  one  faint  trace  of  heaven  is  left  in  her. 
To  work  an  augel's  ruin, — to  behold 
As  white  a  page  as  Virtue  e'er  unroll'd 
Blacken,  beneath  his  touch,  into  a  scroll 
Of  damning  sins,  seal'd  with  a  burning  soul — 
This  is  his  triumph  ;  this  the  joy  accurst, 
That  ranks  him,  among  demons,  all  but  first ! 
This  gives  the  victim,  that  before  him  lies 
Blighted  and  lost,  a  glory  in  his  eyes, 
A  light  like  that  with  which  hell-tire  illumes 
The  ghastly,  writhing  wretch  whom  it  consumes ! 

But  other  tasks  now  wait  him — tasks  that  need 
All  the  deep  daringness  of  thought  and  deed 
With  which  tht  Dives'*  have  gifted  him — for  mark. 
Over  yon  plains,  which  night  had  else  made  dark, 


1  The  anrient  O.xus. 

2  .\  city  of  Transoxiania. 

3  "  You  never  ran  cast  your  eyes  on  ihi.s  tree,  bill  yor 
meet  there  cither  blossoms  or  frnit:  and  us  the  bluscon] 
drops  underneath  on  the  sround,  (which  is  freiiueiitij 
covered  with  these  purple-coloured  flowers,)  otl'cr*  oom* 
forth  in  their  stead,"  etc.  etc. — AVfi/AoJf. 

4  The  Demons  of  the  Persian  mythology 


44 


MOORL  S  WOKKb. 


Those  lanterns,  countless  as  the  winged  lights 

That  spangle  India's  fields  on  showery  nights,' — 

Far  as  their  formidable  gleams  they  shed. 

The  mighty  tents  of  the  beleagu  rer  spread, 

(ilmmiering  along  th'  horizon's  dusky  line. 

And  thence  in  nearer  circles,  till  they  shine 

Among  the  founts  and  groves,  o'er  which  the  town 

In  all  its  arm'd  magnificence  looks  down. 

Vet,  fearless,  from  his  lolly  battlements 

MoKANNA  views  that  multitude  of  tents  ; 

Nay,  smiles  to  think  that,  though  entoil'd,  beset, 

Not  less  than  myriads  dare  to  front  him  yet ; — 

That,  friendless,  throneless,  he  thus  stands  at  bay, 

E'en  thus  a  match  for  myriads  such  as  they ! 

"  (111 !  for  a  sweep  of  that  dark  angel's  wing. 

Who  brush'd  the  thousands  of  th'  Assyrian  King^ 

To  darkness  m  a  moment,  that  I  might 

People  Hell's  chambers  with  yon  host  to-night! 

But  ( ome  what  may,  let  who  will  grasp  the  throne, 

Caliph  or  Prophet,  Man  alike  shall  groan ; 

Let  who  will  torture  him,  Priest — Caliph — King — 

Alike  this  loathsome  world  of  his  shall  ring 

iVith  victims'  shrieks  and  bowlings  of  the  slave, — 

jfiounds,  that  shall  glad  me  ev'n  within  my  grave." 

Thus  to  himself— but  to  the  scanty  train 

Still  left  around  him,  a  far  diflercnt  strain  : — 

■*  (ilorious  defenders  of  the  sacred  Crown 

»'bear  from  Heav'n,  whose  light,  nor  blood  shall  drown 

Nor  shadow  of  earth  eclipse  ; — before  whose  gems 

The  paly  pomp  of  this  world's  diadems, 

The  crown  of  Gerashid,  the  pillar'd  throne 

Of  Par VI z,^  and  the  heron  crest  that  shone,* 

Magnificent,  o'er  Ali's  beauteous  eyes,^ 

Fade  like  the  stars  when  morn  is  in  the  s'ldes : 

Warriors,  rejoice — the  port,  to  which  we've  pass'd 

O'er  destiny's  dark  wave,  beams  out  at  last ! 

Victory's  our  own — 'tis  written  in  that  Book 

Upon  A'hose  leaves  none  but  the  angels  look. 

That  Islam's  sceptre  shall  beneath  the  power 

Of  her  great  foe  fall  broken  in  that  hour. 

When  the  moon's  mighty  orb,  before  all  eyes. 

From  Neksiieb's  Holy  Well  portentously  shall  rise! 

Now  turn  and  see  !" — 

They  turn'd,  and,  as  he  spoke, 
A  sudden  splendour  all  around  them  broke. 
And  they  bi^hcld  an  orb,  ample  and  bright. 
Rise  from  the  Holy  Well,  and  cast  its  light 
Round  the  rich  city  and  the  plain  for  miles," — 
Flinging  such  radiance  o'er  the  gilded  tiles 


1  Carreri  mentions  the  fire-flies  in  India  during  the  rainy 
•eason.— Sc;  his  Travels. 

2  "  SeniKiclmril),  called  by  the  orientals  King  of  Mous- 
t!i\."-—//J/a-lj,l„t. 

3  Cliosroes.  For  (he  description  of  Ins  Throne  or  Palace, 
tee  Gibhon  and  1)' Hirhclal. 

4  "The  crown  of  Giirasliid  is  cloudy  and  tarnished  before 
the  heron  tufi  of  Ihy  turban." — From  one  of  the  elegies  or 
long.s  In  praise  of  Ali,  written  in  cliaracters  of  gold  round 
til?  gallery  of  Abbas's  tomb. — See  Cliardin. 

5  "The  beauty  of  Ali's  eyes  was  so  remarkable,  that  when- 
ever the  Persians  would  describe  any  thing  as  very  lovely, 
they  say  it  is  Ayn  Mali,  or  the  Eyes  of  Ali." — ChariJin. 

6  "U  arnuaa  pendant  deux  mois  le  peuple  de  la  vill(i  do 
N.,kliBclicb  en  faisant  surtir  toutcs  les  nnits  du  fond  d'un 

fiuits  uti  corps  Inmineiix  seinblable  a  la  Lune,qiii  portait  su 
umicro  jiisipi'a  la  distance  do  plnsicurs  milles." — />'  l/cr- 
helot.  Hence  lie  was  called  Sazend^iimah,  or  the  Moon- 
niker. 


Of  many  a  dome  and  fair-roof'd  minaret. 
As  autumn  suns  shed  round  them  when  they  set 
Instant  from  all  who  saw  th'  illusive  sign 
A  murmur  broke — "  Miraculous  !  divine  I" 
The  Gheber  bow'd,  thinking  his  idol  Star 
Had  wak  d,  and  burst  impatient  through  the  bar 
Of  midnight,  to  inflame  him  to  the  war  ! 
While  he  of  MoussA  s  creed,  saw,  in  that  ray 
The  glorious  Light  which,  in  his  freedom's  day 
Llad  rested  on  the  Ark,'  and  now  again 
Shone  out  to  bless  the  breaking  of  his  chain ! 

"To  victory !  "  is  at  once  the  cry  of  all  — 
Nor  stands  Mokanna  loitering  at  that  call ; 
But  instant  the  huge  gates  are  flung  aside. 
And  forth,  like  a  diminutive  mountain-tide 
Into  the  boundless  sea,  they  speed  their  course 
Right  on  into  the  Moslem  s  mighty  force. 
The  watchmen  of  the  camp, — who,  in  their  rounds, 
Had  paus  d  and  een  forgot  the  punctual  sounds 
Of  the  small  drum  with  which  they  count  the  night, 
To  gaze  upon  tliat  supernatural  light, — 
Now  sink  beneath  an  unexpected  arm. 
And  in  a  death-groan  give  their  last  alanii. 
"  On  for  the  lamps,  that  light  yon  lofty  screen,' 
Nor  blunt  your  blades  with  massacre  so  mean ; 
There  rests  the  Caliph — speed — one  lucky  lance 
^lay  now  achieve  mankind's  deliverance  !" 
Desperate  the  die — such  as  they  only  cast. 
Who  venture  for  a  world,  and  stake  their  last. 
But  Fate  s  no  longer  with  him — blade  for  blade 
Springs  up  to  meet  them  through  the  glimmering  shade 
And,  as  the  clash  is  heard,  new  legions  soon 
Pour  to  the  spot, — like  bees  of  Kauzeroon* 
To  the  shrill  timbrel  s  summons, — till,  at  length. 
The  mighty  camp  swarms  out  in  all  its  strength. 
And  back  to  Neksheb  s  gates,  covering  the  plain 
With  random  slaughter,  drives  the  adventurous  train 
Among  the  last  of  whom,  the  Silver  Veil 
Is  seen  glittering  at  times,  like  the  white  sail 
Of  some  toss'd  vessel,  on  a  stormy  night. 
Catching  the  tempest  s  momentary  light ! 

And  hath  not  thh  brought  the  proud  spirit  low  ? 
Nor  dash  d  his  brow,  nor  check'd  his  daring?  No. 
Though  half  the  wretches,  whom  at  night  he  led 
To  thrones  and  victory,  lie  disgrac  d  and  dead. 
Yet  morning  hears  him,  with  unshrinking  crest, 
Still  vaunt  of  thrones,  and  victory  to  the  rest. 
And  they  believed  him  ! — oh,  the  lover  may 
Distrust  that  look  which  steals  his  soul  awa)' ; — 
The  babe  may  cease  to  think  that  it  can  play 
With  heaven  s  rainbow  ; — alchymists  may  doubt 
The  shining  gold  their  crucible  gives  out ; 
But  Faith,  fanatic  i'aith,  once  wedded  fast 
To  some  dear  falsehood,  hugs  it  to  the  last. 


1  The  Shechinah,  called  Sakinat  in  the  Koran. — Se« 
Sale's  jVole,  chap.  ii. 

i!  The  |)aits  of  the  night  are  made  known  as  wt  11  by  in 
strunients  of  music,  as  by  the  rounds  of  the  watchmen  with 
critrs  and  Bmall  drums. — See  Burder's  Oriental  Customs 
vol.  ii.  |).  119. 

3  "  The  Sorrnpnrda,  high  screens  of  red  clo'h,  stiflcn«c' 
with  cane,  used  to  inclose  a  considerable  space  round  ihtj 
royal  tents." — Jfoti:s  on  the  liahardaiiush. 

4  "  From  the  groves  of  Orange  trees  at  Kauzeroon,  iho 
bees  cull  a  celebrated  honey." — Mvrur's  Travel* 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


45 


And  well  th"  Impostor  knew  all  lures  and  arts, 
That  Lucii'ER  e  or  taught  to  tangle  hearts  ; 
Nor,  mid  these  last  bold  workings  of  his  plot 
Against  men's  souls,  is  Zki.ica  forgot. 
Ill-fated  Zklica  !  had  reason  been 
Awake,  through  half  the  horrors  thou  hast  seen. 
Thou  never  could  st  have  borne  it — Death  had  come 
At  once  and  taken  thy  wrung  spirit  home. 
But  'twas  not  so — a  torpor,  a  suspense 
Of  thought  almost  of  life,  came  o'er  th'  intense 
And  passionate  struggles  of  that  fearful  night, 
When  her  last  hope  of  peace  and  heav'n  took  flight: 
And  though,  at  times,  a  gleam  of  frenzy  broke, — 
As  tlirough  some  dull  volcano's  veil  of  smoke 
Ominous  flashings  now  and  then  will  start, 
Which  show  the  fire  's  still  busy  at  its  heart ; 
ifet  was  she  mostly  wrapp'd  in  sullen  gloom, — 
Not  such  as  Azim's,  brooding  o'er  its  doom. 
And  calm  without,  as  is  the  brow  of  death. 
While  busy  worms  are  gnawing  underneath  ! — 
But  in  a  blank  and  pulseless  torpor,  free 
From  thought  or  pain,  a  scal'd  up  apathy. 
Which  letl  her  oil,  with  scarce  one  living  thrill, 
The  cold,  pale  victim  of  her  torturer's  will. 

Again,  as  in  Merou,  he  had  her  deck'd 
Gorgeously  out,  the  Priestess  of  the  sect ; 
And  led  her  glittering  forth  before  the  eyes 
Of  his  rude  train,  as  to  a  sacrifice  ; 
Pallid  as  she,  the  young,  devoted  Bride 
Of  the  fierce  Nile,  when,  deck'd  in  all  the  pride 
Of  nuptial  pomp,  she  sinks  into  his  tide !' 
And  while  the  wretched  maid  hung  down  her  head. 
And  stood,  as  one  just  risen  from  the  dead, 
Amid  that  gazing  crowd,  the  tiend  would  tell 
His  credulous  slaves  it  was  some  charm  or  spell 
Possess'd  her  now, — and  from  that  darken'd  trance 
Should  dawn  ere  long  their  Faith's  deliverance. 
Or  if,  at  times,  goaded  by  guilty  shame. 
Her  soul  was  rous'd,  and  words  of  wildness  came, 
instant  the  bold  blasphemer  would  translate 
Her  ravings  into  oracles  of  fate, 
Would  hail  Heav'n's  signals  in  her  flashing  eyes. 
And  call  her  shrieks  the  language  of  the  skies  ! 

But  vain  at  length  his  arts— despair  is  seen 
Gathering  around  ;  and  famine  comes  to  glean 
A 11  that  the  sword  had  left  unreap'd : — in  vain 
At  morn  and  eve  across  the  northern  plain 
He  looks  impatient  for  the  promis'd  spears 
Of  the  wild  hordes  and  Tartar  mountaineers. 
They  come  not — while  his  fierce  beleaguerers  pour 
Engines  of  havoc  in,  unknown  before. 
And  horrible  as  new ;" — javelins,  that  fly 
Enwreath'd  with  smoky  flames  through  the  dark  sky, 
And  red-hot  globes,  that,  opening  as  they  mount, 
Discharge,  as  from  a  kindled  Naptha  fount. 
Showers  of  a  consuming  fire  o'er  all  below ; 
Looking,  as  through  th'  illumin'd  night  they  go, 


1  '•  A  custom  still  subsisting  at  this  day,  seems  to  me  to 
prove  that  llio  Kgyp^iaiis  t'ornierly  sacrificed  a  young  virgin 
to  the  god  of  the  .N'iie  ;  for  they  now  make  a  statue  of  earth 
in  shape  of  a  girl,  to  which  they  give  the  name  of  the  Be- 
trothed Bride,  anil  throw  it  into  the  river." — Savary. 

2  The  Greek  fire,  which  was  occasionally  lent  by  the 
Emperors  to  their  allies.  "  It  was,"  says  Gibbon,  "either 
laim'hed  in  red-hot  balls  of  stone  and  iron,  or  drifted  in 
arrows  and  javelins,  twisted  round  with  flax  and  tow,  which 
had  deeply  imbibed  the  inflammable  oil."  ' 


Like  those  wild  birds'  that  by  the  Magians,  oft, 
.\t  festivals  of  fire,  were  sent  aloft 
Into  the  air,  with  blazing  faggots  lied 
To  their  huge  wings,  scattering  combustion  wide 
All  night,  the  groans  of  wretches  who  expire, 
In  agony,  beneath  these  darts  of  fire, 
Ring  through  the  city — while,  descending  o'er 
Its  shrines  and  domes  and  streets  of  sycamore  :- 
Its  lone  bazaars,  with  their  bright  cloths  of  gold, 
Since  the  last  peaceful  pageant  left  unroU'd ; — 
Its  beauteous  marble  baths,  whose  idle  jets 
Now  gush  with  blood  ; — and  its  tall  minarets, 
That  late  have  stood  up  in  the  evening  glare 
Of  the  red  sun,  unhallow'd  by  a  prayer ; — 
O'er  each,  in  turn,  the  droadtiil  flame-bolts  fall, 
And  death  and  conflagration  throughout  all 
The  desolate  city  hold  high  festival ! 

3IoKAi\.VA  sees  the  world  is  his  no  more ; — 
One  sting  at  parting,  and  his  gnisp  is  o'er. 
"  What !   drooping   now  ?" — thus,   with   unblushing 

cheek, 
He  hails  the  few,  who  yet  can  hear  him  speak. 
Of  all  those  famish'd  slaves,  around  him  lying, 
And  by  the  light  of  blazing  temples  dying ; — 
"  What !  drooping  now  ? — now,  when  at  length  we 

press 
Home  o'er  the  very  threshold  of  success ; 
When  Alla  from  our  ranks  hath  thinn'd  away 
Those  grosser  branches,  that  kept  out  his  ray 
Of  favour  from  us,  and  we  stand  at  length 
Heirs  of  his  hght  and  children  of  his  strength. 
The  chosen  few  who  shall  survive  the  fall 
Of  kings  and  thrones,  triumphant  over  all ! 
Have  you  then  lost,  weak  inurmurers  as  you  are. 
All  faith  in  him,  who  was  your  Light,  your  Star  ? 
Have  you  forgot  the  eye  of  glory,  hid 
Beneath  this  Veil,  the  flashing  of  whose  lid 
Could,  like  a  sun-stroke  of  the  desert,  wither 
3Iilhons  of  such  as  yonder  Chief  brings  hither? 
Long  have  its  lightnings  slept — too  long — but  now 
All  earth  shall  feel  th'  unveiling  of  this  brow  ! 
To-night — yes,  sainted  men  !  This  very  night, 
I  bid  you  all  to  a  fair  festal  rite. 
Where,  having  deep  refresh'd  each  weary  limb 
With  viands  such  as  feast  Heaven's  cherubim. 
And  kindled  up  your  souls,  now  sunk  and  dim. 
With  that  pure  wine  the  dark-ey'd  maids  above 
Keep,  seal'd  witli   precious  musk,  for   those  ihey 

love,^ — 
I  will  myself  uncurtain  in  your  sight 
The  wonders  of  this  brow's  ineffable  light ; 
Then  lead  you  forth,  and  with  a  wink  disperse 
Yon  myriads,  howhng  through  the  universe  I" 

Eager  they  listen — while  each  accent  darts 
New  life  into  their  chill'd  and  hope-sick  hearts ; — 
Such  treacherous  life  as  the  cool  draught  supplies 
To  him  upon  the  stake,  who  drinks  and  dies ! 


1  ".\t  the  great  festival  of  fire,  called  the  Shcb  Sez^, 
Ihev  used  to  set  fire  to  large  bunches  of  dry  combustibles, 
fastened  round  wild  beasts  and  birds,  which  being  then  Iff 
loose,  the  air  and  earth  appeared  one  great  illuminatino 
;ind  as  these  terrified  creatures  naturally  fled  to  Ihe  wood 
lor  shelter,  it  is  easy  to  conceive  the  conllagriitions  iJiey 
prod  need." — Hicliardson's  Dissertation. 

■2  "The  righle.)us  shall  be  siven  to  drink  ol  pure  win* 
sealed ;  the  seal  whereof  sliall  be  musk." — Koran,  char 
l.Yxxiii 


46 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


Wildly  they  point  their  lances  to  the  light 
^)f  the  fast-sinking  sun,  and  shout  "  to-night !" — 
"  Tc-night,"  their  Chief  re-echoes,  in  a  voice 
Of  fiend-like  mockery  that  bids  hell  rejoice  ! 
Deluded  victims — never  hath  this  earth 
Seen  mourning  half  so  mournful  as  their  mirth ! 
Here,  to  the  few,  v/hose  iron  frames  had  stood 
This  racking  waste  of  famine  and  of  blood, 
Faint,  dying  wretches  clung,  from  whom  the  shout 
Of  triumph  like  a  maniac's  laugh  broke  out ; — 
There,  others,  lighted  by  the  smouldering  fire, 
Danc'd,  like  wan  ghosts  about  a  funeral  pyre. 
Among  the  dead  and  dying,  strew'd  aroimd  ; — 
While  some  pale  wretch  look'd  on,  and  from  his  wound 
Plucking  the  fiery  dart  by  which  he  bled. 
In  ghastly  transport  wav'd  it  o'er  liis  head ! 

'Twas  more  than  midnight  now — a  fearful  pause 
Had  follow'd  the  long  shouts,  the  wild  applause, 
That  lately  from  tliose  royal  gardens  burst, 
Where  the  Veil'd  demon  held  his  feast  accurst, 
When  Zelica — alas,  poor  ruin'd  heart, 
in  every  horror  doom'd  to  bear  its  part ! — 
Was  bidden  to  the  banquet  by  a  slave, 
Who,  while  his  quivering  lip  the  summons  gave, 
Grew  black,  as  though  the  shadows  of  the  grave 
Compass'd  liim  round,  and,  ere  he  could  repeat 
His  message  through,  fell  lifeless  at  her  feet ! 
Shuddering  she  went — a  soul-felt  pang  of  fear, 
A  presage  that  her  own  dark  doom  was  near, 
Rous'd  every  feeling,  and  brought  Reason  back 
Once  more,  to  writhe  her  last  upon  the  rack. 
All  round  secm'd  tranquil — e'en  the  foe  had  ceas'd. 
As  if  aware  of  that  demoniac  feast. 
His  fiery  bolts ;  and  though  the  heavens  look'd  red, 
'Twas  but  some  distant  conflagration's  spread 
But  hark  ! — she  stops — she  listens — dreadful  tone  ! 
*Tis  her  tormentor's  laugh — and  now,  a  groan, 
A  long  death-groan  comes  with  it — can  this  be 
The  place  of  mirth,  the  bower  of  revelry  ? 
She  enters.     Holy  Alla,  what  a  sight 
Was  there  before  her  !     By  the  glimmering  light 
Of  the  pale  dawn,  mix'd  with  the  flare  of  brands 
That  round  lay  burning,  dropp'd  from  lifeless  hands. 
She  saw  the  board,  in  splendid  mockery  spread. 
Rich  censers  breatiiing — garlands  overhead, — 
Tiie  urns,  the  cups,  from  which  they  late  had  quaft'd. 
All  gold  and  gems,  but — what  had  been  the  draught? 
Oh  !  who  need  ask,  that  saw  those  livid  guests. 
With  their  swoll  n  heads  sunk,  blackening,  on  their 

breasts. 
Or  looking  pale  to  Heaven  with  glassy  glare. 
As  if  thi'y  sought  l)ut  saw  no  mercy  there ; 
As  if  they  felt,  though  poison  rack  d  them  through, 
Remorse  tlie  deadlier  torment  of  the  two  ! 
While  some,  the  bravest,  hardiest  in  the  train 
Of  their  filse  Chief,  who  on  the  battle-plain 
Would  have  met  death  with  transport  by  his  side. 
Here  mute  and  helpless  gasp'd ; — but  as  they  died, 
Look'd  horrible  vengeance  with  their  eyes'  last  strain, 
And  clcnchd  the  slackening  hand  at  him  in  vain. 

Dreadful  it  was  to  see  the  ghastly  stare, 
The  stony  look  of  horror  and  despair. 
Which  some  of  those  expiring  victim?  cast 
'ip'in  tli<nr  soul's  tormentor  to  the  last; — 


Upon  that  mocking  Fiend,  whose  Veil,  now  rais'd, 

Show  d  them,  as  in  death's  agony  they  gaz'd. 

Not  the  long  promis  d  light,  the  brow,  whose  beairiing 

Was  to  come  forth,  all  conquering,  all  redeeming  , 

But  features  horribler  than  Hell  e  er  trac  d 

On  its  own  brood  ; — no  Demon  of  the  Waste,' 

No  church-yard  Ghole,  caught  lingering  in  the  light 

Of  the  bless  d  sun,  e  er  blasted  human  sight 

With  lineaments  so  foul,  so  fierce  as  those 

Th'  Impostor  now,  in  grinning  mockery,  shows. — 

"There,  ye  wise   Saints,  behold   your  Light,  your 

Star, — 
Ye  would  be  dupes  and  victims,  and  ye  are. 
j  Is  it  enough  ?  or  must  I,  while  a  thrill 
Lives  in  your  sapient  bosoms,  cheat  you  still  ? 
Swear  that  the  burning  death  ye  feel  within, 
Is  but  the  trance  with  which  Heav'n  s  joys  begin; 
That  this  foul  visage,  foul  as  e  er  disgrac  d 
E  en  monstrous  man,  is — after  God  s  own  taste; 
And  that — but  see  ! — ere  I  have  half-way  said 
M}'  greetings  through,  th'  uncourteous  souls  are  fled. 
Farewell,  sweet  spirits !  not  in  vain  ye  die, 
If  Eblis  loves  you  half  so  well  as  I. — 
Ha,  my  young  bride  ! — tis  well — take  thou  thy  seat. 
Nay  come — no  shuddering — didst  thou  never  meet 
The  dead  before? — they  grac  d  our  wedding,  sweet, 
And  these,  my  guests  to-night,  have  brimm  d  so  true 
Their  parting  cups,  that  thou  shalt  pledge  one  too. 
But — how  is  this  ? — all  empty  ?  all  drunk  up  ? 
Hot  lips  have  been  before  thee  in  the  cup. 
Young  bride, — yet  stay — one  precious  drop  remains. 
Enough  to  warm  a  gentle  Priestess'  veins  ; — 
Here,  drink — and  should  thy  lover's  conquering  arme 
Speed  hither,  ere  thy  lip  lose  all  its  charms, 
Give  him  but  half  this  venom  in  thy  kiss, 
And  m  forgive  my  haughty  rivals  bliss  ! 

"  For  me — I  too  must  die — but  not  like  these 
Vile,  rankling  things,  to  fester  in  the  breeze; 
To  have  this  brow  in  ruffian  triumph  shown, 
With  all  death  s  grimness  added  to  its  own, 
And  rot  to  dust  beneath  the  taunting  eyes. 
Of  slaves,  exclaiming  'There  his  Godship  lies  !' — 
No — cursed  race — since  first  my  soul  drew  breath. 
They've  been  my  dupes,  and  shall  be,  even  in  death 
Thou  see'st  yon  cistern  in  the  shade — 'tis  fill'd 
With  burning  drugs,  for  this  last  hour  distill'd  ; 
There  will  1  plunge  me,  in  that  liquid  flame — 
Fit  bath  to  lave  a  dying  Prophet's  frame ! 
Tliere  perish,  all — ere  j)idse  of  thine  shall  fail — 
Nor  leave  one  limb  to  tell  mankind  the  tale. 
So  shall  my  votaries,  whcrcsoe'er  they  rave, 
Proclaim  that  Heav'n  took  back  the  Saint  it  gave  ;— 
That  I've  but  vanish'd  from  this  earth  awhile. 
To  come  again,  with  bright,  unshrouded  smile  ! 
So  shall  they  build  me  altars  m  their  zeal, 
Where  knaves  shall  minister,  and  fools  shall  kneel; 
Where  Faith  may  mutter  o'er  her  myst'c  spell, 
Written  in  blood — and  Bigotry  may  swell 
The  sail  he  spreads  for  Heaven  with  blasts  from  Hell ! 


1  "The  Al'gliaiuis  bolieve  cncli  of  the  numnrnus  solitudes 
and  rl<'si;rts  of  their  counlry,  lo  be  inhabited  by  ii  lonely 
demon,  whom  Ihey  call  the  Ghoolco  Beoabau,  or  Spirit  of 
the  WasUj.  Tbey  ofUin  illnstrale  the  wildness  of  any  ee 
(|nes((r(il  tribe,  by  Kuying,  they  ore  wild  as  the  Demon  ol 
llie  Waste." — Elphinstone' s  Ca.ubul 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


47 


So  shiill  my  banner,  through  long  ages,  be 
The  rallying  sign  of  fraud  and  anarchy  ; — 
Kiii<;s  yet  uiihorii  shall  me  3Iokan.\a's  name, 
And,  though  I  die,  my  spirit,  still  the  same, 
Shall  walk  abroad  in  all  the  stormy  strife. 
And  guilt,  and  blood,  that  were  its  bliss  in  life ! 
Hut  hark  !  their  battering  engine  shakes  the  wall — 
Why,  hi  it  shake — thus  I  can  brave  them  all  : 
No  trace  of  me  shall  greet  them,  when  they  come, 
And  I  can  trust  thy  faith,  for — tliou'lt  be  dumb. 
Now  mark  how  readily  a  wretch  like  me, 
In  one  bold  plunge,  commences  Deity  !" 

He  sprung  and  sunk,  as  the  last  words  were  said — 
<iuick  clos'd  the  burning  waters  o  er  his  head, 
And  Zkmca  was  left — within  the  ring 
Of  those  wide  walls  the  only  hving  thing; 
The  only  wretched  one,  still  curst  with  breath, 
[n  all  that  frightful  wilderness  of  death  ! 
i\Iore  like  some  bloodless  ghost, — such  as,  they  tell, 
In  the  lone  Cities  of  the  Silent'  dwell, 
And  there,  unseen  of  aU  but  Alla,  sit 
Each  by  its  own  pale  carcass,  watching  it. 

But  morn  is  up,  and  a  fresh  warfare  stirs 
Throughout  the  camp  of  the  beleaguerers. 
Their  globes  of  fire,  (the  dread  artillery,  lent 
By  (iREKCE  to  conquering  Mahadi,)  are  spent; 
A  nd  now  the  scorpion's  shaft,  the  quarry  sent 
From  high  balistas,  and  the  shielded  throng 
Of  soldiers  swinging  the  huge  ram  along, — 
All  speak  th'  impatient  Islamite's  intent 
To  try,  at  length,  if  tower  and  battlement 
And  bastion'd  wall  be  not  less  hard  to  win, 
Less  tough  to  break  down  than  the  hearts  within. 
First  in  impatience  and  in  toil  is  he. 
The  burning  AziM — oh!  could  he  but  see 
Th'  Impostor  once  alive  within  his  grasp. 
Not  the  gaunt  lion's  hug,  nor  Boa's  clasp. 
Could  match  the  gripe  of  vengeance,  or  keep  pace 
With  the  fell  heartiness  of  Hate's  embrace  ! 

Loud  rings  the  pond'rous  ram  against  the  walls ; 
Now  shake  the  ramparts,  now  a  buttress  falls  ; 
But  still  no  breach — "  once  more,  one  mighty  swing 
Of  all  your  beams,  together  thundering!" 
There — the  wall  shakes — the  shouting  troops  exult — 
"  Quick,  quick  discharge  your  weightiest  catapult 
Right  on  that  spot, — and  Neksheb  is  our  own  !" — 
'Tis  done — the  battlements  come  crashing  down, 
And  the  huge  wall,  by  that  stroke  riv'n  in  two, 
Yawning,  like  some  old  crater,  rent  anew. 
Shows  the  dim,  desolate  city  smoking  through ! 
But  strange  !  no  signs  of  life — nought  living  seen 
Above,  below     what  can  this  stillness  mean  ? 
A  minute's  pause  suspends  all  hearts  and  eyes — 
"  In  through  the  breach,''  impetuous  Azim  cries; 
But  the  cool  CALtPH,  fearful  of  some  wile 
In  this  blank  stillness,  checks  the  troops  awhile. — 
Just  then,  a  figure,  with  slow  step,  advanc'd 
Forth  from  the  ruin'd  walls ;  and,  as  there  glanc'd 
A  sunbeam  over  it,  all  eyes  could  see 
The  well-known  Silver  Veil !— "  'Tis  He,  'tis  He, 


1  "  Tliey  have  all  a  gnat  reverence  for  biirial-j;ioumis, 
which  lliey  snmeliriifs  call  by  the  poetical  name  of  Cities 
of  the  Silent,  and  which  rhey  people  with  the  ghosts  of  the 
departed,  who  sit  each  at  the  head  ofhis  own  grave,  invisi- 
•le  to  mortal  ayes."  —  Elphinstvne. 


MoKANNA,  and  alone  I"  tliey  shout  around ; 
Young  Azim  from  his  steed  springs  to  the  ground-- 
"  Mine,  Holy  Caliph  !  mine,''  he  cries,  "  the  task 
To  crush  yon  daring  wretch — 'tis  all  I  ask." 
Kager  he  darts  to  meet  the  demon  foe, 
Who  still  across  wide  heaps  of  ruin  slow 
And  falteringly  comes,  till  they  are  near; 
Then,  with  a  bound,  rushes  on  Azim's  speai , 
And,  casting  off  the  Veil  in  falling,  shows — 
Oh  ! — 'tis  his  Zelica's  life-blood  that  flows  ! 

"  I  meant  not,  Azim,"  soothingly  she  said, 
As  on  his  trembling  arm  she  Ican'd  her  head, 
And,  looking  in  his  face,  saw  anguish  there 
Beyond  all  wounds  the  quivering  flesh  can  beai-- 
"  I  meant  not  thou  should'st  have  the  pain  of  this  ,— 
Though  death,  with  thee  thus  tasted,  is  a  bliss 
Thou  would'st  not  rob  me  of,  didst  thou  but  know 
How  oft  I've  pray'd  to  God  I  might  die  so  ! 
But  the  Fiend's  venom  was  too  scant  and  slow  ; — 
To  linger  on  were  maddening — and  I  thought 
If  once  that  Veil — nay,  look  not  on  it — caught 
The  eyes  of  your  fierce  soldiery,  I  should  be 
Struck  by  a  thousand  death-darts  instantly. 
But  this  is  sweeter — oh !  believe  me,  yes — 
I  would  not  change  this  sad,  but  dear  caress. 
This  death  within  thy  arms  I  would  not  give 
For  the  most  smiling  life  the  happiest  live ! 
All,  that  stood  dark  and  drear  before  the  eye 
Of  my  stray'd  soul,  is  passing  swiftly  by ; 
A  light  comes  o'er  me,  from  those  looks  of  love. 
Like  the  first  dawn  of  mercy  from  above ; 
And  if  thy  lips  but  tell  me  I'm  forgiv'n, 
Angels  will  echo  the  blest  words  in  heaven ! 
But  live,  my  Azim  ; — oh !  to  call  thee  mine 
Thus  once  again  !  my  Azim — dream  divine  ! 
Live,  if  thou  ever  lov'dst  me,  if  to  meet 
Thy  Zelica  hereafter  would  be  sweet, 
Oh  live  to  pr.ay  for  her — to  bend  the  knee 
3Iorning  and  night  before  that  Deity, 
To  whom  pure  lips  and  hearts  without  a  stain. 
As  thine  are,  Azim,  never  breath'd  in  vain. 
And  pray  that  he  may  pardon  her, — may  take 
Compassion  on  her  soul  for  thy  dear  sake, 
And,  nought  remembering  but  her  love  to  thee. 
Make  her  all  thine,  all  His,  eternally ! 
(io  to  those  happy  fields  where  first  we  twin'd 
Our  youthful  hearts  together — every  wind. 
That  meets  thee  there,  fresh  from  the  well-know- 

flowers, 
Will  bring  the  sweetness  of  those  innocent  hours 
Back  to  thy  soul,  and  thou  may'st  feel  again 
For  thy  poor  Zelica  as  thou  did'st  then. 
So  shall  thy  orisons,  like  dew  that  flies 
To  heav'n  upon  the  morning's  sunshine,  rise 
With  all  love's  earliest  ardour  to  the  skies ! 
And  should  they — but  alas  !  my  senses  fail — 
Oh  for  one  minute  ! — should  thy  prayers  prevail — 
If  pardon'd  souls  may  from  that  World  of  Bliss 
Reveal  their  joy  to  those  they  love  in  this, — 
I'll  come  to  thee — in  some  sweet  dream — and  tell- 
Oh  heaven — I  die — dear  love!  farewell,  farewell." 

Time  fleeted — years  on  years  had  pass'd  away 
And  few  of  those  who,  on  that  mournfid  day. 
Had  stood,  with  pity  in  their  eyes,  to  see 
The  maiden's  death,  and  the  youth  s  agony, 


48 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


VVeie  living  still — when,  by  a  rustic  grave 

Beside  the  switt  Amoo's  transparent  wave, 

\n  aged  man,  wno  nad  grown  aged  there 

By  that  lone  grave,  morning  and  night  in  prayer, 

For  tlie  last  time  knelt  down — and,  though  the  shade 

Of  death  hung  darkening  over  him,  there  play'd 

A  gleam  of  rapture  on  his  eye  and  clieek. 

That  brigkten'd  even  Death — like  the  last  streak 

Of  intense  glory  on  th'  horizon's  brim, 

When  night  o'er  all  the  rest  hangs  chill  and  dim. 

His  soul  had  seen  a  vision,  while  he  slept ; 

She,  for  whose  spirit  he  had  pray'd  and  wept 

So  many  years,  had  come  to  him,  all  drest 

In  angel's  smiles,  and  told  him  she  was  blest ! 

For  this  the  old  man  breath'd  his  thanks,  and  died, — 

And  there,  upon  the  banks  of  that  lov'd  tide, 

He  and  his  Zelica  sleep  side  by  side. 


The  story  of  the  Veiled  Prophet  of  Khorassan 
being  ended,  they  were  now  doomed  to  hear  Fadla- 
deen's  criticisms  upon  it.  A  series  of  disappoint- 
ments and  accidents  had  occurred  to  this  learned 
Chamberlain  during  the  journey.  In  the  first  place, 
those  couriers  stationed,  as  in  the  reign  of  Shah 
Jehan,  between  Delhi  and  the  Western  coast  of 
India,  to  secure  a  constant  supply  of  mangoes  for  the 
royal  table,  had,  by  some  cruel  irregularity,  failed 
in  their  duty ;  and  to  eat  any  mangoes  but  those  of 
Mazagong  was,  of  course,  impossible.  In  the  next 
place,  the  elephant,  laden  with  his  fine  antique  porce- 
lain, had,  in  an  unusual  fit  of  liveliness,  shattered  the 
whole  set  to  pieces  : — an  irreparable  loss,  as  many  of 
the  vessels  were  so  exquisitely  old  as  to  have  been 
used  under  the  Emperors  Yan  and  Chun,  who  reigned 
many  ages  before  the  dynasty  of  Tang.  His  Koran 
too.  supposed  to  be  the  identical  copy  between  the 
.eaves  of  which  Mahomet's  favourite  pigeon  used  to 
nestle,  had  been  mislaid  by  his  Koran-bearer  three 
whole  days ;  not  without  much  spiritual  alarm  to 
Fadladeen,  who,  tliough  professing  to  hold,  with 
other  loyal  and  orthodox  Mussulmans,  that  salvation 
could  only  be  found  in  the  Koran,  was  strongly  sus- 
pected of  believing  in  his  heart,  that  it  could  only  be 
found  in  his  own  particular  copy  of  it.  Wlien  to  all 
these  grievances  is  added  the  obstinacy  of  the  cooks, 
in  putting  the  pepper  of  (^anara  into  his  dishes  in- 
stead of  the  cinnamon  of  Serendib,  we  may  easily 
suppose  that  he  came  to  the  task  of  criticism  with,  at 
least,  a  sufficient  degree  of  irritability  for  the  pm-pose. 

"  In  order,"  said  he,  importantly  swinging  about  his 
chaplet  of  pearls,  "to  convey  with  clearness  my 
opinion  of  the  story  this  young  man  has  related,  it  is 
necessary  to  take  a  review  of  all  the  stories  that  have 
sver — "My  good  Fai)Lauep;n  !"  exclaimed  the  Prin- 
i;ess,  interrupting  him,  "  we  really  do  not  deserve  that 
you  should  give  yourself  so  much  trouble.  Your 
r)pinion  of  the  poem  we  have  just  heard,  will,  1  have 
no  doubt,  be  abundantly  edifying,  without  any  further 
waste  of  your  valuable  erudition."  "  If  that  be  all," 
replied  the  critic, — evidently  mortified  at  not  being 
allowed  to  show  how  much  he  knew  about  every 
thing  bui  the  subject  immediately  before  him — "  If 
that  be -.ill  .h.it  is  required,  the   matter  is  easily  des- 


patched." He  then  proceeded  to  analyze  the  poem 
in  that  strain,  (so  well  known  to  the  unfortunate  bards 
of  Delhi,)  whose  censures  were  an  infliction  from 
which  few  recovered,  and  whose  very  praises  were  like 
the  honey  extracted  from  the  bitter  flowers  of  the 
aloe.  The  chief  personages  of  the  story  were,  if  he 
rightly  understood  them,  an  ill-favoured  gentleman, 
with  a  veil  over  his  face ; — a  voung  lady,  whose  rea 
son  went  and  came  according  as  it  suited  the  poet's 
convenience  to  be  sensible  or  otherwise ; — and  a 
youth  in  one  of  those  hideous  Bucharian  bonnets, 
who  took  the  aforesaid  gentleman  in  a  veil  for  a  Di- 
vinity. "  From  such  materials,"  said  he,  "  what  can 
be  expected  ? — after  rivalling  each  other  in  long 
speeches  and  absurdities,  through  some  thousands  of 
lines,  as  indigestible  as  the  filberds  of  Berdaa,ourfriend 
in  the  veil  jumps  into  a  tub  of  aquafortis  ;  the  young 
lady  dies  in  a  set  speech,  whose  only  recommendation 
is  that  it  is  her  last ;  and  the  lover  lives  on  to  a  good 
old  age,  for  the  laudable  purpose  of  seeing  her  ghost, 
which  he  at  last  happily  accomplishes  and  expires. 
This,  you  will  allow,  is  a  fair  summary  of  the  story  ; 
and  if  Nasser,  the  Arabian  merchant,  told  no  better, 
our  Holy  Prophet  (to  whom  be  all  honour  and  glory  !) 
had  no  need  to  be  jealous  of  his  abilities  for  story 
telling."' 

With  respect  to  the  style,  it  was  worthy  of  the  mat 
ter; — it  had  not  even  those  pohtic  contrivances  of 
structure,  which  make  up  for  the  commonness  of  the 
thoughts  by  the  pecuharity  of  the  manner,  nor  thav 
stately  poetical  phraseology  by  which  sentiments, 
mean  in  themselves,  like  the  blacksmith's'-'  apron 
converted  into  a  banner,  are  so  easily  gilt  and  em- 
broidered into  consequence.  Then,  as  to  the  versifi- 
cation, it  was,  to  say  no  worse  of  it,  execrable  :  it  had 
neither  the  copious  flow  of  Ferdosi,  the  sweetness  of 
Hatez,  nor  the  sententious  march  of  Sadi  •  but  ap- 
peared to  him,  in  the  uneasy  heaviness  of  its  move- 
ments, to  have  been  modelled  upon  the  gait  of  a  very 
tired  dromedary.  The  licenses  too  in  which  it  in 
dulged  were  unpardonable; — for  instance  this  fine,  and 
the  poem  abounded  with  such ; — 

Like  the  faint,  excjuisite  music  of  a  dream. 

"  What  critic  that  can  count,"  said  Fadladeen, 
"and  has  his  full  complement  of  fingers  to  coiinl 
withal,  would  tolerate  for  an  instant  such  syllabic  su- 
perfluities ?" — He  here  looked  round  and  discovered 
that  most  of  his  audience  were  asleep ;  while  the 
glimmering  lamps  seemed  inclined  to  follow  their 
example.  It  became  necessary,  therefore,  however 
painful  to  himself,  to  put  an  end  to  his  valuable  ani 
madversions  for  the  present,  and  he  accordingly  con- 
cluded, with  an  air  of  dignified  candour,  thus  :  "  Not- 
withstanding the  observations  which  I  have  thought 
it  my  duty  to  make,  it  is  by  no  means  my  wish  to  dis 
courage  the  young  man  :  so  far  from  it,  indeed,  that 
if  he  will  but  totally  alter  his  style  of  writing  and 


1  La  lecture  de  ces  Fables  plaisait  si  fort  aux  Arahcs, 
que,  (|uancl  Mahomet  les  cnltetenuil  de  I'llisloire  de  I'An- 
ciiri  'restaiiieiit,  ila  Ics  m6piisaient,  Jul  disaiit  (pie  celles 
(iiie  Nasser  lour  racontait  etaietil  beaucoup  plus  belles, 
Cetle  preference  at'.ira  h  Nasser  la  male  lictioii  ds  Mahomet 
ot  de  tous  sea  disciplos. — JJ'  Jlcrbclot. 

2  The  hlacksmilh  Gao,  who  successfully  resisted  the 
tyrant  Zoliak,  and  whose  apron  became  the  Roval  t^'undarW 
•it'  I'urs'ii. 


/ninKing,  I  have  very  little  donbt  that  I  shall  be  vastly 
pleased  with  him." 

Some  days  elapsed,  after  this  harangue  of  Che  Great 
riiamberiain,  boCore  Lalla  Rookii  could  venture  to 
dsk  for  anctlier  story.  The  youth  was  still  a  wel- 
come guest  in  the  pavilion ;  to  one  heart,  perhaps  too 
daugeroiislj  welcome — but  all  mention  of  poetry  was, 
*s  if  by  common  consent,  avoided.  Thotigh  none  of 
the  party  had  much  respect  for  Fadladken,  yet  his 
censures,  thus  magisterially  delivered,  evidently  made 
an  impression  on  them  all.  The  Poet  himself,  to 
whom  criticism  was  quite  a  new  operation,  (being 
wholly  unknown  in  that  Paradise  of  the  Indies,  Cash- 
mt/e,(  felt  tli(>  shock  as  it  is  generally  felt  at  first,  till 
use  has  made  it  more  tolerable  to  the  patient ; — the 
ladies  began  to  suspect  that  they  ought  not  to  be 
pleased,  and  seemed  to  conclude  that  there  must  have 
been  much  good  sense  in  what  Fadladeen  said, 
from  its  having  set  them  all  so  soundly  to  sleep; — 
while  the  sell-complacent  Chamberlain  was  left  to 
triumph  in  the  idea  of  having,  for  the  hundred  and 
fiftieth  time  in  his  life  extinguished  a  Poet.  Lalla 
KooK'ii  alone — and  Love  knew  why — persisted  in 
being  delighted  with  all  she  had  heard,  and  in  resolv- 
ing to  bear  more  as  speedily  as  possible.  Her  man- 
ner, however,  of  first  returning  to  the  subject  was 
unlucky.  It  was  while  they  rested  during  the  heat 
of  noon  near  a  fountain,  on  which  some  hand  had 
rudely  traced  those  well-known  words  from  the 
(Jarden  of  iSadi, — "  Many,  like  me,  have  viewed  this 
fountain,  but  they  are  gone,  and  their  eyes  are  closed 
for  ever  !" — that  she  took  occasion,  from  the  melan- 
choly beauty  of  this  passage,  to  dwell  upon  the  charms 
of  poetry  in  general.  "  It  is  true,"  she  said,  "  few 
poets  can  imitate  that  sublime  bird,  which  flies  al- 
ways in  the  air,  and  never  touches  the  earth  ;' — it  is 
only  once  in  many  ages  a  Genius  appears,  whose 
words,  like  those  on  the  Written  Mountain,  last  for 
ever: — but  still  there  are  some,  as  delightftil  perhaps, 
though  not  so  wonderful,  who,  if  not  stars  over  our 
head,  are  at  least  (lowers  along  our  path,  and  whose 
sweetness  of  the  moment  we  ought  gratefully  to  in- 
hale, without  calling  upon  them  tor  a  brightness  and 
a  durability  beyond  their  nature.  In  short,"  continued 
she,  blushing,  as  if  conscious  of  being  caught  in  an 
oration,  ''  it  is  quite  cruel  that  a  poet  cannot  wander 
through  his  regions  of  enchantment,  without  having  a 
critic  for  ever,  like  the  old  3Ian  of  the  sea,  upon  his 
back."- — Fadladee.n,  it  was  plain,  took  this  last 
luckless  allusion  to  himself,  and  would  treasure  it  up 
m  his  mind  as  a  whetstone  for  his  next  criticism.  \ 
sudden  silence  ensued  ;  and  the  Princess,  glancing  a 
look  at  FsRAMonz,  saw  plainly  she  must  wait  for  a 
more  courageous  moment. 

Hut  the  glories  of  Nature,  and  her  wild,  fragrant 
airs,  playing  freshly  over  the  current  of  youthful 
spirits,  will  soon  heal  even  deeper  wounds  than  the 
dull  Fadladeens  of  this  world  can  inflict.  In  an  even- 
ing or  two  after,  they  came  to  the  small  V'alley  of 
Gardens,  which  had  been  planted  by  order  of  the 
Emperor  for  his  favourite  sister  Rochinara,  during 
their  progress  to  (^ashmcre,  some  years  before ;  and 
never  was  there  a  more  sparkUng  assemblage  of 
Bweets,  since  the  (iulzar-e-Irem,  or  Rose-bower  of 


The  Huma 


^TliK  storv  of  Sinbad. 


I  Irem.  Every  precious  flower  was  :nere  to  be  found, 
that  poetry,  or  love,  or  religion  has  ever  coiiscctaled, 
from  the  dark  hyaciiuh,  to  which  Hafez  compares 
his  mistress's  liair,  to  the  CaiiwUilii,  by  whoso  rosy 
blossoms  the  heaven  of  India  is  scented.  As  they 
sat  in  the  cool  fragrance  of  this  del  icons  spot,  and 
Lalla  Rookii  remarked  that  she  could  fancy  it  the 
abode  of  that  (lower-loving  Nym|)h  whom  they  wor- 
ship in  the  temples  of  Kathay,  or  one  of  those  Peris, 
those  beautiful  creatures  of  the  air,  who  live  upon  per- 
fumes, and  to  whom  a  place  like  this  might  make  some 
amends  for  the  Paradise  they  have  lost, — ths  younfr 
Poet,  in  whose  eyes  she  appeared,  while  she  spoke, 
to  be  one  of  the  bright  spiritual  creatures  she  was 
describing,  said,  hesitatingly,  that  he  remembered  a 
Story  of  a  Peri,  which,  if  the  Princess  had  no  objec- 
tion, he  would  venture  to  relate.  "It  is,"  said  he, 
with  an  appealing  look  to  Fadladee.n,  "in  a  lighter 
and  humbler  strain  than  the  other;"  then,  striking  a 
few  careless  but  melancholy  chords  on  hij  kitar,  he 
thus  began : — 

PARADISE  AND  THE  PERL 


One  morn  a  Peri  at  the  gate 
Of  Eden  stood,  disconsolate  ; 
And  as  she  listen'd  to  the  Springs 

Of  Life  within,  like  mMsic  flowing, 
And  caught  the  light  upon  her  wings 

Through  the  half-open'd  portal  glowing. 
She  wept  to  think  her  recreant  race 
Should  e'er  have  lost  that  glorious  place ! 

"  How  happy,"  exclaim'd  this  child  of  air, 
"Are  the  holy  Spirits  who  wander  there, 

'3Iid  flowers  that  never  shall  fade  or  fall : 
Though  mine  are  the  gardens  of  earth  and  sea. 
And  the  stars  themselves  have  flowers  for  me. 

One  blossom  of  Heaven  out-blooms  them  all . 

"  Though  sunny  the  lake  of  cool  Cashmere, 
With  its  plane-tree  Isle  reflected  clear,' 

.And  sweetly  the  founts  of  that  Valley  fall; 
Though  bright  are  the  waters  of  Si.vg-sit-hay, 
And  the  golden  floods,  that  thitherward  stray," 
Yet — oh,  'tis  only  the  Blest  can  say 

How  the  waters  of  Heaven  outshine  them  ai' ! 

"  Go  wing  thy  flight  from  star  to  star, 
From  world  to  luminous  world,  as  far 

As  the  universe  spreads  its  flaming  wall ; 
Take  all  the  pleasures  of  all  the  spheres, 
.\nd  nuilliply  each  through  endless  years. 

One  minute  of  Heaven  is  worth  them  all  I" 

The  glorious  Angel,  who  was  keeping 
The  gates  of  Light,  beheld  her  weeping ; 
And,  as  he  nearer  drew  and  listen'd 
To  her  sad  song,  a  tear-drop  glisten'd 
Within  his  eyelids,  like  the  spray 
From  Eden's  fountain,  when  it  lies 


1  ■'  Numerous  small  inlands  emrrge  from  the  Lake  of 
('ashiiKfc.  One  is  railed  Char  L'liciiaur,  from  the  plano- 
irecs  upon  it." — Forster. 

2  "  Tiio  Altaii  Kol,or  Golden  Rivpr  of  Tibet,  which  run* 
into  the  I. likes  ot'Sing-su  hay,  hits  iibuinlanre  of  gold  in  lU 
siiikIs,  whcli  emiihiy.-i  the  inhnhi'Bnts  .ill  ^iiinmcr  in  galtier 
iiig  it." — Description  of  Tibet  in  rinkerlvn 


50 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


On  the  blue  flow'r,  which,  Bramins  say, 
Blooms  no  where  but  in  Paradise  ! 

"  Nymph  of  a  fair,  but  erring  line  !" 

Gently  he  said — "  One  hope  is  thine. 

'Tis  written  in  the  Book  of  Fate, 
'  The  Peri  yet  mail  he  forgiven 

Who  brings  to  this  Eternal  Gate 

The  Gift  that  is  most  dear  to  Heaven.'' 

Go,  seeli  it,  and  redeem  thy  sin ; — 

'Tis  sweet  to  let  the  Pardon'd  in !" 

Rapidly  as  comets  run 

To  th'  embraces  of  the  sun — 

Fleeter  than  the  starry  brands. 

Flung  at  night  from  angel  hands' 

At  those  dark  and  daring  sprites, 

Who  would  climb  th'  empyreal  heights, — 

Down  the  blue  vault  the  Peri  flies. 

And,  lighted  eartliward  by  a  glance 
That  just  then  broke  from  morning's  eyes, 

Hung  hovering  o'er  our  world's  expanse 

But  whither  shall  the  Spirit  go 

To  find  this  gift  for  Heav'n  '! — "  I  know 

The  wealth,"  she  cries,  "of  every  urn. 

In  which  unnumber'd  rubies  burn. 

Beneath  the  pillars  of  Chilminar  ;^ — 

I  know  where  the  Isles  of  Perfume  are 

Many  a  fathom  down  in  the  sea. 

To  the  south  of  sun-bright  Araby  ;' — 

1  know  too  where  the  Genii  hid 

The  jewell'd  cup  of  their  King  Jamshid,* 

With  Life's  elixir  sparkling  high — 

But  gifts  like  these  are  not  for  the  sky. 

Where  was  there  ever  a  gem  that  shone 

Like  the  steps  of  Ai.la's  wonderful  Throne? 

And  the  Drops  of  Life — oh  !  what  would  they  be 

In  the  boundless  Deep  of  Eternity  ?" 

While  thus  she  mus'd,  her  pinions  fann'd 
The  air  of  that  sweet  Indian  land. 
Whose  air  is  balm  ;  whose  ocean  spreads 
O'er  coral  rocks  and  amber  beds; 
Whose  mountains,  pregnant  by  the  beam 
Of  the  warm  sun,  with  diamonds  teem; 
Whose  rivulets  are  like  rich  brides. 
Lovely,  with  gold  beneath  their  tides; 
Whose  sandal  groves  and  bovvers  of  spice 
Might  be  a  Peri's  Paradise! 
But  crmison  now  her  rivers  ran 

With  human  blood — the  smell  of  death 
Came  rciekmg  from  those  spicy  bowers, 
And  man,  the  sacrifice  of  man. 

Mingled  his  taint  with  every  breath 
rpvvaft(;d  from  the  innocent  flowers! 
Land  of  the  Sun  !  what  fool  invades 
rtiy  pagods  and  thy  pillar'd  shades — 


1  '*  The  Mnlioiiiniiiiis  »ii|i[)(]se  ihat  falling  stars  iiro  the 
fiii-hrtimla  vvheruwilh  tlip.  gmxl  aiigctis  drive  iiway  die:  hud, 
wlieri  ihfy  appriiiKdi  too  near  llio  einpyruum  or  vi^rge  of  tin; 
HeiiViV!H." —  h'ryrr. 

'J,  "Tlie  Forij'  I'illiirs;  so  the  Persians  call  the  ruins  of 
Persepoha.  It  is  iiiia^'ined  by  tlieni  that  llii.s  palace  and  the 
edilices  at  Balbec  were  built  by  (;enii,  for  the  purpose  of 
niding  ill  their  subterraneoiiH  caverns  immense  treiisuros, 
whieh  slill  reninin  there." — /)'  /lerh/Jot.  I^iiiiicy 

:i  'I'lie  Isles  of  Piinchain. 

4  "  The  nip  of  .lamshid,  diseovered,  they  say,  when  dig 
png  foi  the  Coundatioas  i<t  Peisepolis." — Richardson 


Thy  cavern  shrines,  and  idol  stones. 

Thy  monarchs  and  their  thousand  thrones? 

'Tis  He  of  Gazna  !' — fierce  in  wrath 

He  comes,  and  India's  diadems 
Lie  scatter'd  in  his  ruinous  path. —  » 

His  blood-hounds  he  adorns  with  gems, 
Torn  from  the  violated  necks 

Of  many  a  young  and  lov'd  Sultana ;'' — 

Maidens  within  their  pure  Zenana, 

Priests  in  the  very  fane  he  slaughters, 
And  choaks  up  with  the  glittering  wrecks 

Of  golden  shrines  the  sacred  waters  ' 

Downward  the  Peri  turns  her  gaze, 
And,  through  the  war-field's  bloody  haze, 
Beholds  a  youthful  warrior  stand. 

Alone,  beside  his  native  river, — 
The  red  blade  broken  in  his  hand, 

And  the  last  arrow  in  his  quiver. 
"  Live,"  said  the  Conqueror,  "  live  to  share 
The  trophies  and  the  crowns  I  bear !" 
Silent  that  youthful  warrior  stood — 
Silent  he  pointed  to  the  flood 
All  crimson  with  his  country's  blood, 
Then  sent  his  last  remaining  dart. 
For  answer  to  th'  Invader's  heart. 
False  flew  the  shaft,  though  pointed  well ; 
The  Tyrant  liv'd,  the  Hero  fell  !— 
Yet  mark'd  the  Peri  where  he  lay, 

And  when  the  rush  of  war  was  past. 
Swiftly  descending  on  a  ray 

Of  morning  light,  she  caught  the  last — 
Last  glorious  drop  his  heart  had  shed, 
Before  its  free-born  spirit  fled  ! 
"  Be  this,"  she  cried,  as  she  wing'd  her  flight, 
"  My  welcome  gift  at  the  Gates  of  Light. 
Though  foul  are  the  drops  that  oft  distil 

On  the  field  of  warfare,  blood  like  this, 

For  Liberty  shed,  so  holy  is. 
It  would  not  stain  the  purest  rill. 

That  sparkles  among  the  Bowers  of  Bliss  ! 
Oh  !  if  there  be,  on  this  earthly  sphere, 
A  boon,  an  offering  Heaven  holds  dear, 
'Tis  the  last  libation  Liberty  draws 
From  the  heart  that  bleeds  and  breaks  in  her  cause  ! 
"  Sweet,"  said  the  Angel,  as  she  gave 

The  gift  into  his  radiant  hand, 
"Sweet  is  our  welcome  of  the  Brave 

Who  die  thus  for  their  native  land. — 
But  see — alas  ! — the  crystal  bar 
Of  Eden  moves  not — holier  far 
Than  e'en  this  drop  the  boon  must  be, 
That  opens  the  gates  of  Heav'n  for  thee !" 

Her  first  fond  hope  of  Eden  blighted. 

Now  among  Akric's  Lunar  JMountains,* 
Far  to  the  South,  the  Peri  lighted; 


1  Mahniood  of  Gazna,  or  Ghi/.ni,  who  connuoied  India  in 
the  heginniny  ol'lhe  lllh  century. — Sou  iiis  llislory  in  Dott 
and  air  ./.  Malcolm. 

'2  "  It  is  reported  that  the  hunting  equipage  of  the  Sultan 
Mahmood  was  m)  magnilicent,  tliat  lie  kept  400  grey  hounds 
uiiil  blood-hounds,  each  of  which  wore  a  oollar  set  with 
jewels,  and  a  covering  edged  with  gold  and  pearls." — Uni- 
vernal  History,  vol.  iii. 

3  "The  Mountains  of  the  Moon,  or  the  Monies  Luuts  ol 
unli(|uily,  ul  the  foot  of  which  the  Nile  is  supjiused  lo  rise 
— Brace. 


And  sleek'd  her  plumage  at  the  fountains 
<  »f  that  Egyptian  tide, — whose  birth 
Is  liidden  t'rom  the  sons  of  eartli, 
Deep  in  tliose  sohtary  woods, 
Where  oft  the  Genii  of  the  Floods 
Dance  round  the  cradle  of  their  Nile, 
y\nd  liail  the  new-born  (iiant  s  suiile  !' 
Thence,  over  Egypt's  palmy  groves. 

Her  grots,  and  si^pulchres  of  kings,* 
The  exil'd  Spirit  sighing  roves; 
And  now  hangs  listening  to  the  doves 
(n  warm  Rosetta's  vale^ — now  loves 

To  watc4i  the  mooiiligiit  on  the  wings 
Of  the  white  pelicans  that  break 
The  azure  calm  of  lAIuiRis'  Lake.* 
Twas  a  fair  scene — a  lan<i  more  bright 

Never  did  mortal  eye  l)eliold  I 
VVlio  could  have  thought,  that  saw  this  night 

Those  valleys,  and  their  fruits  of  gold. 
Basking  in  lieav'n's  serenest  light; — 
Those  groups  of  lovely  date-trees  bending 

Languidly  their  leaf-crovvn'd  heads. 
Like  youthful  maids,  when  sleep,  descending, 

Warns  them  to  their  silken  beds  ;^ — 
Those  virgin  lilies,  all  the  night 

Bathing  their  beauties  in  the  lake, 
That  they  may  rise  more  fresh  and  bright, 

When  their  beloved  Sun  's  awake ; — 
Those  ruin'd  shrines  and  towers  that  seem 
The  relics  of  a  splendid  dream  ; 

Amid  whose  fairy  loneliness 
Nought  but  the  lapwing's  cry  is  heard. 
Nought  seen  but  (when  the  shadows,  flitting 
Fast  from  the  moon,  unsheath  its  gleam) 
Some  purple-wiiig'd  Sultana'^  sitting 

Upon  a  column,  motionless 
And  glittering,  like  an  idol  bird ! — 
Who  could  have  thought,  that  there,  e'en  there. 
Amid  those  scenes  so  still  and  fair. 
The  Demon  of  the  Plague  hath  cast 
From  his  hot  wing  a  deadlier  blast. 
More  mortal  far  than  ever  came 
From  the  red  Desert's  sands  of  flame  ! 
So  quick,  that  every  living  thing 
Of  human  shape,  touch'd  by  his  wing. 

Like  plants,  where  the  Simoon  hath  past, 
At  once  falls  black  and  withering ! 

The  sun  went  down  on  many  a  brow, 

Which,  full  of  bloom  and  freshness  then, 
Is  rankling  in  the  pest-house  now, 


1  "  Tlie  Nile,  vvhicli  tlie  Abyssiiiiuns  linow  Ijy  the  naincs 
of  Abey  am!  Alawy,  or  the  ijiant." — jisiat.  Kesearchcs, 
vol.  i.  p.  3H7. 

2  See  Perry's  View  of  the  Levant,  for  an  account  of  the 
gepulLlires  in  Upper  Tln^bes,  ami  the  numherless  grots 
covered  all  over  with  hieroglyphics,  in  llie  mounlauis  of 
Upper  Egypt. 

3  "Tlie  orchards  of  Rosetta  are  tilled  with  turile-duves." 
—Sannini. 

4  Savary  mentions  the  pelicans  upon  Lake  Moris. 

5  "  The  superb  date-tree,  whose  head  languidly  reclines, 
like  that  of  a  handsome  woman  overcome  willi  sleep." — 
Dafarii  il  Hailad. 

6  "  That  beautiful  bird,  with  plumage  of  the  finest  shinins 
Olue,  wall  purple  beak  and  legs,  the  natural  and  living  orna- 
ment of  the  temples  and  palaces  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans, 
which,  from  the  staleliness  of  its  |>ort,  as  well  as  the  brd- 
iancy  of  \ts  colours  has  obtained  the  title  of  Sultana." — 


And  ne'er  will  feel  that  si:n  again ! 
And  oh  I  to  see  th'  unburicd  heaps 
On  which  the  lonely  moonlight  sleeps — 
The  very  vultures  turn  away. 
And  sicken  at  so  foul  a  prey  ! 
Only  the  fierce  hya;na  stalks' 
Throughout  the  city's  desolate  walks 
At  midnight,  and  his  carnage  plies — 

Woe  to  the  half-dead  wretch  who  meeu 
The  glaring  of  those  large  blue  eyes^ 

Amid  the  darkness  of  the  streets  ! 

"  Poor  race  of  Men  !"  said  the  pitying  Spirit, 

"Dearly  ye  pay  for  your  primal  fall — 
Some  Howrets  of  Eden  ye  still  inherit. 

But  the  trail  of  the  Serpent  is  over  them  »"  ' 
She  wept — the  air  grew  pure  and  clear 

Around  her,  as  the  bright  drops  ran ; 
For  there's  a  magic  in  each  tear 

Such  kindly  Spirits  weep  for  man  ! 

Just  then  beneath  some  orange  trees, 
Whose  fruit  and  blossoms  in  the  breeze 
Were  wantoning  together,  free. 
Like  age  at  play  with  infancy — 
Beneath  that  fresh  and  springing  bower, 

Close  by  the  Lake,  she  heard  the  moan 
Of  one  who,  at  this  silent  hour. 

Had  thither  stol'n  to  die  alone. 
One  who  in  life,  where'er  he  mov'd. 

Drew  after  him  the  hearts  of  many; 
Yet  now,  as  though  he  ne'er  were  lov'd, 

Dies  here,  unseen,  unwept  by  any  ! 
None  to  watch  near  him — none  to  slajie 

The  fire  that  in  his  bosom  lies. 
With  e'en  a  sprinkle  from  that  lake, 

WTiich  shines  so  cool  before  his  eyes. 
No  voice,  well-known  through  many  a  day 

To  speak  the  last,  the  parting  word, 
Which,  when  all  other  sounds  decay, 

Is  still  like  distant  music  heard  : 
That  tender  farewell  on  the  shore 
Of  this  rude  world,  when  all  is  o'er, 
Which  cheers  the  spirit,  ere  its  bark 
Puts  off  into  the  unknown  Dark. 

Deserted  youth  !  one  thought  alone 

Shed  joy  around  his  soul  in  death — 
That  she,  whom  he  for  years  had  known 
And  lov'd,  and  might  have  call'd  his  own. 

Was  safe  from  this  fr>ul  midnight's  breath;'^ 
Safe  in  her  father's  princely  halls. 
Where  the  cool  airs  from  fountain — falls, 
Freshly  perfum'd  by  many  a  brand 
Of  the  sweet  wood  from  India's  land. 
Were  pure  as  she  whose  brow  they  fann'd. 

But  see, — who  yonder  comes  by  stealth, 

This  melancholy  bower  to  seek. 
Like  a  young  envoy  sent  by  Health, 

With  rosy  gills  upon  her  cheek? 
'Tis  she — far  off,  through  moonlight  dim, 

He  knew  his  own  betrothed  bride, 


1  Jackson,  speaking  of  llie  plague  that  occiirrei!  in  We«l 
Barhary,  when  do  was  il>eri-,8ays,  "  The  bir.l*  of  the  air  fed 
away  from  the  abodes  of  men.  The  hyienui,  on  lii*  eoa 
irary,  visited  the  cemeteries,"  &c. 

i  Bruce. 


52 


MOOKE'S  WORKS. 


.•>ht',  who  would  ratlier  die  with  him, 

Than  hve  to  gain  the  world  beside  ! — 
Her  armsi  are  round  her  lover  now, 

His  livid  cheek  to  hers  she  presses. 
And  dips,  to  bind  his  burning  brow, 

In  the  cool  lake  her  loosen'd  tresses. 
Ah  !  once,  how  little  did  he  think 
An  hour  would  come,  when  he  should  shrink 
With  horror  from  that  dear  embrace. 

Those  gentle  arms,  that  were  to  him 
Holy  as  is  the  cradling  place 
Of  Eden's  infant  cherubim  ! 
And  now  he  yields — now  turns  away, 
Shuddering  as  if  the  venom  lay 
All  in  those  profferd  lips  alone — 
Those  lips  that,  then  so  fearless  grown, 
Never  until  that  instant  came 
Near  his  unask'd,  or  without  shame. 
"  Oh  !  let  me  only  breathe  the  air. 

The  blessed  air  that's  breath'd  by  thee, 
And,  whether  on  its  wings  it  bear 

Healing  or  death,  'tis  sweet  to  me! 
There,  drink  my  tears,  while  yet  they  fall, — 

Would  that  my  bosom's  blood  were  balm, 
And,  well  thou  know'st,  I'd  shed  it  all. 

To  give  thy  brow  one  minute's  calm. 
Nay,  turn  not  from  me  that  dear  face — 

Am  I  not  thine — thy  own  lov'd  bride — 
The  one,  the  chosen  one,  whose  place 

In  life  or  death  is  by  thy  side  ! 
Thuik'st  thou  that  she,  whose  only  light. 

In  this  dim  world,  from  thee  hath  shone, 
Could  bear  the  long,  the  cheerless  night. 

That  must  bo  hers  when  thou  art  gone  ? 
That  I  can  live,  and  let  thee  go. 
Who  art  my  life  itself? — No,  no — 
When  the  stem  dies,  the  leaf  that  grew 
Out  of  its  heart  must  perish  too  ! 
Then  turn  to  me,  my  own  love,  turn. 
Before  hke  thee  I  fade  and  burn ; 
Cling  to  these  yet  cool  lips,  and  share 
The  last  pure  life  that  lingers  there  !" 
She  fails — she  sinks — as  dies  the  lamp 
In  charnel  airs  or  cavern-damp, 
So  quickly  do  his  baleful  sighs 
Quench  all  the  swee;  light  of  her  eyes. 
One  struggle — and  his  pain  is  past — 

Her  lover  is  no  longer  living ! 
One  kiss  the  maiden  gives,  one  last. 

Long  kiss,  which  she  expires  in  giving! 

"Sleep,"  said  the  Peri,  as  softly  she  stole 
The  farewell  sigh  ol  that  vanishing  soul, 
As  true  as  e'er  warin'<l  a  woman's  breast — 
"  Sleep  on  ;  in  visions  of  odour  rest. 
In  balmier  airs  than  ever  yet  stirr'd 
Th'  enchanted  pile  of  that  lonely  bird. 
Who  sings  at  the  last  his  own  death-lay,' 
And  in  music  and  perfume  dies  away  !" 

Thus  saying,  from  her  lips  she  spread 
Unearthly  breathings  through  the  place, 


And  shook  her  sparkling  wreath,  aua  shed 

Such  lustre  o'er  each  paly  face. 
That  like  two  lovely  saints  they  seem'd 

Upon  the  eve  of  dooms-day  taken 
From  their  dim  graves,  in  odour  sleeping;— 

While  that  benevolent  Peri  beam'd 
Like  their  good  angel,  calmly  keeping 

Watch  o  er  them,  till  their  souls  would  wakeo  i 

But  morn  is  blushing  in  the  sky ; 

Again  the  Peri  soars  above. 
Bearing  to  H'jav'n  that  precious  sigh 

Of  pure,  self-sacrificing  love. 
High  throbb'J  her  heart,  with  hope  elate 

The  Elysit'.n  palm  she  soon  shall  win, 
For  the  bright  Spirit  at  the  gate 

SmiI'd  as  she  gave  that  olfering  in; 
And  she  alreadj'  hears  the  trees 

Of  Eden,  with  their  crystal  bells 
Ringing  in  that  ambrosial  breeze 

That  from  the  throne  of  Alla  sweUs , 
And  she  can  see  the  starry  bowls 

That  he  around  that  lucid  lake, 
Upon  whose  banks  admitted  souls 

Their  first  sweet  draught  of  glory  take  !* 

But  ah  !  e'en  Peri's  hopes  are  vain — 

Again  the  Fates  forbade;  again 

Th'  immortal  barrier  clos'd — "  not  yet," 

The  Angel  said  as,  with  regret. 

He  shut  from  her  that  glimpse  of  glory — 

"True  was  the  maiden,  and  her  story, 

Written  in  light  o'er  Ali^a's  head. 

By  Seraph  eyes  shall  long  be  read. 

But  Peri,  see — the  crystal  bar 

Of  Eden  moves  not — holier  far 

Than  e'en  this  sight  the  boon  must  be 

That  opes  the  gates  of  Heav'n  for  thee." 

Now,  upon  Syria's  land  of  roses'* 
Softly  the  light  of  eve  reposes, 
And  like  a  glory.  Ihe  broad  sun 
Hangs  over  sainted  Lebanon  ; 
Whose  head  in  viintry  grandeur  lowers, 

And  whitens  with  eternal  sleet, 
While  Slimmer,  in  a  vale  of  flowers. 

Is  sleeping  rosy  at  his  feet. 

To  one,  who  look'd  from  upper  air 
O'er  all  th' enchanted  regions  there, 
How  beauteous  must  have  been  the  glow. 
The  life,  the  sparkling  from  below  ! 
Fair  gardens,  shining  streams,  with  ranks 
Of  golden  melons  on  their  banks, 
More  golden  where  the  sun-light  falls; — 
Gay  lizards,  glittering  on  the  walls' 


1  "In  the  Kiisl,  Iticy  Hiippose  the  PlioMiix  to  liave  fitly 
orificcH  ill  his  bill,  wlii'  (i  »rt:  conlliiiiod  to  liis  lail ;  ami  thai, 
after  living  one  ihoiwiind  yurs,  hi;  Imilils  himself  a  I'uiicral 
pile,  siiiKS '1  mi'lodiniis  an  ol"  (litliTiMit  hHrinoiiieo  throiish 
his  fiAy  iir::an  pipe^,  Hiip«  his  winnH  willi  a  vi-locity  which 
leU  li.-e  lu  thu  wooil,  ami  <-oiihiiiii(;«  Uum>M'.—  Hii:/iardsijn. 


1  "On  the  shores  of  a  quadrangular  lake  stand  a  thou, 
sand  'goblets,  made  of  stars,  out  of  which  souls  predesiiuej 
to  enjoy  felicity,  drink  the  crystal  wave." — From  Cha- 
teaubiiand's  I)(scri|ilion  of  the  Mahometan  Paradise,  in 
his  lieaiities  of  ChrisliaHity. 

2  Richardson  thinks  that  Syria  had  its  name  friwi.  .Suri, 
a  I'faiuifiil  and  delicate  species  of  rose  for  which  that 
country  has  been  always  famous;— hence,  Surislan,  the 
Land  of  RoHPs. 

3  ''The  luimber  of  lizards  I  saw  one  day  hi  the  great 
court  of  the  Temple  of  the  Sun  al  Balbec,  amounted  to 
many  ihousands  ;  the  ground,  the  walls,  and  stones  of  lh« 
ruined  buildings  were  covered  with  them." — Bruct. 


LALLA  ROOKII. 


53 


Of  niin'd  slirines,  busy  aiul  bright 

As  tlicy  were  ;ill  alive  with  li;;lit; — 

And,  yet  more  si)leii(licl,  numerous  llocks 

or  pigeons,  settling  on  tlie  rocks, 

With  'heir  rich  restless  wings,  that  gleam 

Variously  in  the  crimson  beam 

or  the  warm  west, — as  if  inlaid 

VVitli  brilliants  from  the  mine,  or  made 

i)l"  tearless  rainbows,  such  as  span 

rir  unclouded  skies  of  Peristan. 

\i.vi  then,  tlie  mingling  sounds  that  corne, 

Of  shepherd's  ancient  reed,'  with  hum 

Of  the  wild  bees  of  Palestine, 

Ra/iquetiiig  through  the  liowery  vales; — 
And,  Jordan,  those  sweet  banks  of  thine, 

And  woods,  so  full  of  nightingales  ! 


Rut  nought  can  chanii  the  luckless  Peri  ; 
fl  or  soul  is  sad — her  wings  are  weary — 
Joyless  she  sees  the  sun  look  down 
"n  that  great  Temple,  once  his  own,* 
W  hose  lonely  columns  stand  sublime, 

Flinging  their  shadows  from  on  high. 
Like  dials,  which  tlio  wiiiard.  Time, 

Had  rais'd  to  count  his  ages  by  ! 

Vet  haply  there  may  lie  conceal'd 
Beneath  those  Chambers  of  the  Sun, 

Some  amulet  of  gems  anneal'd 

In  upper  tires,  some  tabret  seal'd 
With  the  great  name  of  Solomon, 
Which,  spell'd  by  her  illumin'd  eyes. 

May  teach  her  where,  beneath  the  moon. 

In  earth  or  ocean  lies  the  boon. 

The  charm  dnt  can  restore  so  soon. 
An  erri'ig  lipirit  to  the  skies  ! 

Cheer'd  by  this  hope  she  bends  her  thither ; — 

StiU  laughs  the  radiant  eye  of  Heaven, 

Nor  have  tin  golden  bovvers  of  Even 
In  the  rich  West  begun  to  wither; — 
When,  o'er  the  vale  of  Balbec,  winging 

Slowly,  she  sees  a  child  at  play. 
Among  the  rosy  wi!d-!!owers  singing, 

As  rosy  and  as  wild  as  they  ; 
Chasing,  with  eager  hands  and  eyes. 
The  beautiful  blue  damsel-flies,'' 
Tliat  Hutter'd  round  the  jasmine  stems. 
Like  winged  (lowers  or  Hying  gems ; — 
And,  near  the  boy,  who,  tir'd  with  play, 
Now  nestling  'mid  the  roses  lay. 
She  saw  a  wearied  man  dismount 

From  his  hot  steed,  and  on  the  brink 
Of  a  small  imaret's  rustic  fount 

Impatient  fling  him  down  to  drink. 
Then  swift  his  haggard  brow  he  turn'd 

To  the  fair  child,  who  fearless  sat, 
Though  never  yet  hath  day-beam  burn'd 

I  pon  a  brow  more  fierce  than  that, — 
Sullenly  fierce — a  mixture  dire, 
Like  thunder-clouds,  of  gloom  and  fire  ! 


1  "Tlic  Syrinx,  or  Pan's  pipe,  is  still  a  pastoral  iiistru- 
(BKnt  in  Syria." — Fussnl. 

•2  The  Temple  of  the  Sun  at  Biilbec. 

3  "  You  beliokl  there  a  consiiU  rable  numberof  a  remarks 
ble  species  of  beautiful  insects,  tlie  ek'a;:ince  of  uliose  ap- 
nearunre  aiul  tlicir  attiro  (trociiiBd  for  them  the  name  of 
riamsel!'  " — Sonnini. 


In  which  the  Peri's  eye  could  read 
Dark  tales  of  many  a  r.ithless  deed  ; 
The  ruin'd  maid— the  shrine  profan'd — 
Oaths  broken — and  the  tlireslnld  stain'd 
With  blood  of  guests  ! — the-e  written,  all, 
Black  as  the  damning  drops  that  fall 
From  the  denouncing  Angel's  pen. 
Ere  mercy  weeps  them  out  again ! 


Yet  tranquil  now  that  man  of  crime 
(As  if  the  balmy  evening  time 
Soften'd  his  spirit,)  look'd  and  lay, 
Watching  the  rosy  infant's  play  : — 
Though  still,  whene'er  his  eye  by  chance 
Fell  on  the  boy's,  its  lurid  glance 

Met  that  unclouded,  joyous  gaze, 
As  torches,  that  have  burnt  all  night 
Through  some  impure  and  godless  rite, 

Encounter  morning's  glorious  rays. 

But  hark  !  the  vesper-call  to  prayer. 

As  slow  the  orb  of 'daylight  sets. 
Is  rising  sweetly  on  the  air. 

From  Syria's  thousand  minarets  ! 
The  boy  has  started  from  the  bed 
Of  flowers,  where  he  had  laid  his  head. 
And  down  upon  the  fragrant  sod 

Kneels,  with  Ins  forehead  to  the  south, 
Lisping  th'  eternal  name  of  God 

From  purity's  own  cherub  mouth, 
And  looking,  while  his  hands  and  eyes 
Are  lifted  to  the  glowing  skies. 
Like  a  stray  babe  of  Paradise, 
Just  lighted  on  that  flowery  plain. 
And  seeking  for  its  home  again  I 
Oh  'twas  a  sight — that  Heav'n — that  Child- 
A  scene,  which  might  have  well  beguil'd 
Ei'en  haughty  Eblis  of  a  sigh 
For  glories  lost  and  peace  gone  by  ! 

And  how  felt  he,  the  wretched  ]\Ian, 

Reclining  there — while  memory  ran 

O'er  many  a  year  of  guilt  and  strife. 

Flew  o'er  the  dark  floot  of  his  life, 

Nor  found  one  sunny  restiiig-plnce. 

Nor  brought  him  back  one  branch  of  grace ' 

" There  vas  a  time,"  he  said,  in  mild 

Heart-humbled  tones — "thou  blessed  child! 

When  young,  and  haply  pure  as  thou, 

1  look'd  and  pray'd  like  thee — but  now — " 

He  hung  his  head — each  nobler  aim 

And  hope  and  feeling,  which  had  slept 
From  boyhood's  hour,  that  instant  came 

Fresh  o'er  him,  and  he  wept — he  wept ! 

Blest  tears  of  soul-felt  penitence  ! 

In  whose  benign,  redeeming  flow 
Is  felt  the  first,  the  only  sense 

Of  guiltless  joy  that  guilt  can  know 

"There's  a  drop,"  said  the  Peri,  "that  aowT>  ftri 

the  moon 
Falls  through  the  withering  airs  of  June 
Upon  Egypt's  land,'  of  so  healing  a  power 
So  balmy  a  virtue,  that  e'en  in  the  hour 


1  The  Nucta,  or  Miraculous  Drop,  which  falls  in  Egy^n, 
precisely  on  Saint  John's  day,  in  June,  and  is  supposed  lo 
have  the  eH'ect  of  stopping  the  plucue 


54 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


That  drop  aescends,  contagion  dies, 
And  healtli  leanimaies  eartli  and  skies  ! — 
Oh,  is  it  not  imis,  thou  man  of  sin. 

The  precious  tears  of  repentance  fall  ? 
Though  foul  thy  tiery  plagues  within. 

One  heavenly  drop  hath  dispell'd  them  all.' 

And  now — ^behold  him  kneeling  there 
By  the  child's  side,  in  humble  prayer, 
While  the  same  sunbeams  shine  upon 
The  guilty  and  the  guiltless  one. 
And  hymns  of  joy  proclaim  through  heaven 
The  triumph  of  a  Soul  forgiven ! 

'Tvifas  when  the  golden  orb  had  set. 
While  on  their  knees  they  linger'd  yet, 
There  fell  a  light  more  lovely  far 
Than  ever  came  from  sun  or  star, 
Upon  the  tear,  that,  warm  and  meek, 
Dew'd  that  repentant  sinner's  cheek  : 
To  mortal  eye  this  light  might  seem 
A  northern  flash,  or  meteor  beam — 
But  well  the  enraptur'd  Peri  knew 
'Twas  a  bright  smile  the  Angel  threw 
From  Heaven's  gate,  to  hail  that  tear 
Her  harbinger  of  glory  near  ! 

"  J.)y,  joy  for  ever !  my  task  is  done — 

The  gates  are  pass'd,  and  Heaven  is  won ! 

Oh  !  am  1  not  happy  ?  I  am,  I  am — 

T')  thee,  sweet  Eden  !  how  dark  and  sad 

Are  the  diamond  turrets  of  Shadukiam,' 
And  the  fragrant  bowers  of  Amberabad  ! 

Farewell,  ye  odours  of  Earth,  that  die. 

Passing  away  like  a  lover's  sigh ; — 

My  feast  is  now  the  Tooba  tree.^ 

Whose  scent  is  the  breath  of  Eternity ! 

"  Farewell,  ye  vanishing  flower^  that  shone 
In  my  fairy  wreath,  so  bright  and  brief, — 
Oh !  what  are  the  brightest  that  e'er  have  blown, 
To  the  Lote-tree,  springing  by  Alla's  Throne,' 

Whose  flowers  have  a  soul  in  every  leaf ! 
Joy, joy  for  ever! — my  task  is  done — 
The  gates  are  pass'd,  and  Heav'n  is  won !" 


"  And  this,"  said  the  Great  Chamberlain,  "is  poetry! 
iliis  flimsy  manufacture  of  the  brain,  which,  in  com- 
piirteon  with  tlie  lofty  and  durable  monuments  of 
piMiius,  is  as  the  gold  filigree-work  of  Zamara  beside 
the  eternal  architecture  of  Egypt !"  After  this  gor- 
geous sentence,  whicli,  witli  a  few  more  of  the  same 
i<;nd,  Fai>lai)EEN  kept  by  him  for  rare  and  important 
occasions,  he  proceeded  to  the  anatomy  of  the  short 
poem  just  recited.  Tlie  lax  and  easy  kind  of  metre 
•n  which  it  was  written  ought  to  be  denounced,  he 
said,  as  one  of  the  leading  causes  of  the  alarming 


1  Tlie  Country  (if  Delight — the  ninie  of  a  I'rovinrc  in 
h;  kingdom  of  Jinnislan,  or  Fairy  Lund,  the  ca|iitiil  of 
ivliicli  ii<  rallud  the  City  of  Jewels.     Amberabad  is  another 


•2  "  The  tree  Toobn,  tliat  stands  in  Paradise,  in  the  [lalace 
of  Malioinet." — Salii's  Prelim.  Disc.  "Touba,"  B:iy8  /J' 
Hnrlielnt,  "signifies  beatitude,  or  eternal  hapiiiness." 

'I  Mahomet  is  described,  in  the  .^Sd  cliii|)tcr  of  the  Koran, 
us  having  seen  the  Anijid  Gabriel,  "  by  the  lotc-trce,  beyond 
i\ iiieli  there  is  no  passing;  near  it  is  the  Garden  of  Ktcinaj 
Aliiidir."  This  tree,  say  the  coniinentutors,  stands  in  the 
M'vunlh  Heaven  on  the  right  hand  of  the  thron*  of  God. 


growth  of  poetry  in  our  times.  If  some  check  wen 
not  given  to  this  lawless  facility,  we  should  soon  be 
overrun  by  a  race  of  bards  as  numerous  and  as  shaj 
low  as  the  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  streams  of 
Basra.'  They  who  succeeded  in  this  style  dese'ved 
chastisement  for  their  very  success ; — as  warnori? 
have  been  punished,  even  after  gaining  a  victory, 
because  they  had  taken  the  liberty  of  gaining  it  in  an 
irregular  or  unestablished  manner.  What,  then,  was 
to  be  said  to  those  who  failed  ?  to  those  who  pre- 
sumed, as  in  the  present  lamentable  instance,  to  imi- 
tate the  license  and  ease  of  the  bolder  sons  of  song, 
witliout  any  of  that  grace  or  vigour  which  gave  a 
dignity  even  to  negligence — who,  like  them,  flung  the 
jereed-  carelessly,  but  not,  hke  them,  to  the  mark : 
"and  who,"  said  he,  raising  his  voice  to  excite  a  pro- 
per degree  of  wakefulness  in  his  hearers,  "  contrive 
to  appear  heavy  and  constrained  in  the  midst  of  all 
the  latitude  they  have  allowed  themselves,  like  one 
of  those  young  pagans  that  dance  before  the  Princess, 
who  has  the  ingenuity  to  move  as  if  her  limbs  were 
fettered  in  a  pair  of  the  lightest  and  loosest  drawers 
of  Masulipatam  ." 

It  was  but  little  suitable,  he  continued,  to  the  grave 
march  of  criticism,  to  follow  this  fantastical  Peri,  of 
whom  they  had  just  heard,  through  all  her  flights  and 
adventures  between  earth  and  heaven;  but  he  could 
not  help  adverting  to  the  puerile  conceitedness  of  the 
Three  Gifts  which  she  is  supposed  to  carry  to  the 
skies, — a  drop  of  blood,  forsooth,  a  sigh,  and  a  tear ! 
How  the  first  of  these  articles  was  delivered  into  the 
Angel's  "radiant  hand,"  he  professed  himself  at  a 
loss  to  discover ;  and  as  to  the  safe  carriage  of  the 
sigh  and  the  tear,  such  Peris  and  such  poets  were 
beings  by  far  too  incomprehensible  for  him  even  to 
guess  how  they  managed  such  matters.  "  But,  in 
short,"  said  he,  "  it  is  a  waste  of  time  and  patience 
to  dwell  longer  upon  a  thing  so  incurably  frivolous, 
— puny  even  among  its  own  puny  race,  and  such  as 
only  the  Banyan  Hospital  for  Sick  Insects'  should 
undertake." 

In  vain  did  Lalla  Rookh  try  to  soften  this  inexo 
rable  critic ;  in  vain  did  she  resort  to  her  most  elo 
quent  common-places, — reminding  him  that  poets 
were  a  timid  and  sensitive  race,  whose  sweetwess 
was  not  to  be  drawn  forth,  like  that  of  the  fragrant 
grasf  near  the  Ganges,  by  crushing  and  trampling 
upoii  them ; — that  severity  often  destroyed  every 
chance  of  the  perfection  which  it  demanded ;  and 
that,  after  all,  perfection  was  like  the  Mountain  of 
the  Talisman, — no  one  had  ever  yet  reached  its  sum- 
mit.* Neither  these  gentle  axioms,  nor  the  still  gentler 
looks  with  which  they  were  inculcated,  could  lower 
for  one  instant  the  elevation  of  Fadi^aueen's  eye- 
brows, or  charm  him  into  any  thing  like  encourage- 
ment, or  even  toleration,  of  her  poet.     Toleration, 


1  "  It  is  said,  lliat  the  rivers  or  streams  of  Basra  were 
reckoned  in  the  time  of  lieial  lieii  Abi  Bordeh,  and  umounted 
to  tlie  number  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  tiiousaiid  streams." 
—  Kbn  Haulcal. 

2  'J'hi-  name  oftlii' jiiveliu  with  which  the  Easterns  exei- 
ciso. — See  Cd.stillaii,  Mtrrim  ilis  O/Aon/oj/s,  tom.  iii.  p.  Ifil. 

;{  For  a  dcscripiion  of  this  Hospital  of  the  Banyans,  seu 
Parson's  'J'rancls,  p.  202. 

4  "Near  this  is  a  curious  hill,  called  Koh  Talism,  tiie 
Mountain  of  the  Talisman,  because,  according  to  the  tia 
ditions  of  th(!  country,  no  person  ever  succeeded  in  gaming 
its  summit." — Kinneir. 


LaLLA  rookh. 


jadeed,  was  not  among  tlie  weaknesses  of  Faiji.a- 
UEEN : — he  carried  tlie  same  spirit  into  matters  of 
poetry  and  of  religion,  and,  though  httle  versed  in  the 
beauties  or  subhmities  of  either,  was  a  perfect  master 
of  the  art  of  persecution  m  both.  His  zeal,  too,  was 
the  same  in  either  pursuit;  wliether  the  game  before 
him  was  pagans  or  poetasters, — worshippers  of  cows, 
or  writers  of  epics. 

They  had  now  arrived  at  the  splendid  city  of  La- 
hore, whose  mausoleums  and  shrines,  magnificent 
and  numberless,  where  Death  seemed  to  share  equal 
honours  with  Heaven,  would  have  powerfully  alfectcd 
the  heart  and  iiiuigination  of  Lai.i.a  Rookei,  if  feel- 
mgs  more  of  this  earth  had  not  taken  entire  posses- 
sion of  her  already.  She  was  here  met  by  messen- 
gers despatched  from  Cashmere,  who  informed  her 
tliat  the  King  had  arrived  in  tlie  Valley,  and  was  him- 
self superintending  the  sumptuous  preparations  that 
were  making  in  the  Saloons  of  the  Shalinuir  for  her 
reception.  The  chill  she  felt  on  receiving  this  intel- 
ligence,— which  to  a  bride  whose  heart  was  free  and 
light  would  have  brought  only  images  of  affection 
and  pleasure, — convinced  her  that  her  peace  was  gone 
for  ever,  and  that  she  was  in  love,  irretrievably  in  love, 
with  young  Feramor'z  The  veil,  wliich  this  passion 
wears  at  first,  had  fallen  off,  and  to  know  that  she 
loved  was  now  as  painful,  as  to  love  without  knowing 
it,  had  been  delicious.  Feramorz  too, — what  misery 
would  be  his,  if  the  sweet  hours  of  intercourse  so 
imprudently  allowed  them  should  have  stolen  into 
liis  heart  the  same  fatal  fascination  as  into  hers  ; — if, 
notwithstanding  her  rank,  and  the  modest  homage  he 
always  paid  to  it,  even  he  should  have  yielded  to  the 
mtluence  of  those  long  and  happy  interviews,  where 
music,  poetry,  the  delightful  scenes  of  nature, — all 
tended  to  bring  their  hearts  close  together,  and  to 
waken  by  every  means  that  too  ready  passion,  which 
oiten,  like  the  young  of  the  desert-bird,  is  warmed 
mo  life  by  the  eyes  alone  I'  She  saw  but  one  way 
to  preserve  herself  from  being  culpable  as  w-ell  as 
unhappy;  and  this,  however  painful,  she  was  resolved 
to  adopt.  Feramorz  must  no  more  be  admitted  to 
iier  presence.  To  have  strayed  so  far  into  the  dan- 
gerous labyrinth  was  wrong,  but  to  linger  in  it  while 
the  clew  was  yet  in  her  hand,  would  be  criminal. 
Though  the  heart  she  had  to  offer  to  the  King  of 
Bucharia  might  be  cold  and  broken,  it  should  at  least 
be  pure ;  and  she  must  only  try  to  forget  the  short 
vision  of  happiness  she  had  enjoyed, — like  that  Ara- 
bian shepherd,  who,  in  wandering  into  the  wilder- 
ness, caugiit  a  glimpse  of  the  Gardens  of  Irim,  and 
then  lost  them  again  for  ever  V 

The  arrival  of  the  young  Bride  at  Lahore  was  cele- 
brated in  the  most  enthusiastic  manner.  The  Rajas 
and  Omras  in  her  train,  who  had  kept  at  a  certain 
distance  during  the  journey,  and  never  encamped 
nearer  to  the  I'rincess  than  was  strictly  necessary  for 
her  safeguard,  here  rode  in  splendid  cavalcade  through 
the  city,  and  distributed  the  most  costly  presents  to 
the  crowd.  Engines  were  erected  in  all  the  squares, 
which  cast  forth  showers  of  confectionary  among 
ihe  people  ;  while  the  artisans,  in  chariots  adorned 


1  "The  Arabiiiiif:  bi  lieve  that  the  ostriches  hatch  their 
?oun2  by  oii'y  looking  at  them." — P.  Vaiulche,  Helat.  d' 
Efiypte. 

2  See  Sale's  Koraii,  note,  vol.  ii.  p.  484. 


with  tinsel  and  flying  streamers,  exhibited  tlie  badget 
of  their  respective  trades  through  the  streets.  -Such 
brilliant  displays  of  life  and  pageantry  among  the 
palaces,  and  domes,  and  gilded  minarets  of  Lahore, 
made  the  city  altogether  like  a  place  of  enchantment 
—particularly  on  the  day  when  Lalla  Rookii  oei 
out  again  upon  her  journey,  when  she  was  accom- 
panied to  the  gate  by  all  the  fairest  and  richest  of  ttio 
nobility,  and  rode  along  between  ranks  of  beauiifid 
boys  and  girls,  who  waved  plates  of  gold  and  silver 
Mowers  over  their  heads'  as  they  went,  and  then 
threw  them  to  be  gathered  by  the  populace. 

For  many  days  after  their  departure  from  Lahore 
a  considerable  degree  of  gloom  hung  over  the  whole 
party.  Lalla  RooKif,  who  had  intended  to  make 
illness  her  excuse  for  not  admitting  the  young  min- 
strel, as  usual,  to  the  pavilion,  soon  found  that  to 
feign  indisposition  was  unnecessary  ; — Fai>ladeen 
felt  the  loss  of  the  good  road  they  had  hitherto  travel- 
led, and  was  very  near  cursing  .lehan-Guire  (of  blessed 
memory !)  for  not  having  continued  liis  delectable 
alley  of  trees,^  at  least  as  far  as  the  mountains  of 
Cashmere  ; — while  the  ladies,  who  had  nothing  now 
to  do  all  day  but  to  be  fanned  by  peacocks'  feathers 
and  listen  to  Fadladeen,  seemed  heartily  weary  of 
the  life  they  led,  and,  in  spite  of  all  the  Great  Cham- 
berlain's criticism,  were  tasteless  enough  to  wish  for 
the  poet  again.  One  evening,  as  they  were  proceed- 
ing to  their  place  of  rest  for  the  night,  the  Princess, 
who,  for  the  freer  enjoyment  of  the  air,  had  mount- 
ed her  favourite  Arabian  palfrey,  in  passing  by  a  small 
grove,  heard  the  notes  of  a  lute  from  within  its  leaves, 
and  a  voice,  which  she  but  too  well  knew,  singing  the 
following  words  : — 

Tell  me  not  of  joys  above, 
If  that  world  can  give  no  bhss, 

Truer,  happier  than  the  Love 

Which  enslaves  our  souls  in  this ! 

Tell  me  not  of  Houris'  eyes  ; — 
Far  from  me  their  dangerous  glow 

If  those  looks  that  light  the  skies 
Wound  like  some  that  burn  below. 

WHio  that  feels  v  hat  Love  is  here, 
All  its  falsehood — all  its  pain — 

Would,  for  e'en  Elysium's  sphere, 
Risk  the  fatal  dream  again  ? 

Who,  that  midst  a  desert's  heat 

Sees  the  waters  fade  away, 
Would  not  rather  die  than  meet 

Streams  again  as  false  as  they  ? 

The  tone  of  melancholy  defiance  in  which  these 
words  were  uttered,  went  to  Lalla  Rcokh's  heart, 
— and,  as  she  reluctantly  rode  on,  she  could  not  help 
feeling  it  as  a  sad  but  sweet  certainly,  that  Feramorz 
was  to  the  full  as  enamoured  and  miserable  as  her- 
self 

The  place  where  they  encamped  that  evening  was 
the  first  delightt'ul  spot  they  had  come  to  since  they 
lefl  Lahore.  On  one  side  of  them  was  a  grove  full 
of  small  Hindoo  temples,  and  planted  with  tJie  mosi 


1  Fcrishla. 

2  The  linu  road  inaile  by  llic  Emperor  .lehan-Guire  'roai 
.Agra  to  Lahore,  planted  with  trees  uD  each  sidu 


56 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


jriceful  trees  of  the  East ;  where  the  tamarind,  the 
c.ssia,  and  the  silken  plantains  of  Ceylon  were  min- 
gled in  rich  contrast  with  the  high  fan-like  foliage  of 
the  palmyra, — that  favourite  tree  of  the  luxurious  bird 
that  lights  up  the  chambers  of  its  nest  with  iire-llies.' 
In  the  middle  of  the  lawn,  where  the  pavilion  stood, 
there  was  a  tank  surrounded  by  small  mangoe  trees, 
on  the  clear  cold  waters  of  which  floated  multitudes 
of  the  beautiful  red  lotus;  while  at  a  distance  stood 
the  ruins  of  a  strange  and  awful-looking  tower,  which 
seemed  old  enough  to  have  been  the  temple  of  some 
religion  no  longer  known,  and  which  spoke  the  voice 
of  desolation  in  the  midst  of  all  that  bloom  and  love- 
liness.    This  singular  ruin  excited  the  wonder  and 
conjectures  of  all.     Lalla  Rookh  guessed  in  vain, 
and  the  all-pretending  Fauladee.v,  who  had  never 
rill  this  journey  been  beyond  the  precincts  of  Delhi, 
was  proceeding  most  learnedly  to  show  that  he  knew 
nothing  whatever  about  the  matter,  when  one  of  the 
ladies    suggested,   that    perhaps    Fkrajiorz    could 
satisfy  their  curiosity.     They  were  now  approaching 
nis  native  mountains,  and  liiis  tower  m'ght  be  a  rel'c 
of  some  of  those  dark  superstitions,  which  had  pre- 
vailed in  that  country  before  the  light  of  Islam  dawned 
upon  it.     The   Chamberlain,  who  usually  preferred 
his  own  ignorance  to  the  best  knowledge  that  any  one 
else  could  give  him,  was  by  no  means  pleased  with 
this   officious  reference ;  and  the  Princess,  too,  was 
about  to  interpose  a  fliint  word  of  objection  ;  but,  bs- 
fore  either  of  them  could  speak,  a  slave  was  despatch- 
ed   for   Feramorz,   who,   in   a   very  few  minutes, 
appeared  before  them, — looking  so  pale  and  unhappy 
in  Lalla  Rookh's  eyes,  that  she  already  repented 
of  her  cruelty  in  having  so  long  excluded  him. 

That  venerable  tower,  he  told  them,  was  the  re- 
mains of  an  ancient  Fire-Temple,  built  by  those 
Ghebers  or  Persians  of  the  old  religion,  who,  many 
hundred  years  since,  had  fled  hither  from  their  Arab 
conquerors,  preferring  liberty  and  their  altars  in  a 
foreign  land  to  the  alternative  of  apostacy  or  persecu- 
tion in  their  own.  It  was  impossible,  he  added,  not 
to  feel  interested  in  the  many  glorious  but  unsuccess- 
ful struggles,  which  had  been  made  by  the.se  original 
natives  of  Persia  to  cast  otT  the  yoke  of  their  bigoted 
conquerors.  Like  their  own  Fire  in  the  Burning 
Field  at  Bakou,^  when  suppressed  in  one  place,  they 
had  but  broken  out  with  fresh  flame  in  another ;  and, 
as  a  native  of  Cashmere,  of  that  fair  and  Holy  Val- 
ley, which  had  in  the  same  manner  become  the  prey 
of  strangers,  and  seen  her  ancient  shrines  and  native 
princes  swept  away  before  the  march  of  her  intolerant 
invaders,  he  felt  a  sympathy,  he  owned,  with  the  suf- 
ferings of  the  persecuted  Ghobers,  which  every  monu- 
ment like  this  before  them  but  tended  more  powerfully 
to  awaken. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Feramorz  had  ever  ven- 
tured iijion  so  much  prose  before  Fadi.adeen,  and  it 
may  easily  be  conceived  what  elfect  such  prose  as  this 
must  have  produced  upon  that  most  orthodox  and 
most  pagan-hating  personage.  lie  sat  for  some  mi- 
nutes a,^hast,  ejaculating  only  at  intervals,  "  Bigoted 
conquerors  ! — .sympathy  with  Firc-worsliippers  !" — 
while  Feramorz,  happy  to  take  advantage  of  this 


almost  speechless  horror  of  the  Chamberlain,  pro- 
ceeded to  say  that  he  knew  a  melancholy  story,  coti 
nected  with  the  events  of  one  of  those  brave  struggles 
of  the  Fire-worshippers  of  Persia  against  their  Arab 
masters,  which,  if  the  evening  was  not  too  far  ad- 
vanced, he  should  have  much  pleasure  in  being 
allowed  to  relate  to  the  Princess.  It  was  impossible 
for  Lalla  Rookh  to  refuse ; — he  had  never  before 
looked  half  so  animated,  and  when  he  spoke  of  the 
Holy  Valley  his  eyes  had  sparkled,  she  thought,  like 
the  talismanic  characters  on  the  scimitar  of  Solomon. 
Her  consent  was  therefore  readily  granted,  and  while 
Fadladeen  sat  in  unspeakable  dismay,  expectma 
treason  and  abomination  in  every  line,  the  poet  ihut 
began  his  story  of — 

THE  FIRE-VVORSHIPPERS. 


'Tis  moonliglit  over  Oman's  Sea  ;' 

Her  banks  of  pearl  and  palmy  isles 
Bask  in  the  night-beam  beauteously. 

And  her  blue  waters  sleep  in  smiles. 
'Tis  moonlight  in  Harmozja's^  walls, 
And  through  her  Emir's  porphyry  halls, 
Where,  some  hours  since,  was  heard  the  swell 
Of  trumpet  and  the  clash  of  zel,' 
Bidding  the  bright-eyed  sun  farewell ; — 
The  peaceful  sun,  whom  better  suits 

The  music  of  the  bulbul's  nest. 
Or  the  light  touch  of  lovers'  lutes, 

To  sing  him  to  his  golden  rest ! 
All  hush'd — there's  not  a  breeze  in  motion, 
The  shore  is  silent  as  the  ocean. 
If  zephyrs  come,  so  light  they  come, 

Nor  leaf  is  stirr'd  nor  wave  is  driven  ;— 
The  wind-tower  on  the  Emir's  dome* 

Can  hardly  win  a  breath  from  heaven. 
E'en  he,  that  tyrant  Arab,  sleeps 
Calm,  while  a  nation  round  him  weeps; 
While  curses  load  the  air  he  breathes. 
And  falchions  from  unnumber'd  sheaths 
Are  starting  to  avenge  the  shame 
His  race  had  brought  on  Iran's^  name. 
Hard,  heartless  Chief,  unmov'd  alike 
Mid  eyes  that  weep  and  swords  that  strike  ;— 
One  of  that  sainily,  murderous  brood. 

To  carnage  and  the  Koran  given, 
Who  think  through  unbelievers'  blood 

Lies  their  directest  path  to  heaven: 
One,  who  will  pause  and  kneel  unshod 

In  the  warm  blood  his  hand  hath  pour'd, 
To  mutter  o'er  some  text  of  God 

Engraven  on  his  reeking  sword  f — 
Nay,  who  can  coolly  note  the  line, 
The  letter  of  those  words  divine, 
To  which  his  blade,  with  searching  art, 
Had  sunk  into  its  victim's  heart ! 


I  TIk;  Baya,  or  Indian  (JruKs-beak. — .S/>  IV.  Junes. 
'J  'I'lio  '  'Vgur  ardcns"  described  by  Kcmpfer,  Jlmanital. 
Kxot. 


1  The  Pirsiiin  Gull",  sometimes  so  called,  which  si'iiuratt-i 
Iho  sliori's  of  I'orsiii  ami  Arabia. 

2  The  iiru.sBiit  (jomburoon,  a  town  on  the  Persian  side  of 
Ihe  Ouir. 

3  A  Mooiisli  instrument  of  music. 

4  "  At  (Jonibanioii  luul  other  places  in  Persia,  tlioy  hnve 
lowcr.s  lor  the  |iurpose  of  catching  (he  wind,  ami  coo.nig 
the  houses." — he  Uruyn. 

5  "Iran  is  the  true  general  name  of  the  empire  of  Persia." 
—.'hint.  Krs.  Di.sc.  V). 

6  "  On  the  hi. kIcs  o'"  their  scimitars  some  verse  from  the 
Koran  is  usually  inscribed." — liusse.l 


LALLA  ROOKII. 


67 


/list  Alla  !  what  must  be  tliy  look, 

Wlieu  sucli  a  wretch  before  lliee  stands 
Cnblushing,  with  thy  Sacred  Book, 

Tiiniiiig  the  leaves  with  hlood-stain'd  hands, 
And  wrciiting  from  its  page  sublime 
(lis  creed  of  lust  and  hate  and  crime? 
K'en  as  those  bees  of  Thkihzonij, — 

Winch,  from  the  simniest  hours  that  glad 
With  their  pure  smile  the  gardens  round, 

Draw  venom  forth  that  drives  men  mad  !' 
Never  did  fierce  Arabia  send 

A  satrap  forth  more  direly  great ; 
Never  was  Iran  doom'd  to  bend 

Beneath  a  yoke  of  deadlier  weight. 
Her  throne  had  fall'n — her  pride  was  crush'd — 
Her  sons  were  willing  slaves,  nor  bhish'd 
In  their  own  land — no  more  their  own, — 
To  crouch  beneath  a  stranger's  throne. 
Her  towers,  where  3In'iiRA  once  had  burn'd, 
To  Moslem  shrines — oh  shame  !  were  turn'd, 
VVliere  slaves,  converted  by  the  sword, 
Their  mean,  apostate  worship  pour'd. 
And  curs'd  the  faith  their  sires  ador'd. 
Vet  has  she  hearts,  mid  all  tliis  ill. 
O'er  all  this  wreck  high  buoyant  still 
With  hope  and  vengeance: — hearts  that  yet, 

Like  gems,  in  darkness  issuing  rays 
They've  treasur'd  t'rom  the  sun  that's  set, 
Beam  all  the  light  of  long-lost  days ! — 
And  swords  she  hath,  nor  weak  nor  slow 

To  second  all  such  hearts  can  dare  ; 
As  he  shall  know,  well,  dearly  know. 

Who  sleeps  in  moonlight  lu.xury  there, 
Tranquil  as  if  his  spirit  lay 
Boeaim'd  in  Heaven's  approving  ray  ! 
Sleep  on — for  purer  eyes  than  thine 
Those  waves  are  hush'd,  those  planets  shine. 
Sleep  on,  and  be  thy  rest  unmov'd 

By  the  white  moonbeam's  da/.7.ling  power: 
None  but  the  loving  and  the  lov'd 
Should  be  awake  at  this  sweet  hour. 

And  see — where,  high  above  those  rocks 

Tliat  o'er  the  deep  their  shadows  fling, 
\  on  turret  stands  ;  where  ebon  locks, 

As  glossy  as  a  heron's  wing 

Upon  the  turban  of  a  King,^ 
Hang  from  the  lattice,  long  and  wild. — 
'Tis  she,  that  Emir's  blooming  child, 
All  truth,  and  tenderness,  and  grace, 
Though  born  of  such  ungentle  race  ; 
An  image  of  Youth's  radiant  Fountain 
Springing  in  a  desolate  mountain  !^ 
Oh  what  a  pure  and  sacred  thing 

Is  beauty,  curtain'd  from  the  sight 
Of  the  gross  world,  illumining 

One  only  mansion  with  her  light ! 
Unseen  by  man's  distuvbiug  eye, — 

The  flower,  that  blooms  beneath  the  sea 
Too  deep  for  sunbeams,  doth  not  lie 


1  "  ThiMe  is  11  kind  of  Rliocii)ileiulios  abi)ui  'I'rebizoiul, 
wh(is«  flowers  the  bee  I'eeils  upon,  and  the  honey  thence 
drives  people  mad." — Tournefart. 

2  "Tlieir  kings  wear  plvinies  of  black  heron's  feathers 
ppon  till-  riffht  side,  as  a  badge  ofsovereipuy." — Hanicay. 

3  "The  iFountain  of  Youth,  by  a  .Mahometnn  liadkiim, 
IS  slualed  in  some  dark  region  of  the  East." — Hickardsdn. 


Hid  in  more  chaste  obscurity  ! 
So,  HiNUA,  have  thy  face  and  mind, 
Like  holy  mysteries,  lain  enshrin'd. 
And  oh  what  transport  for  a  lover 

To  lift  the  veil  that  shades  them  o'er! — 
Like  those,  who,  all  at  once,  discover 

In  the  lone  deep  some  fairy  shore, 

Where  mortal  never  trod  before, 
.\nd  sleep  and  wake  in  scented  airs 
No  lip  had  ever  breath'd  but  theirs ! 

Beautiful  are  the  maids  that  glide 

On  summer-eves,  through  Vkmkn's'  dales; 
And  bright  the  glancing  looks  they  hide 

Behind  their  litters'  roseate  veils; — 
.\nd  brides,  as  delicate  and  fair 
As  the  white  jasmin'd  flowers  they  wear. 
Hath  Vk.me.n  in  her  blissful  clime, 

Wlio,  luU'd  in  cool  kiosk  or  bower. 
Before  their  mirrors  count  the  time. 

And  grow  still  lovelier  every  hour. 
But  never  yet  hath  bride  or  maid 

In  Araisv's  gay  Harams  smil'd. 
Whose  boasted  brightness  would  not  fade 

Before  Al  Hassan's  blooming  child. 

Light  as  the  angel  shapes  that  bless 
An  infant's  dream,  yet  not  the  less 
Rich  in  all  woman's  loveliness  ; — 
With  eyes  so  pure,  that  from  their  ray 
Dark  Vice  would  turn  abash'd  away. 
Blinded,  like  serpents  when  they  gaze 
Upon  the  emerald's  virgin  blaze!' — 
Vet,  fill'd  with  all  youth's  sweet  desires, 
Mingling  the  meek  and  vestal  fires 
Of  other  worlds  with  all  the  bliss, 
The  fond,  weak  tenderness  of  this ! 
A  soul,  too,  more  than  half  divine, 

W^here,  through  some  shades  of  earthly  feeling, 
Religion's  soflen'd  glories  shine. 

Like  light  through  summer  foliage  stealing. 
Shedding  a  glow  of  such  mild  hue. 
So  warm,  and  yet  so  shadowy  too. 
As  makes  the  very  darkness  there 
More  beautiful  than  light  elsewhere! 
Such  is  the  maid,  who,  at  this  hour, 

Hath  risen  from  her  restless  sleep, 
And  sits  alone  in  that  high  bower. 

Watching  the  still  and  shining  deep. 
Ah  !  'twas  not  thus, — with  tearful  eyes 

And  beating  heart, — she  us'd  to  gaze 
On  the  magnificent  earth  and  skies. 

In  her  own  land,  in  happier  days. 
Why  looks  she  now  so  anxious  down 
Among  those  rocks,  whose  rugged  frowii 

Blackens  the  mirror  of  the  deep  ? 
Whom  waits  she  all  this  lonely  night' 

Too  rough  the  rocks,  too  bold  the  steep, 
For  man  to  scale  that  turret's  height ! 
So  deem'd  at  least  her  thoughtful  sire, 

W^hen  high,  to  catch  the  cool  night  air 
After  the  day-beam's  withering  fire,' 


1  Arnbia  Felix. 

2  "  They  say  that  if  a  snake  or  serpent  fix  his  eves  on  id* 
lustre  of  tliose  stones  (eineru Ids,)  he  inimedinlely  becouiei 
blind." — .iltmril  hen  .IbJnlaziz,  Treatise  on  Jeivel.'s 

3  "  At  Gomburoon  and  the  Isle  of  Ornius  it  is  sorreiiine* 


58 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


He  built  her  bower  of  freshness  there, 
And  had  it  deck'd  with  costliest  skill, 

And  fondly  thought  it  safe  as  fair : — 
Think,  reverend  dreamer  !  tliink  so  still. 

Nor  wake  to  learn  what  Love  can  dare — 
Love,  ail-defying  Love,  who  sees 
No  charm  in  trophies  won  with  ease ; — 
VVliose  rarest,  dearest  fruits  of  bliss 
Are  pluck'd  on  Danger's  precipice  ! 
Bolder  than  they,  who  dare  not  dive 

For  pearls,  but  when  tlie  sea  's  at  rest, 

ve,  in  the  tempest  most  alive, 

Hath  ever  held  that  pearl  the  best 
He  finds  beneath  the  stormiest  water ! 
Ves — Araby's  unrivall'd  daughter, 
Though  high  that  tower,  that  rock-way  rude. 

There's  one  who,  but  to  kiss  thy  cheek, 
Would  climb  th'  untrodden  solitude 

Of  Ararat's  tremendous  peak,' 
And  think  its  steeps,  though  dark  and  dread, 
Heav'n's  path-ways,  if  to  tliee  they  led ! 
E'en  now  thou  seest  the  flashing  spray. 
That  lights  his  oar's  impatient  way : 
E'en  now  thou  hear'st  the  sudden  shock 
Of  his  swift  bark  against  the  rock. 
And  stretchest  down  thy  arms  of  snow, 
As  if  to  lift  him  from  below  ! 
Like  her  to  whom,  at  dead  of  night. 
The  bridegroom,  witli  his  locks  of  light,* 
Came,  in  tlie  flush  of  love  and  pride. 
And  scal'd  the  terrace  of  his  bride  ; — 
When,  as  she  saw  him  rashly  spring. 
And  mid-way  up  in  danger  cling. 
She  flung  him  down  her  long  black  hair, 
Exclaiming,  breathless,  "  There,  love,  there  !' 
And  scarce  did  manlier  nerve  uphold 

Tlie  hero  Zal  in  that  fond  hour. 
Than  wings  the  youth,  who,  fleet  and  bold 

Now  climbs  the  rocks  to  Hinua's  bower. 
See — light  as  up  their  granite  steeps 

The  rock-goats  of  Arabia  clamber.' 
Fearless  from  crag  to  crag  he  leaps. 

And  now  is  in  the  maiden's  chamber. 

She  loves — but  knows  not  whom  she  loves, 

Nor  what  his  race,  nor  whence  he  came  :^ 
Like  one  who  meets,  in  Indian  groves. 

Some  beauteous  bird,  without  a  name, 
Brouglit  iiy  the  last  ambrosial  breeze, 
From  isles  in  the  undiscover'd  seas, 
To  show  his  plumage  for  a  day 
To  wondering  eyes,  and  wing  away  ! 
Will  he  thus  fly — her  nameless  lover? 

Alia  forbid  !  'twas  l)y  a  moon 
As  fair  as  this,  while  singing  over 

Some  ditty  to  her  soft  Kanoon,* 


so  hot,  llml  the  people  are  obliged  to  lie  all  day  in  the  wa- 
er." — Marco  I'olo. 

1  This  inountiiin  is  generally  8U|)po3od  to  be  inaccessible. 

2  In  one  of  the  books  of  the  Shah  N;1nieh,  when  Zal  (a 
celebrated  hero  of  Persia,  remarkable  for  his  while  hair) 
comes  to  the  terrace  of  his  mistress  Rodahver  al.  night,  she 
lels  down  her  long  tresses  to  assist  hiiu  in  his  ascent; — he, 
however,  m»niigi:8  it  in  a  less  romantic  way,  by  fixing  his 
ijrook  in  ii  pri)j(!i:ti-'.g  lieuin. — S(!e  ClininpioiCs  Fcrilnsi. 

3  "On  the  lofty  hills  of  Arabia  Polrio  are  rock-goats." — 
Mirbuhr. 

i  "Cumin, csp^co  de  psallerion,  uvec  des  cordes  de  boyaux; 


Alone,  at  this  same  watching  hour, 

She  first  beheld  his  radiant  eyes 
Gleam  through  the  lattice  of  the  bower. 

Where  nightly  now  they  mix  their  sigha ; 
And  thought  some  spirit  of  the  air 
(For  what  could  waft  a  mortal  there  ?S 
Was  pausing  on  his  moonliglit  way 
To  listen  to  her  lonely  lay  ! 
This  fancy  ne'er  hatli  left  her  mind  : 

And  though,  when  terror's  swoon  had  past, 
She  saw  a  youth,  of  mortal  kind. 

Before  her  in  obeisance  cast, — 
Yet  often  since,  when  he  hath  spoken 
Strange,  awful  words, — and  gleams  have  broken 
From  his  dark  eyes,  too  bright  to  bear. 

Oh  !  she  hath  fear'd  her  soul  was  given 
To  some  unhallow'd  child  of  air. 

Some  erring  Spirit,  cast  from  Heaven, 
Like  those  angelic  youths  of  old. 
Who  burn'd  for  maids  of  mortal  mould, 
Bewilder'd  left  the  glorious  skies. 
And  lost  their  Heaven  for  woman's  eyes ! 

Fond  girl !  nor  fiend,  nor  angel  he, 
Who  woos  thy  young  simplicity  ; 
But  one  of  earth's  impassion'd  sons, 

As  warm  in  love,  as  fierce  in  ire. 
As  the  best  heart  whose  current  runs 

Full  of  the  Day-God's  hving  fire  ! 

But  quench'd  to-night  that  ardour  seems. 

And  pale  his  cheek,  and  sunk  his  brow : 
Never  before,  but  in  her  dreams. 

Had  she  beheld  him  pale  as  now : 
And  those  were  dreams  of  troubled  sleep, 
From  which  'twas  joy  to  wake  and  weep 
Visions  that  will  not  be  forgot. 

But  sadden  every  waking  scene. 
Like  warning  ghosts,  that  l^ave  the  spot 

All  wither'd  where  they  once  have  been ! 

"  How  sweetly,"  said  the  trembling  maid. 
Of  her  own  gentle  voice  afraid. 
So  long  had  they  in  silence  stood. 
Looking  upon  that  tranquil  flood — 
"  How  sweetly  does  the  moonbeam  smile 
To-night  upon  yon  leafy  isle  ! 
Oft,  in  my  fancy's  wanderings, 
I've  wish'd  that  little  isle  had  wings, 
And  we,  within  its  fairy  bowers. 

Were  wafted  oK  to  seas  unknown. 
Where  not  a  pulse  should  beat  but  ours, 

And  we  might  hve,  love,  die  alone 
Far  from  tlie  cruel  and  the  cold — 

Where  the  bright  eyes  of  angels  only 
Should  come  around  us  to  behold 

A  paradise  so  pure  and  lonely ! 
Woidd  tliis  be  world  enough  for  thee  ?" — 
Playful  she  turn'd,  that  he  might  see 

The  passing  smile  her  cheek  put  on  ; 
But  when  she  mark'd  how  mournfully 

Hia  eyes  met  hers,  that  sinilo  was  gone; 
And  bursting  into  heart-ti^lt  tears, 
"  Yes,  yes,"  she  cried,  "  my  hourly  fears 


les  dames  en  towchent  dans  le  serrail,  aver  des  dtcailles 
armies  de  pointes  de  coco." — Tiidciini,  translated  by  1)8 
Cournan. 


LALLA  liOOKH. 


59 


My  dreams  have  boded  all  too  right — 
We  part — for  ever  part — to-night ! 
I  knew,  I  knew  it  could  not  last — 
"Twas  bright,  'twas  heavenly,  but  'tis  past ! 
Oh  !  ever  thus,  from  clnldhood's  hour, 

I've  seen  my  fondest  hopes  decay  ; 
I  never  lov'd  a  tree  or  How(!r, 

But  'twas  the  first  to  fade  away. 
I  never  nurs'd  a  dear  gazciile. 

To  glad  me  with  its  soil  black  eye, 
But  when  it  came  tx)  know  me  well, 

And  love  mc,  it  was  sure  to  die ! 
Now  too — the  joy  most  like  divine. 

Of  all  I  ever  dreamt  or  knew, 
To  see  thee,  hear  thee,  call  thee  mine — 

Oh  misery  !  must  I  lose  tluil  too  ? 
Vet  go — on  peril's  brink  we  meet ; — 

Those  frightful  rocks — that  treacherous  sea- 
No,  never  come  again — though  sweet. 

Though  heaven — it  may  be  death  to  thee. 
Farewell — and  blessings  on  thy  way. 

Where'er  thou  goest,  beloved  stranger ! 
Better  to  sit  and  watch  that  ray, 
And  think  thee  safe,  though  far  away. 
Than  have  thee  near  me,  and  in  danger !" 

"  Danger ! — oh,  tempt  me  not  to  boast," 
The  youth  exclaini'd — "  thou  little  know'st 
What  he  can  brave,  who,  born  and  nurst 
In  Danger's  paths,  has  dar'd  lier  worst ! 
Fpon  whose  ear  the  signal- word 

Of  strife  and  death  is  hourly  breaking ; 
Who  sleeps  with  head  upon  the  sword 

His  fever'd  had  must  grasp  in  waking ! 
Danger ! — " 

"  Say  on — thou  fear'st  not  then. 
And  we  may  meet — oft  meet  again  ?" 

"  Oh  !  look  not  so — beneath  the  skies 

I  now  fear  nothing  but  those  eyes. 

If  aught  on  earth  could  charm  or  force 

My  spirit  from  its  destin'd  course, — 

If  aught  could  make  this  soul  forget 

The  bond  to  which  its  seal  is  set, 

'Twould  be  those  eyes  ; — they,  only  they, 

('ould  melt  that  sacred  seal  away  ! 

Rut  no — 'tis  fix'd — my  awful  doom 

Is  fix'd — on  this  side  of  the  tomb 

We  meet  no  more — why,  why  did  Heaven 

Mingle  two  souls  that  earth  has  riven. 

Has  rent  asunder  wide  as  ours  ? 

Oh,  Arab  maid  I  as  soon  the  Powers 

Of  Light  and  Darkness  may  combine. 

As  I  be  link'd  with  thee  or  thine ! 

Thy  father " 

"Holy  Ai-i.A  save 

His  gray-head  from  that  lightning  glance  ! 
Thou  know'st  him  not — he  loves  the  brave 

Nor  lives  there  under  heaven's  expanse 
One  who  would  prize,  would  worship  thee, 
-Vnd  thy  bold  spirit,  more  than  he. 
i.)ft  when,  in  childhood,  I  have  play'd 

With  the  bright  falchion  liy  his  side, 
f've  heard  him  swear  his  lisping  maid 

In  tune  should  be  a  warrior's  bride. 


And  still,  whene'er,  at  Haram  hours, 
I  take  him  cool  sherbets  and  llowers. 
He  tells  me,  when  in  playiul  mood, 

A  hero  shall  my  bridegroom  be. 
Since  maids  are  best  in  battle  woo'd. 

And  won  with  shouts  of  victory! 
Nay,  turn  not  from  mc — thou  alone 
Art  form'd  to  make  both  hearts  thy  own. 
Go— join  Ins  sacred  ranks — thou  know'st 

Th'  imhoiy  strife  these  Persians  wage : — 
Good  Heav'n  that  frown  ! — e'en  now  thou  glow  M 
With  more  than  mortal  warrior's  rage. 
Haste  to  the  camp  by  morning's  light. 
And,  when  that  sword  is  rais'd  in  fight. 
Oh,  still  remember  Love  and  I 
Beneath  its  shadow  trembling  lie  ! 
One  victory  o'er  those  Slaves  of  Fire, 
Those  impious  Ghebers,  whom  my  sire 

Abhors " 

"  Hold,  hold — thy  words  are  death — " 
The  stranger  cried,  as  wild  he  flung 
His  mantle  back,  and  show'd  beneath 

The  Gheber  belt  that  round  him  clung.' 
"  Here,  maiden  look — weep — blush  to  see 
All  that  thy  sire  abhors  in  me ! 
Yes — /am  of  that  impious  race. 

Those  Slaves  of  Fire,  who,  mom  and  even. 
Hail  their  Creator's  dwelling-place 

Among  the  living  lights  of  heaven  !* 
Yes — /am  of  that  outcast  k\\, 
To  Iran  and  to  vengeance  true. 
Who  curse  the  hour  your  Arabs  came 
To  desolate  our  shrines  of  flame. 
And  swear,  before  God's  burning  eye, 
To  break  our  country's  chains,  or  die 
Thy  bigot  sire — nay,  tremble  not — 

He  who  gave  birth  to  those  dear  eyes, 
With  me  is  sacred  as  the  spot 

From  which  our  fires  of  worship  rise ! 
But  know — 'twas  he  I  sought  that  night, 

When,  from  my  watch-boat  on  the  sea, 
I  caught  this  turret's  glimmering  light. 
And  up  the  rude  nicks  desperately 
Rush'd  to  my  prey — thou  know'st  the  rest — 
1  climb'd  the  gory  vulture's  nest. 
And  found  a  trembling  dove  within ; — 
Thine,  thine  the  victory — thine  the  sin— 
If  Love  hath  made  one  thought  his  own. 
That  Vengeance  claims  first — last — alone ! 
Oh  !  had  we  never,  never  met. 
Or  could  this  heart  e'en  now  forget 
How  link'd,  how  bless'd  we  might  have  been, 
Had  Fate  not  frown'd  so  dark  between, 
Hadst  thou  been  born  a  Persian  maid. 

In  neighbouring  valleys  had  we  dwelt. 
Through  the  same  fields  in  childhood  play'd. 

At  the  same  kindling  altar  knelt, — 
Then,  then,  while  all  those  nameless  ties. 


1  "They  [the  Gliebers]  lay  so  much  stress  on  the  cushec 
or  girdle,  as  not  to  dure  to  be  an  iiislaiit  ultliout  iL" 
Grose's  Voyage.  "  Le  jeurie  honime  nia  d'abord  la  cliusie; 
niais,  ayant  ete  d^pouille  de  sa  robe,  et  la  larjre  ceintur« 
qu'il  portailcommeGhebr,"  etc.  etc. — D'UeTbdot,an.  Ag 
duaiii. 

2  "They  supjiose  the  Throne  of  the  Almighty  is  seated  ic 
the  sun,  and  hence  iheir  worship  of  tliat  luminary." — Ha^ 
way. 


60 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


In  which  the  cliaim  of  Country  lies, 
H;id  round  our  hearts  been  hourly  spun, 
Till  Iran's  cause  and  thine  were  one; — 
Wtiile  in  thy  lute's  awaiiening  sigli 
I  h(!ard  tlie  voice  of  days  gone  by, 
And  saw  in  every  smile  of  thine 
Returning  hours  of  glory  shine  ! — 
While  the  wrong'd  Spirit  of  our  Land 

Liv'd,  look'd,  and  spoke  her  wrongs  through  thee — 
God  !  who  could  then  this  sword  withstand  ? 

Its  very  flash  were  victory  ! 
But  now — estrang'd,  divorc'd  for  ever. 
Far  as  the  grasp  of  Fate  can  sever ; 
Our  only  ties  what  Love  has  wove, — 

Faith,  friends,  i.ud  country,  sunder'd  wide; — 
And  then,  then  only,  true  to  love, 

When  false  to  all  that's  dear  beside ! 
Thy  father  Iran's  deadliest  foe — 
Thyself,  perhaps,  e'en  now — but  no — 
Hate  never  look'd  so  lovely  yet ! 

No — sacred  to  thy  soul  will  be 
The  land  of  him  who  could  forget 

All  but  that  bleeding  land  for  thee  ! 
When  other  eyes  shall  see,  unmov'd, 

Her  widows  mourn,  her  warriors  fall, 
Thou'lt  think  how  well  one  Gheber  lov'd, 

And  for  his  sake  thou'lt  weep  for  all ! 

But  look " 

With  sudden  start  he  turn'd 

And  pointed  to  the  distant  wave, 
Where  lights,  like  charnel  meteors,  burn'd 

Bluely,  as  o'er  some  seaman's  grave; 
And  fiery  darts,  at  intervals,' 

Flew  up  all  sparkling  from  the  main. 
As  if  each  star  that  nightly  falls, 

Were  shooting  back  to  heaven  again. 

"  My  signal-lights  ! — I  must  away — 

Both,  both  are  ruin'd,  if  I  stay. 

Farewell — sweet  life  !  thou  cling'st  in  vain — 

Now — Vengeance  ! — I  am  thine  again." 

Fiercely  he  broke  away,  nor  stopp'd 

Nor  look'd — but  from  the  lattice  dropp'd 

Down  mid  the  pointed  crags  beneath. 

As  if  he  fled  from  love  to  death. 

While  pale  ar.il  mute  young  Hinda  stood. 

Nor  mov'd,  till  in  the  silent  flood 

A  momentary  plunge  below 

Startled  her  from  her  trance  of  woe  ; 

Shrieking  she  to  the  lattice  flew, — 
"  I  come — I  come — if  in  that  tide 

Thou  sleep'st  to-night — I'll  sleep  there  too, 

In  death's  cold  wedlock  by  thy  side. 

Oh  I  I  would  ask  no  happier  bed 

Than  the  chill  wave  my  love  lies  under  ; — 

Sweeter  to  rest  together  dead. 

Far  sweeter,  than  to  live  asunder!" 

But  no — their  hour  is  not  yet  come- 
Again  sh(!  sees  his  pinnace  fly, 

Wafimg  him  fleetly  to  his  home, 
Where'er  that  ill-starr'd  home  may  lie ; 


And  calm  and  smooth  it  seeni'd  to  win 
Its  moonlight  way  before  the  wind. 

As  if  It  bore  all  peace  within. 

Nor  left  one  breaking  heart  behind. 


I  "Tim  ManioInkcH  that  w«re  in  the  other  boat,  when  it 
wii»  (lurk,  used  to  slioot  u|)  n  Hurl  of  fiiTy  arrows  into  tfae 
air,  whioh  in  some  measure  resembled  fiijhtning  or  falling; 
Hai»."-  •liaamjrartcn. 


The  Princess,  whose  heart  was  sad  enough  already 
could  have  wished  that  Feramorz  had  chosen  a  less 
melancholy  story  ;  as  it  is  only  to  the  happy  that  tears 
are  a  luxury.  Her  ladies,  however,  were  by  no 
means  sorry  that  love  was  once  more  the  Poet's 
theme  ;  for,  when  he  spoke  of  love,  they  said,  his 
voice  was  as  sweet  as  if  he  had  chewed  the  leaves  of 
that  enchanted  tree,  which  grows  over  the  tomb  of 
the  musician,  Tan-Sein. 

Their  road  all  the  morning  had  lain  through  a  very 
dreary  country  ; — through  valleys,  covered  with  a  low 
bushy  jungle,  where,  in  more  than  one  place,  the 
awful  signal  of  the  bamboo  staff,  with  the  white  flag 
at  its  top,  reminded  the  traveller  that  in  that  verj 
spot  the  tiger  had  made  some  human  creature  his  vic- 
tim. It  was  therefore  with  much  pleasure  that  they 
arrived  at  sunset  in  a  safe  and  lovely  glen,  and  en- 
camped under  one  of  those  holy  trees,  whose  smooth 
columns  and  spreading  roofs  seem  to  destine  them 
for  natural  temples  of  religion.  Beneath  the  shade, 
some  pious  hands  had  erected  pillars  ornamented 
with  the  most  beautiful  porcelain,  which  now  sup- 
plied the  use  of  mirrors  to  the  young  maidens,  as  they 
adjusted  their  hair  in  descending  from  the  palankeens. 
Here  wliile,  as  usual,  the  Princess  sat  listening 
anxiously,  with  Fadladf.en  in  one  of  his  loftiest 
moods  of  criticism  by  her  side,  the  young  Poet,  lean- 
ing against  a  branch  of  the  tre^  thus  continued  his 
story  : — 

The  morn  hath  risen  clear  and  calm. 

And  o'er  the  Green  Sea'  palely  shines, 
Revealing  Bahrein's  groves  of  palm, 

And  lighting  Kishma's-  amber  vines. 
Fresh  smell  the  shores  of  Arabv, 
While  breezes  from  the  Indian  sea 
Blow  round  Selama's'  sainted  cape. 

And  curl  the  shining  flood  beneath, — 
Whose  waves  are  rich  with  many  a  grape, 

And  cocoa-nut  and  flowery  wreath. 
Which  pious  seamen,  as  they  pass'd. 
Had  tow'rd  that  holy  headland  cast — 
Oblations  to  the  Genii  there 
For  gentle  skies  and  breezes  fliir ! 
The  nigiitingale  now  bends  her  flight 
From  the  high  trees,  where  all  the  night 

She  sung  so  sweet,  with  none  to  listen; 
And  hides  her  from  the  morning  star 

Where  thickets  of  pomegranate  glisten 
In  the  clear  dawn, — bespangled  o'er 

With  dew,  whose  night-drops  would  not  stain 


1  The  Persian  Cult". — "To  dive  for  pearls  in  tho  Greon 
Sen,  or  Pcrnian  ("Julf." — Sir  IV.  Junes. 

2  iKlarids  ill  the  Gulf. 

.1  f)r  S(!leiiieli,  Ihe  genuine  nnine  of  the  hendland  at  tha 
enlranen  of  ihe  (Iiilf,  omnnioiily  called  ("ape  IMusaeklom 
"The  Indiiins,  ulen  tlwy  pass  the  promjniory,  tliow 
eoroii-n»l«,  fruits,  or  Mowers  into  the  sea  lo  seei\ro  n  iiro 
pitious  voyage." — Morie.r. 


The  Ixist  cind  brightest  scimetar' 
That  ever  youthful  Sultan  wore 
On  the  first  morning  of  his  reign  ! 

And  sec — the  Sun  hinisoll"! — on  wings 
( M'  glory  up  the  East  he  springs. 
Angel  of"  Light !  wlio,  from  tlic  time 
'J'liose  heavens  began  their  march  sublime, 
Hath  first  of  all  the  starry  choir 
Trod  in  his  Maker's  steps  of  fire  ! 

Where  arc  the  days,  thou  wondrous  sphere. 
When  Iran,  like  a  sun-tlower,  turn'd 
To  meet  that  eye  where'er  it  burn'd  ? — 

When,  from  the  banks  of  Rkndkmeer 
To  the  nut-groves  o."  Samarcand 
Thy  temples  tlam'd  o'er  all  the  land  ? 
Where  are  they  ?  ask  the  sliadcs  of  them 

Who,  on  Cadessia's-  bloody  plains, 
Saw  fierce  invaders  oluck  the  gem 
From  Iran's  b;okcn  diadem. 

And  bind  her  ancieni.  faith  in  chains  : — 
Ask  the  poor  exii;%  cast  alone 
On  foreigi'  shores,  unlov'd,  unknown, 
Beyiind  the  Caspian's  iron  (Jates,' 

Or  on  the  snowy  3Iossian  mountains, 
Far  from  his  beauteous  land  of  dates. 

Her  jasmine  bowers  and  sunny  fountains  ! 
Vet  happier  so  than  if  he  trod 
His  own  belov'd  but  blighted  sod. 
Beneath  a  despot  stranger's  nod  ! — 
Oh  !  he  would  rather  houseless  roam 

Where  Freedom  and  his  God  may  lead, 
Than  be  the  sleekest  slave  at  home 

That  crouches  to  the  conqueror's  creed ! 
Is  Iran's  pride  then  gone  for  ever, 

Queuch'd  with  the  fianie  in  3Iithra's  caves?— 
No — she  has  sons  that  never — never — 

Will  stoop  to  be  the  Moslem's  slaves. 

While  heaven  has  light  or  earth  has  graves. 
Spirits  of  fire,  that  brood  not  long, 
But  flash  resentment  back  for  wrong; 
And  hearts,  where,  slow  but  deep,  the  seeds 
Of  vengeance  ripen  into  deeds ; 
Tdl,  in  some  treacherous  hour  of  calm, 
They  burst,  like  Zeilan's  giant  palm,* 
Whose  buds  fiy  open  with  a  sound 
That  shakes  the  pigmy  forests  round  ! 

Ves,  Em  III  !  he,  who  scal'd  that  tower, 
And,  had  he  reach'd  thy  slumbering  breast, 

Had  taught  thee,  in  a  Gheber's  power 
How  safe  e'en  tyrants  heads  may  rest — 

Is  one  of  many,  brave  as  he. 

Who  loathe  thy  haughty  race  and  thee ; 


1  In  spt^ukiiig  of"  the  climate  of  Sliiraz,  Fraiickliii  says, 
"tile  dnw  is  ol' sueli  a  pure  nature,  tlial,  if  tlie  liri^'liusl 
scimitar  sliould  be  e.\posed  to  it  all  night,  it  would  not  re- 
ceivK  the  lea>.t  rust." 

2  The  plaie  where  the  Persians  were  finally  defeated  by 
-lie  Arabs,  and  their  ancient  monarchy  destroyed. 

3  Derbeiid. — "  LesTuresappelleni  cette  ville  DeinirTapi, 
Purte  de  Fer;  ce  sunt  les  Caspia'  PortiE  des  ancieiis." — I)' 
Nerhdot. 

4  The  Talpot  or  Talipot  tree. — "This  beautiful  paliii- 
tree,  which  grows  in  the  liearl  ofthe  forests,  may  be  classed 
among  the  loftiest  trees,  and  becomes  s'ill  higher  wlicn  on 
the  iiointof  bursting  forth  from  its  leafy  summit.  The  sheath 
which  then  envelo|)os  the  flower  is  very  large,  and,  when  it 
hursts,  makes  an  e.\plo<ion  like  the  rejiort  of  a  cannon." — 
Tkunbrnr 


Who,  though  they  know  the  strife  is  vain— 

Who,  iliough  they  know  the  riven  chain 

Snaps  but  to  enter  in  ihe  heart 

Of  him  who  rends  its  links  apart, 

Yet  dare  the  issue — blest  to  lie 

E'en  for  one  bleeding  mtimenl  free, 

And  die  in  pangs  of  liberty! 

Tiiou  know'st  them  well — 'tis  some  moons  since 

Thy  turbtin'd  troops  and  blood-red  flags, 
Thou  satrap  of  a  bigot  Prince  ! 

Have  swarm'd  among  these  Green  Sea  crags; 
Yet  here,  e'en  here,  a  sacred  band, 
Ay,  in  the  portal  of  that  land 
Thou,  Arab,  darst  to  call  thy  own. 
Their  spears  across  thy  path  have  thrown  t 
Here — ere  the  winds  half  wing'd  thee  o'er- 
Rebellion  brav'd  thee  from  the  shore. 

Rebellion  !  foul,  dishonouring  word, 

Whose  wrongful  blight  so  oft  has  stain'd 
The  holiest  cause  that  tongue  or  sword 

Of  mortal  ever  lest  or  gain'd. 
How  many  a  spiri%  born  to  bless. 

Hath  sunk  beneath  that  withering  name. 
Whom  but  a  day's,  an  hour's,  success 

Had  wafted  to  eternal  fame  ! 
As  exhalations  w'hcn  they  burst 
From  the  warm  earth,  if  chill'd  at  first, 
If  check'd  in  soaring  from  the  plain. 
Darken  to  fogs  and  sink  again  ; — 
But  if  they  once  triumphant  spread 
Their  wings  above  the  mountain-head. 
Become  ciithron'd  in  upper  air. 
And  turn  to  sun-bright  glories  there  ! 

And  who  is  he,  that  wields  the  might 

Of  Freedom  on  the  Green  Sea  brink. 
Before  whose  sabre's  dazzling  light 

The  eyes  of  Ye.men's  warriors  wink? 
W^ho  comes  embower'd  in  the  spears 
Of  Ker.ma.v's  hardy  mountaineers? — 
Those  mountaineers,  that,  truest,  last, 

Cling  to  their  country's  ancient  rites. 
As  if  that  God  whose  eyelids  cast 

Their  closing  gleam  on  Iran's  heights. 
Among  her  snowy  mountains  threw 
The  last  light  of  his  worship  too ! 

'Tis  Hafed — name  of  fear,  whose  sound 
Chills  like  the  muttering  of  a  charm ; — 

Shout  but  that  awful  name  around, 
And  palsy  shakes  the  manliest  arm. 

'Tis  Hakei),  most  accurst  and  dire 

(So  raiik'd  by  Moslem  hate  and  ire) 

Of  all  the  rebel  Sons  of  Fire  ! 

Of  whose  malign,  tremendous  power 

The  Arabs,  at  their  mid-watch  hour 

Such  tales  of  fearful  wonder  tell. 

That  each  affrighted  sentinel 

Pulls  down  his  cowl  upon  his  eyes, 

Lest  Hafed  in  the  midst  should  rise  • 

A  man,  they  say,  of  monstrous  birth, 

A  mingled  race  of  flame  and  earth. 

Sprung  from  those  old,  enchanted  kings," 
Who  in  their  fairy  hebiis,  of  yore, 


1  Tahmuras,  and  other  ancient  kings  of  Persia,  wnose 
ndventutes  in  Fairy  l^and  among  the  Per-3  and  Divei  ma 


62 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


A  feather  from  the  mystic  wings 

Of  the  Simoorgh  resistless  wore ; 
And  gifted  by  the  Fiends  of  Fire, 
Who  groan  to  see  their  shrines  expire, 
With  charms  that,  all  in  vain  withstood, 
Would  drown  the  Koran's  light  in  blood . 

Such  were  the  tales  that  won  belief, 

And  such  the  colouring  Fancy  gave 
To  a  young,  warm,  and  dauntless  Chief,— 

One  who,  no  more  than  mortal  brave. 
Fought  for  the  land  his  soul  ador'd. 

For  happy  homes,  and  altars  free, — 
His  only  talisman,  the  sword. 

His  only  spell-word,  Liberty  ! 
One  of  that  ancient  hero  line. 
Along  whose  glorious  current  shine 
Names  that  have  sanctified  their  blood  ; 
As  Lebanon's  small  mountain  flood 
Is  rendered  holy  by  the  ranks 
Of  sainted  cedars  on  its  banks  !' 
Twas  not  for  him  to  crouch  the  knee 
Tamely  to  Moslem   tyranny  ; — 
Twas  not  for  him,  whose  soul  was  cast 
[n  the  bright  mould  of  ages  past. 
Whose  melancholy  spirit,  fed 
With  all  the  glories  of  the  dead. 
Though  fram'd  for  Iran's  happiest  years, 
Was  born  among  her  chains  and  tears ! 
Twas  not  for  him  to  swell  the  crowd 
Of  slavish  heads,  that,  shrinking,  bow'd 
Before  the  Moslem,  as  he  pass'd, 
[>ike  shrubs  beneath  the  poison  blast — 
No — far  he  fled,  indignant  fled 

The  pageant  of  his  country's  shame ; 
While  every  tear  her  children  shed 

Fell  on  his  soul  like  drops  of  flame ; 
And  as  a  lover  hails  the  dawn 

Of  a  first  smile,  so  welcom'd  he 
The  sparkle  of  the  first  sword  drawn 
For  vengeance  and  for  liberty  ! 

But  vain  was  valour — vain  the  flower 
Of  Kerman,  in  that  deathful  hour. 
Against  Al  Hasban's  whelming  power 
In  vain  they  met  him,  helm  to  helm. 
Upon  the  threshold  of  that  realm 
He  came  in  bigot  pomp  to  sway, 
And  with  their  corpses  block'd  his  way — 
(n  vain — for  every  lance  they  rais'd. 
Thousands  around  the  conqueror  blaz'd ; 
For  every  ;irm  that  lin'd  their  shore. 
Myriads  of  slaves  were  wafted  o'er — 
A  bloody,  bold,  and  countless  crowd. 
Before  whose  swarms  as  fast  they  bow'd 
As  dates  beneath  the  locust  cloud  ! 

There  str»od — but  one  short  league  away 
Fr(jm  old  Harmo/ia's  sultry  oay — 
A  rocky  mountain,  o'er  the  Sea 
or  Oman  beetling  awfully. 


bfi  found  in  Rii'lmrilsoti's  (Mirioiis  Dissertation.  Thn  f,'ri(iin 
Siiiioiir:;li,  itii'j  ^uy,  look  SDine  fcatliors  I'roni  her  hreiist  I'or 
riilniiiins,  Willi  vvhii'li  he  udornod  his  hohrirt,  and  truns- 
(miiIcmI  Ihi'tn  (ilicrwHrdH  u>  his  doscenihinls. 

1   This  riviili!!,  H;iys   D.indini,  is  culled   the  Holy  Kiver, 
f-  iin  Ihe  "  cciliir-srtlnln,"  iiiiiong  which  it  rises. 


A  last  and  solitary  link 

Of  those  stupendous  chains  that  reach 
From  the  broad  Caspian's  reedy  brink 

Down  winding  to  the  Green  Sea  bead 
Around  its  base  the  bare  rocks  stood. 
Like  naked  giants,  in  the  flood. 

As  if  to  guard  the  Gulf  across ; 
While,  on  its  peak,  that  brav'd  the  sky, 
A  ruin'd  temple  tower'd,  so  high 

That  oft  the  sleeping  albatross' 
Struck  the  wild  ruins  with  her  wing. 
And  from  her  cloud- rock'd  slumbering 
Started — to  find  man's  dwelling  there 
In  her  own  silent  fields  of  air  ! 
Beneath,  terrific  caverns  gave 
Dark  welcome  to  each  stormy  wave 
That  dash'd,  like  midnight  revellers,  in;    - 
And  such  the  strange,  mysterious  din 
At  times  througliout  those  caverns  roU'd;- 
And  such  the  fearful  wonders  told 
Of  restless  sprites  imprison'd  there, 
That  bold  were  Moslem,  who  would  dare, 
At  twilight  hour,  to  steer  his  skiff 
Beneath  the  Gheber's  lonely  cliff. 

On  the  land  side,  those  towers  sublime, 
That  seem'd  above  the  grasp  of  Time, 
Were  sever'd  from  the  haunts  of  men 
By  a  wide,  deep,  and  wizard  glen. 
So  fathomless,  so  full  of  gloom, 

No  eye  could  pierce  the  void  between; 
It  seemd  a  place  where  Glioles  might  come 
With  their  foul  banquets  from  the  tomb, 

And  in  its  caverns  feed  unseen. 
Like  distant  thunder,  from  below. 

The  sound  of  many  torrents  came ; 
Too  deep  for  eye  or  ear  to  know 
If  'twere  the  sea's  imprison'd  flow, 

Or  floods  of  ever-restless  flame. 
For  each  ravine,  each  rocky  spire 
Of  that  vast  mountain  stood  on  fire  \^ 
And,  though  for  ever  past  the  days 
When  God  was  worshipp'd  i"  the  blaze 
That  from  its  lofty  altar  shone, — 
Though  fled  the  Priests,  the  votaries  gone, 
Still  did  the  mighty  flame  burn  on 
Through  chance  and  change,  through  good  and  il] 
Like  its  own  (iod's  eternal  will, 
Deep,  constant,  bright,  unquenchable  ! 

Thither  the  vanquish'd  Hakeu  led 

His  little  army's  last  remains; — 
"  WelcouK!,  terrific  glen  !"  he  s'aid, 
"Thy  gloom,  that  Kblis'  self  might  dread. 

Is  heaven  to  him  who  flies  from  chains;" 
O'er  a  dark,  narrow  bridge-way,  known 
To  him  and  to  his  (Chiefs  alone. 
They  cross'd  the  chasm  and  gain'd  the  towers;— 
"This  home,"  he  cried,  "at  least  is  ours — 
Here  we  may  bleed,  unmock'd  by  hj-mns 

Of  Moslem  triumph  o'er  our  head  ; 
Here  we  may  fall,  nor  Umve  our  limbs 

To  quiver  to  the  Moslem's  tread  ; 


1  These  birds  slie|i  in  I  he  air.  They  are  most  common 
about  the  ('a[K  of  (iood-llo|ic. 

'2  The  nhebers  generally  built  llieir  temples  ovm subter- 
raneous fires. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


63 


Stretch'd  oi.  this  rock,  while  vulture's  beaks 
Are  whettfd  on  our  yet  warm  cheeks, 
Here, — happy  tliat  no  tyrant's  eye 
Gloats  on  our  torments — we  may  die  !' 

Tvvas  night  when  to  those  towers  they  came ; 

And  gloomily  the  fitful  flame, 

That  from  the  ruin'd  altar  broke, 

Glar'd  on  his  features,  as  lie  spoke : — 

"  'Tis  o'er — what  men  could  do,  we've  done  : 

If  Iran  viJl  look  tamely  on. 

And  see  her  priests,  her  warriors  driven 

Before  a  sensual  bigot's  nod, 
A  wretch,  who  takes  his  lusts  to  heaven, 

And  makes  a  pander  of  his  God  ! 
If  her  proud  sons,  her  high-born  souls, 

Men,  in  whose  veins — oh  last  disgrace  ! 
The  blood  of  Zal,  and  RustAiM,'  rolls, — 

II  they  vill  court  this  upstart  race. 
And  turn  from  Mitiira's  ancient  ray, 
To  kneel  at  shrines  of  yesterday  ! 
If  they  yyill  crouch  to  Iran's  foes. 

Why,  let  them — till  the  land's  despair 
Cries  out  to  Heav'n,  and  bondage  grows 

Too  vile  for  e'en  the  vile  to  bear ! 
Till  shame  at  last,  long  hidden,  burns 
Their  inmost  core,  and  conscience  turns 
Each  coward  tear  the  slave  lets  fall 
Back  on  his  heart  in  drops  of  gall ! 
But  here,  at  least,  are  arms  unchain'd, 
And  souls  that  thraldom  never  stain'd  \— 

This  spot,  at  least,  no  foot  of  slave 
Or  satrap  ever  yet  profan'd  ; 

And,  though  but  few — though  fast  the  wave 
Of  life  is  ebbing  from  our  veins. 
Enough  for  vengeance  still  remains. 
As  panthers,  after  set  of  sun, 
Rush  from  the  roots  of  Leranon 
Across  the  dark  sea-robber's  way,^ 
We'll  bound  upon  our  startled  prey ; — 
And  when  some  hearts  that  proudest  swell 
Have  felt  our  falchion  s  last  farewell ; 
When  Hope's  expiring  throb  is  o'er, 
And  e'en  Despair  can  prompt  no  more, 
This  spot  shall  be  the  sacred  grave 
Of  the  last  few  who,  vainly  brave. 
Die  for  the  land  they  cannot  save  !" 
His  Chiefs  stood  round — each  shining  blade 
I'pon  the  broken  al'ar  laid — 
And  though  so  wild  and  desolate 
Those  courts,  where  once  the  flighty  sate  ; 
Nor  longer  on  those  mouldering  towers 
Was  sern  the  feast  of  fruits  and  flowers, 
With  which  of  old  the  iMagi  fed 
The  wandering  spuits  of  their  dead  ;' 
Though  neither  priests  nor  rites  were  there, 

Nor  cnarmed  leaf  of  pure  pomegranate," 


1  Ancient  heroes  of  Persia.  "  Among  the  Ghebers  there 
ire  some  who  boast  their  descent  from  Rustam." — Stephen''s 

2  See  Riissel's  account  of  the  panthers  attacking  travellers 
<n  the  night  on  tlie  seashore  about  the  rorits  of  I.tlianon. 

3  .Among  other  ceremoti'es,  tlie  .Magi  used  to  place  upon 
(he  tops  of  high  towers  various  kindsof  rich  viands,  upon 
which  it  was  supposed  the  Peris  anil  the  spirits  of  their  de- 
parted heroes  regalea  themselves." — Richardson. 

4  In  the  ceremonies  of  the  Ohebevs  round  their  Fire,  as 


Nor  hymn,  nor  censer's  fragrant  air, 

Nor  symbol  of  their  worshipp'd  planet;' 
Yet  the  same  God  that  heard  their  sires 
Heard  l/u^n ;  while  on  that  altar's  fires 
They  swore  the  latest,  holiest  deed 
Of  the  few  hearts,  still  left  to  bleed, 
Should  be,  in  Iran's  injur'd  name. 
To  die  upon  that  Mount  of  Flame — 
The  last  of  all  her  patriot  line. 
Before  her  last  untrampled  Shrine  ! 

Brave,  suffering  souls  !  they  little  knew 
How  many  a  tear  their  injuries  drew 
From  one  meek  maid,  one  gentle  foe. 
Whom  Love  first  touch'd  with  others'  woe-- 
Whose  life,  as  free  from  thought  as  sin. 
Slept  like  a  lake,  till  Love  threw  in 
His  talisman,  and  woke  the  tide. 
And  spread  its  trembling  circles  wide. 
Once,  Emir  !  thy  unheeding  child. 
Mid  all  this  havoc,  bloom'd  and  smil'd, — 
Tranquil  as  on  some  battle-plain 

The  Persian  lily  shines  and  towers, 
Before  the  combat's  reddening  stain 

Hath  fall'n  upon  her  golden  flowers. 
Light-hearted  maid,  unaw'd,  unmov'd, 
While  heav'n  but  spar'd  the  sire  she  lov'd. 
Once  at  thy  evening  tales  of  blood 
Unlistening  and  aloof  she  stood — 
And  ofl,  when  thou  hast  pac'd  along 

Thy  Haram  halls  with  furious  heat. 
Hast  thou  not  curs'd  her  cheerful  song. 

That  came  across  thee,  calm  and  sweet. 
Like  lutes  of  angels,  touch'd  so  near 
Hell's  confines,  that  the  damn'd  can  hear 
Far  other  feelings  Love  hath  brought — 

Her  soul  all  flame,  her  brow  all  sadness 
She  now  has  but  the  one  dear  thought, 

And  thinks  that  o'er,  almost  to  madness  ' 
Ofl  doth  her  sinking  heart  recall 
His  words — "  for  mi/  sake  weep  for  all ;" 
And  bitterly,  as  day  on  day 

Of  rebel  carnage  fast  succeeds. 
She  \^■eeps  a  lover  snatch'd  away 

In  every  Gheber  wretch  that  bleeds. 
There's  not  a  sabre  meets  her  eye. 

But  with  his  life-blood  seems  to  swim 
There  's  not  an  arrow  wings  the  sky. 

But  fancy  turns  its  point  to  him. 
No  more  she  brings  with  footstep  light 
Al  Hassan's  falchion  for  the  fight; 
And — had  he  look'd  with  clearer  sight — 
Had  not  the  mists,  that  ever  rise 
From  a  foul  spirit,  dimm'd  his  eyes — 
He  would  have  mark'd  her  shuddering  frame. 
When  from  the  field  of  blood  he  came; 


d"scribed  by  Lord,  "the  Piroo,"  he  says,  "  giveth  them 
water  to  drink,  and  a  pomegranate  lial"  to  chew  id  tn« 
mouth,  to  cleanse  them  from  inward  uncleanness." 

I  "  Harly  in  the  morning,  they  (ihe  Parsces  or  Ghebers  at 
Oiilam)  go  in  crowds  to  pay  their  devotions  to  the  iJun,  to 
whom  upon  all  Ihe  altars  there  are  spheres  consecrated, 
made  by  m.igic,  nsembling  ihu  circles  of  tlie  sun;  and  when 
the  sun  rises,  these  orbs  seem  to  be  inflamed,  and  to  turn 
round  with  a  groat  noise.  They  have  cverv  one  a  censcTJu 
tlieir  hands,  and  offer  incense  to  the  sun." — Rabbi  Bcnja 
III  hi. 


64 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  faltering  speech— the  look  estrang'd— 
Voice,  step,  and  life,  and  beauty  chang'd — 
He  woidd  have  tnarli'd  all  this,  and  known 
Such  change  is  wrouglit  by  Love  alone  ! 

Ah !  not  the  love,  that  should  have  bless'd 
So  young,  so  innocent  a  breast; 
Not  the  pure,  open,  prosperous  love, 
That,  pledg'd  on  earth  and  seal'd  above, 
Grows  in  the  world's  approving  eyes, 

In  friendship's  smile  and  home's  caress, 
Collecting  all  the  heart's  sweet  ties 

Into  one  knot  of  liappiness  ! 
No,  HiXDA,  no — thy  fatal  flame 
Is  nurs'd  in  silence,  sorrow,  shame. — 

A  passion,  without  hope  or  pleasure, 
In  thy  soul's  darkness  buried  deep, 

It  lies,  like  some  ill-gotten  treasure, — 
Some  idol,  without  shrine  or  name, 
O'er  which  its  pale-ey'd  votaries  keep 
Unholy  watch,  while  others  sleep  ! 

Seven  nights  have  darken'd  Oman's  Sea, 

Since  last,  beneath  the  moonlight  ray, 
She  saw  his  light  oar  rapidly 

Hurry  her  Gheber's  bark  away, — 
And  still  she  goes,  at  midnight  hour, 
To  weep  alone  in  that  high  bower, 
And  watch,  and  look  along  the  deep 
For  him  whose  smiles  first  made  her  weep. 
But  watching,  weeping,  all  was  vain. 
She  never  saw  his  bark  again. 
The  owlet's  solitary  cry. 
The  night-hawk,  flitting  darkly  by. 

And  oft  the  hateful  carrion  bird, 
Heavily  flapping  his  clogged  wing. 
Which  reek'd  with  that  day's  banqueting. 

Was  all  she  saw,  was  all  she  heard. 

Tis  the  eighth  morn — Al  Hassan's  brow 

Is  brigliten'd  with  unusual  joy — 
What  mighty  mischief  glads  him  now, 

Who  never  smiles  but  to  destroy  ? 
The  sparkle  upon  Herkend's  Sea, 
When  tost  at  midnight  furiously,' 
Pells  not  a  wreck  and  ruin  nigh. 
More  surely  than  that  smiling  eye  ! 
"  Up,  daughter  up — the  Kerna's'-'  breath 
Has  blown  a  blast  would  waken  death. 
And  yet  thou  sleep's! — up,  child,  and  see 
This  blessed  day  for  Heaven  and  me, 
A  day  more  rich  in  Pagan  blood 
Than  ever  flash'd  o'er  Oman's  flood. 
Before  another  dawn  shall  shine. 
His  head,  heart,  limbs — will  all  be  mine. 
This  very  night  his  blood  shall  steep 
These  hands  all  over  ere  I  sleep  !" 
"  Ills  blood  !"  she  fiintly  scream'd — her  mind 
Still  singling  one  from  all  mankind — 


1  "  It  is  observed  with  respect  to  the  Sea  of  Ilorkoml, 
thnt  when  ii  is  tossed  by  tempesluous  winds  it  sparkles  hke 
6re   '  -Trunil.s  of  two  Muhammcdans. 

2  A  kind  of  trumpet ; — "  it  was  tliiit  used  by  Tamoriiine, 
(he  Bound  of  which  is  described  ns  uncommonly  dreadl'ul, 
•  ml  so  loud  as  (o  be  liea.-J  at  the  distani:e  of  several  miles." 

Hichardsun 


"  Yes — spite  of  his  ravines  and  towers,  * 

Hafed,  my  child,  this  night  is  ours. 
Thanks  to  all-conquering  treachery. 

Without  whose  aid  the  links  accursv. 
That  bind  these  impious  slaves,  would  be 

To  strong  for  Ali.a's  self  to  burst ! 
Th.at  rebel  nend,  whose  blade  has  spread 
My  path  with  piles  of  Moslem  dead, 
Whose  baffling  spells  had  almost  driven 
Back  from  their  course  the  Swords  of  Heaven, 
This  night,  with  all  his  band,  shall  know 
How  deep  an  Arab's  steel  can  go. 
When  God  and  Vengeance  speed  the  blow, 
And — Prophet ! — by  that  holy  wreath 
Thou  wor'st  on  Oiiod's  field  of  death,' 
I  swear,  for  every  sob  that  parts 
In  anguish  from  these  heathen  heans, 
A  gem  from  Persia's  plunder'd  mines 
Shall  glitter  on  thy  Shrine  of  Shrines. 
But  ha  ! — she  sinks — that  look  so  wild — 
Those  livid  lips — my  child,  my  child. 
This  life  of  blood  befits  not  thee. 
And  thou  must  back  to  Araby. 

Ne'er  had  I  risk'd  thy  timid  sex 
In  scenes  that  man  himself  might  dread. 
Had  I  not  hop'd  our  every  tread 

Would  be  on  prostrate  Persian  necks — 
Curst  race,  they  ofi'er  swords  instead  ! 
But  cheer  thee,  maid — the  wind  that  no 
Is  blowing  o'er  thy  feverish  brow, 
To-day  shall  waft  thee  from  the  shore; 
And,  ere  a  drop  of  this  night's  gore 
Have  time  to  chill  in  yonder  towers, 
Thou'lt  see  thy  own  sweet  Arab  bowers !" 

His  bloody  boast  was  all  too  true — 

There  lurk'd  one  wretch  among  the  few 

Whom  Hafeij's  eagle  eye  could  count 

Around  him  on  that  Fiery  Mount. 

One  miscreant,  who.for  gold  betray'd 

The  path-way  through  the  valley's  shade 

To  those  high  towers  where  Freedom  stood 

In  her  last  hold  of  flame  and  blood. 

Left  on  the  field  last  dreadful  night. 

When,  sallying  from  tlieir  Sacred  Height, 

The  Ghebers  fi)ught  hope's  farewell  fight, 

He  lay — but  died  not  with  the  brave  ; 

That  sun,  which  should  have  gilt  his  grave, 

Saw  him  a  traitor  and  a  slave ; — 

And,  while  the  few,  who  thence  return'd 

To  their  high  rocky  fortress,  mourn'd 

For  him  among  the  matchless  dead 

They  left  behind  on  glory's  bed, 

He  liv'd,  and,  in  the  fiice  of  morn, 

Laugh'd  them  and  Faith  and  Heaven  to  scorn 

Oh  for  a  tongue  to  curse  the  slave. 
Whose  treason,  like  a  deadly  blight. 

Comes  o'er  the  councils  of  the  brave. 
And  blasts  them  in  their  hour  of  might ! 

May  life's  unblessed  cup,  for  him. 

Be  drugg'd  with  treacheries  to  the  brim — 


1  "Mohammi'd  hnd  two  liclmels,  an  iiiteiior  and  rAton» 
one;  the  latter  ot'  which,  called  Al  IMawa.shah,  the  (il)el,n> 
wreathed  garland,  he  wore  at  the  bailie  of  Ohod."—  ^'n> 
vernal  History 


LALl  \  ROOKIl. 


Go 


•Vith  hopes,  that  but  allure  to  fly, 

Witt)  joys  that  vanish  while  lie  sips. 
Like  Dead-Sea  fruits,  that  tempt  the  eye. 

Hut  turn  to  ashes  on  tiie  lips  ! 
tlis  country's  curse,  his  children's  shame, 
Outcast  of  virtue,  peace,  and  fame. 
May  he,  at  last,  with  lips  of  (lame 
On  the  parch'd  desert  thirsting  die, — 
While  lakes  that  shone  in  mockery  nigh 
Are  fading  off,  untouch'd,  untasted 
Like  the  once  glorious  hopes  he  blasted  ! 
And,  when  from  earth  liis  sjiirit  flies. 

Just  Prophet,  I'lt  the  damn'd-one  dwel' 
Full  in  the  sight  of  I'aradise, 

Beholding  Heaven  and  feeling  Hell ! 


Lalla  Rookh  had  had  a  dream  the  night  before, 
which,  in  spite  of  the  impending  fate  of  poor  Hafed, 
made  her  heart  more  than  usually  cheerful  during 
the  morning,  and  gave  her  cheeks  all  the  freshened 
animation  of  a  flower  that  the  Bidmusk  has  just 
passed  over.  She  fancied  that  she  was  sailing  on 
that  Eastern  Ocean,  wliere  the  sea-gipsies  who  live 
for  ever  on  the  water,  enjoy  a  perpetual  summer  in 
wandering  from  isle  to  isle,  when  she  saw  a  small 
gilded  bark  approaching  her.  It  was  like  one  of 
those  boats  wh.ch  the  3Ialdivian  islanders  annually 
send  adrift,  at  the  mercy  of  winds  and  waves,  loaded 
with  perfumes,  flowers,  ;ffld  odoriferous  wood,  as  an 
offering  to  the  Spirit  whom  they  call  King  of  the 
Sea.  At  first,  this  little  bark  appeared  to  be  empty, 
but  on  coming  nearer 

She  had  proceeded  thus  far  in  relating  the  dream 
to  her  Ladies,  whon  Feramorz  appeared  at  the  door 
of  the  pavilion.  In  his  presence,  of  course,  every 
thing  else  was  forgotten,  and  the  continuance  of  the 


The  sea-birds,  with  portentous  screech, 
Flew  fast  to  land  : — upon  the  beach 
The  pilot  oft  had  paus'd,  with  glance 
Turn'd  upward  to  that  wild  expanse ; 
And  all  was  boding,  drear  and  dark 
As  her  own  soul,  when  Hini).\'s  bark 
Went  slowly  from  the  Persian  shore. — 
No  music  tim'd  her  parting  oar,' 
Nor  friends,  upon  the  lessening  strand 
Linger'd,  to  wave  the  unseen  hand, 
Or  speak  the  farewell,  heard  no  more. 
But  lone,  unheeded,  from  the  bay 
The  vessel  takes  its  mournful  way, 
liike  some  lil-destin'd  bark  that  steers 
In  silence  through  the  Gate  of  Tears.* 

And  where  was  stern  Al  Hassan  then? 
Could  not  that  saintly  scourge  of  men 
From  bloodshed  and  devotion  spare 
One  minute  for  a  farewell  there  ? 
No — close  within,  in  changeful  fits 
Of  cursing  and  of  prayer,  he  sits 
In  savage  loneliness  to  brood 
Upon  the  coming  night  of  blood. 

With  that  keen,  second-scent  of  death, 
By  which  the  vulture  snuffs  his  food 

In  the  still  warm  and  living  breath  I^ 
While  o'er  the  wave  his  weeping  daughter 
Is  wafted  from  the  scenes  of  slaughter. 
As  a  young  bird  of  BAiivi.ox,* 
Let  loose  to  tell  of  victory  won. 
Flies  home,  with  wing,  ah !  not  unstain'd 
By  the  red  hands  that  held  her  chain'd. 

And  does  the  long-left  home  she  seeks 

Light  up  no  gladness  on  her  cheeks  ? 

The  flowers  she  nurs'd — the  well-known  groves. 

Where  oft  in  dreams  her  spirit  roves — 

Once  more  to  see  her  dear  gazelles 


story  was  instantly  requested  by  all.     Fresh  wood  of  (_.„„j^  bounding  with  their  silver  bells  ; 


aloes  was  set  to  burn  in  the  cassolets ; — the  violet 
sherbets  were  hastily  handed  round,  and,  after  a  short 
prelude  on  his  lute,  in  the  pathetic  measure  of  Navo, 
which  is  always  used  to  express  the  lamentations  of 
absent  lovers,  the  Poet  thus  continued  : — 

The  day  is  lowermg — stilly  black 
Sleeps  the  grim  wave,  while  heaven's  rack, 
Dispers'd  and  wild,  'twixt  earth  and  sky 
Hangs  like  a  shattered  canopy  ! 
There's  not  a  cloud  in  that  blue  plain. 

But  tells  of  storm  to  come  or  past; — 
Here,  flying  loosely  as  the  mane 

Of  a  young  war-horse  in  the  blast ; — 
There,  roH'd  in  masses  dark  and  swelling. 
As  proud  to  be  the  thuiuier's  dwelling! 
While  some,  already  burst  and  riven. 
Seem  melting  down  the  verge  of  heaven; 
As  though  the  mfant  storm  had  rer.t 

The  mighty  womb  that  gave  him  birth. 
And,  having  swept  the  firmament, 

Was  now  in  fierce  career  for  earth. 
On  earth,  'twas  yet  all  calm  around, 
A  pulseless  silence,  dread,  profound. 
More  awful  than  the  tempest's  sotmd. 
The  diver  steer'd  for  Oii.vius'  bowers, 
And  moor'd  his  skifl^  till  calmer  hours; 
E 


Her  birds'  new  plumage  to  behold, 

And  the  gay,  gleaming  fishes  count. 
She  left,  all  fiUetted  with  gold. 

Shooting  around  their  jasper  fount.' — 
Her  little  garden  mosque  to  see. 

And  once  again,  at  evening  hour. 
To  tell  her  ruby  rosary 

In  her  own  sweet  acacia  bower. 
Can  these  delights,  that  wait  her  now. 
Call  up  no  sunshine  on  her  brow  ? 
No — silent,  from  her  train  apart, — 
As  if  e'en  now  she  felt  at  heart 


1  "Tlie  Easu-rns  used  to  set  out  on  tlieir  x)nger  voyage* 
witli  nmsie.'" — h  irmcr. 

2  "  TliotJ.ite  of  Tears,  ilie  straits  or  passage  intotlie  Rec 
Sea,  coiiiinoniy  oallud  Babelmaiulul.  It  received  lliis  naiur 
IVoiii  the  old  Ariil)iaiis,  on  account  of  llie  dangcrofllie  navi 
giition,  and  ilie  number  of  shipwrecks  by  whicli  it  was  dis 
tinsuishcd  ;  which  induced  thein  to  consider  as  dead,  and 
to  wear  mourning  for,  all  who  jiad  the  boldness  to  hazard 
the  passage  through  it  into  the  Elhiopic  ocean." — Jiichard- 
sou. 

3  "  I  have  been  told  that  whensoever  an  animal  falls 
down  dead,  one  or  more  vultures,  unseen  before,  instanti) 
ajipear." —  Pennant. 

4  "  They  fasten  some  writing  to  the  wings  of  a  Bagdat 
or  Babylonian  pigeon." — Travels'  uf  certain  F.n^lis/imen 

p  " 'l"he  Empress  of  .lehan-Cuirc  used  lo  divert  hersell 
with  feeding  lame  fish  in  her  canals,  some  of  which  were 
many  years  afterwards  known  by  fillets  of  gold,  which  she 
caiis'co  Vt  'jo  put  round  them." — Harris. 


66 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  chill  of  lier  appioiichiiig  doom,— 

She  sits,  all  lovely  in  her  gloom, 

As  a  pale  Angel  of  the  (Jiave ; 

And  o'er  the  wide,  tempestuous  wave. 

Looks,  with  a  sluidder,  to  those  towers, 

Where,  in  a  lew  short  awful  hours. 

Blood,  blood,  in  steaming  tides  shall  run, 

Foul  incense  for  to-morrow's  sun  ! 

"  Where  art  thou,  glorious  stranger !  thou, 

So  lov'd,  so  lost,  where  art  thou  now  ? 

Foe — Gheber — infidel — whate'er 

fh'  unhallow'd  name  thou'rt  doom'd  to  bear. 

Still  glorious — still  to  this  fond  heart 

Dear  as  its  blood,  whate'er  thou  art ! 

Ves — Alla,  dreadful  Alla  !  yes — 

If  there  be  wrong,  be  crime  in  this. 

Let  the  black  waves  that  round  us  roll. 

Whelm  me  this  instant,  ere  my  soul. 

Forgetting  faith,  home,  father,  all — 

Before  its  earthly  idol  fall. 

Nor  worship  e'en  Thyself  above  him — 

For  oh  !  so  wildly  do  1  love  him. 

Thy  Paradise  itself  were  dim 

And  joyless,  if  not  shar'd  with  him  !" 

Her  hands  were  clasp'd — her  eyes  upturn'd. 

Dropping  their  tears  like  moonlight  rain; 
And,  though  her  lip,  fond  raver!  burn'd 

With  words  of  passion,  bold,  profane, 
Vet  was  there  light  around  her  brow, 

A  holiness  in  those  dark  eyes. 
Which  show'd — though  wandering  earthward  now, 

Her  spirit's  home  was  in  the  skies. 
Yes — for  a  spirit,  pure  as  hers, 
Is  always  pure,  e'en  while  it  errs ; 
As  sunshine,  broken  in  the  rill, 
Though  turn'd  astray,  is  sunshine  still ! 

So  wholly  had  her  mind  forgot 

All  thoughts  but  one,  she  heeded  not 

The  rising  storm — the  wave  that  cast 

A  moment's  midnight,  as  it  pass'd ; 

Nor  heard  the  frequent  shout,  the  tread 

Of  gathering  tumult  o'er  her  head — 

Clash'd  swords,  and  tongues  that  seem'd  to  vie 

With  the  rude  riot  of  the  sky. 

But  hark  ! — that  war-whoop  on  the  deck — 

That  crash,  as  if  each  engine  there. 
Mast,  sails,  and  all,  were  gone  to  wreck, 

'Mid  yells  and  stampings  of  despair! 
Merciful  heav'n  !  what  am  it  be? 
'Tis  not  the  storm,  though  fearfully 
The  ship  has  shuddered  as  she  rode 
O'er  mountain  waves — "  Forgive  me,  God  ! 
Forgive  me" — shriek'd  the  maid  and  knelt, 
Trembling  all  over — ("or  she  felt, 
As  if  her  jiidgmeni  hour  was  near; 
While  crouching  round,  half  dead  with  fear, 
Her  handmaids  clung,  nor  brealh'd,  nor  stirr'd — 
When,  hark  ! — a  second  erash — a  third — 
And  now,  as  if  a  holt  ot  thunder 
Had  riv'n  the  labouring  planks  asunder, 
The  deck  falls  in — wh,at  horrors  then  ! 
Blood,  waves,  and  tackle,  swords  and  men 
Come  mix'd  together  through  the  chasm; — 
''ome  wretches  in  their  dying  spasm 


Still  fighting  on — and  some  that  call 
"  For  God  and  Iran  !"  as  they  fall ! 

Whose  was  the  hand  that  turn'd  away 

The  perils  of  th'  infuriate  fray. 

And  snatch'd  her,  breathless,  from  beneath 

This  wilderment  of  wreck  and  death? 

She  knew  not — for  a  faintness  came 

Chill  o'er  her,  and  her  sinking  frame, 

Amid  the  ruins  of  that  hour. 

Lay,  like  a  pale  and  scorched  flower, 

Beneath  the  red  volcano's  shower! 

But  oh  !  the  sights  and  sounds  of  dread 

That  shock'd  lier,  ere  her  senses  fled  ! 

The  yawning  deck — the  crowd  that  strove 

Upon  the  tottering  planks  above — 

The  sail,  whose  fragments,  shivering  o'er 

The  strugglers'    heads,  all  dash'd  with  gore, 

Flutier'd  like  bloody  flags — the  clash 

Of  sabres,  and  the  lightning's  flash 

Upon  their  blades,  higli  toss  d  about 

Like  meteor  brands' — as  if  throughout 

The  elements  one  fury  ran, 
One  general  rage,  that  left  a  doubt 

Which  was  the  fiercer,  Heav  n  or  Man ' 

Once  too— but  no — it  could  not  be — 

'Twas  fancy  all — yet  once  she  thought. 
While  yet  her  fading  eyes  could  see. 

High  on  the  ruiu'd  deck  she  caught 
A  glimpse  of  that  unearthly  form. 

That  glory  of  her  soul — e'en  then, 
Amid  the  whirl  of  wreck  and  storm, 

Shining  above  his  fellow  men. 
As,  on  some  black  and  troublous  night, 
The  Star  of  Egypt,-  whose  proud  light 
Never  hath  beam  d  on  those  who  rest 
In  the  White  Islands  of  the  West,^ 
Burns  through  the  storm  with  looks  of  flame 
That  put  heaven's  cloudier  eyes  to  shame  ! 
But  no — 'twas  but  the  minute's  dream — 
A  fantasy — and  ere  the  scream 
Had  half-way  pass'd  her  pallid  lips, 
A  death-like  swoon,  a  chill  eclipse 
Of  soul  and  sense  its  darkness  spread 
Around  her,  and  she  sunk,  as  dead ! 

How  calm,  how  beautiful  comes  on 
The  stilly  hour,  when  storms  are  gone ; 
When  warring  winds  have  died  away. 
And  clouds,  beneath  the  glancing  ray, 
Melt  off",  and  leave  the  land  and  sea 
Sleeping  in  bright  tranquillity, — 
Fresh  as  if  Day  again  were  born. 
Again  upon  the  lap  of  Morn  ! 
When  the  light  blossoms,  rudely  torn 
And  scatter'd  at  the  whirlwind's  will, 
Hang  floating  in  the  pure  air  still, 
P'illing  it  all  with  precious  balm. 
In  gratitude  for  this  sweet  calm ; 
And  every  drop  the  thunder-showers 
Have  lell  upon  the  grass  and  flowers 


1  The  m('t>ors  that  Pliny  calls  "  faces." 

2  "  'I'Ik;  biilhaiitCanopus,  unseen  in  European  climatek.  ' 
— Brown. 

3  See  Wilforil's  learned  Essays  on  the  Sacred  Isle*  ia 
the  West. 


LALLA  KOOKH. 


07 


Sparkles,  as  'twere  that  lightning-gem' 
Whose  liquid  flame  is  horn  of  them  ! 

When,  'stead  of  one  unchanging  breeze, 
Thore  blow  a  thousand  gentle  airs, 
\nd  each  a  ditFercnt  perfume  bears, — 

As  if  the  loveliest  plants  and  trees 
Had  vassal  breezes  of  their  own 
To  watch  and  wait  on  them  alone. 
And  wall  no  other  breath  than  theirs! 
When  the  blue  waters  rise  and  fall, 
In  sleepy  sunshine  mantling  all ; 
And  e'en  that  swell  the  tempest  leaves 
Is  like  the  full  and  silent  heaves 
Of  lovers'  hearts,  when  newly  blest, 
Too  newly  to  be  quite  at  rest! 

Such  was  the  golden  hour  that  broke 
Upon  the  world  when  IIinda  woke 
From  her  long  trance,  and  heard  around 
No  moti(m  but  tiie  water's  sound 
Rippling  against  the  vessel's  side. 
As  slow  it  •nounlcd  o'er  the  tide. — 
But  where  is  she  ? — her  eyes  are  dark. 
Are  wilder'd  still — is  this  the  bark. 
The  same,  that  from  IIarmozia's  bay 
Bore  her  at  morn — whose  bloody  way 
The  sea  dog  track'd  ? — no — strange  and  new 
Is  all  that  meets  her  wondering  view. 
Upon  a  galliot's  deck  she  lies. 

Beneath  no  rich  pavilion's  shade. 
No  plumes  to  fan  her  sleeping  eyes. 

Nor  jasmine  on  her  pillow  laid. 
But  the  rude  litter,  roughly  spread 
With  war-cloaks,  is  her  homely  bed. 
And  shawl  and  sash,  on  javelins  hung, 
For  awning  o'er  her  head  are  flung. 
Shuddering  she  look'd  around — there  lay 

A  group  of  warriors  in  the  sun 
Resting  their  limbs,  as  for  that  day 

Their  ministry  of  death  were  done. 
Some  gazing  on  the  drowsy  sea, 
Lost  in  unconscious  reverie; 
And  some,  who  seem'd  but  ill  to  brook 
That  sluggish  calm,  with  many  a  look 
To  the  slack  sail  impatient  cast. 
As  loose  it  flagg'd  around  the  mast. 

Blest  Ali.a  !  who  shall  save  her  now  ? 

There's  not  in  all  that  warrior-band 
One  Arab  sword,  one  turban'd  brow 

From  her  own  Faitliful  Moslem  land. 
Their  garb — the  leathern  belt^  that  wraps 

Each  yellow  vest^ — that  rebel  hue — 
The  Tartar  fleece  upon  their  caps" — 

Ves — yes — her  fears  are  all  too  true. 
And  Ileav'n  hath,  in  this  dreadful  hour, 
Abandon'd  her  to  HaI'-ed's  power  ; — 


1  A  precious  stcine  of  the  Indies,  Ciilli'cl  by  tlieancjenis  f'e- 
rauniuin,  because  it  was  supimstd  to  be  timnil  in  |il;ires 
where  thunder  hail  f.illen.  Tirtullian  says  it  lias  a  alilter- 
iiig  appearance,  us  if  there  had  been  fire  ill  it;  and  the  au- 
llior  of  ihe  Oissenation  in  Ilairi^s  Voyages  supposes  it  to 
be  the  opal. 

2  I)' Hrbfliil,  Art.  Agdnani. 

:}  "The  Gnebres  are  known  by  o  dark  yellow  colour, 
vhich  the  men  atfect  in  their  clothes." — Then  nut. 

4  "  The  Kolah,  or  cap,  worn  by  the  Persians,  is  made  of 
die  skin  of  the  sheep  of  Tartary." —  tVaring 


Haked,  the  Gheber! — at  the  thought 

Her  very  heart's  blood  chills  within, 
lie,  whom  her  soul  was  hourly  taught 

To  loathe,  as  some  foul  fiend  of  sin 
Some  minister,  whom  llcll  had  sent 
To  spread  its  blast,  where'er  he  went. 
And  lling,  as  o'er  our  earth  he  trod, 
His  shadow  betwixt  man  and  God  ! 
And  she  is  now  his  captive — thrown 
In  his  fierce  hands,  alive,  alone; 
IJis  the  infuriate  band  she  sees, 
All  infidels — all  enemies  ! 
What  was  the  daring  hope  that  then 
Cro.ss'd  her  like  lightning,  as  again. 
With  boldness  that  despair  had  lent, 

She  darted  through  that  armed  crowd 
A  look  so  searching,  so  intent. 

That  e'en  the  sternest  warrior  bow'd, 
Abasli'd,  when  he  her  glances  caught. 
As  if  he  guess'd  whose  form  they  sought, 
But  no — she  sees  him  not — 'tis  gone, — 
The  vision,  that  before  her  shone 
Through  all  the  m;ize  of  blood  and  storm, 
Is  fled — 'twas  but  a  phantom  form — 
One  of  tliose  passing,  rainbow  dreams. 
Half  light,  half  shade,  which  Fancy's  beams 
Paint  on  the  fleeting  mists  that  roll 
In  trance  or  slumber  round  the  soul ! 

But  now  the  bark,  with  hvelier  bound. 

Scales  the  blue  wave — the  crew's  in  motion-^ 

The  oars  are  out,  and  with  liglit  sound 
Break  the  bright  mirror  of  the  ocean. 

Scattering  its  brilliant  fragments  round. 

And  now  she  sees — with  horror  sees 
Their  course  is  tow'rd  that  mountain  hold,— - 

Those  towe-s,  that  make  her  life-blood  freeze, 

Where  .'Mecca's  godless  enemies 
Lie,  likebeleaguer'dscorpions,  roll'd 
In  their  last  deadly,  venomous  fold  ! 

Amid  tir  illiimin'd  land  and  flood. 

Sunless  that  mighty  mountain  stood  ; 

Save  where,  above  its  awful  head, 

There  shone  a  flaming  cloud,  blood-red, 

As  'twere  the  flag  of  destiny 

Hung  out  to  mark  where  death  would  be ! 

Had  her  bewilder'd  ntind  the  power 

Of  thought  in  this  terrific  hour. 

She  well  might  marvel  where  or  how 

■Alan's  foot  could  scale  that  mountain's  brow. 

Since  ne'er  had  Arab  heard  or  known 

Of  path  but  through  the  glen  alone. 

But  every  thought  was  lost  in  fear. 

When,  as  their  bounding  bark  drew  near 

The  craggy  base,  she  felt  the  waves 

Hurry  them  tow'rd  those  dismal  caves 

That  from  the  Deep  in  windings  pass 

Beneath  that  ^Mount's  volcanic  mass: 

.■\nd  loud  a  voice  on  deck  commands 

To  lower  the  mast  and  light  the  brands  !- 

Instantly  o'er  the  dashing  tide 

Within  a  cavern's  mouth  they  glide, 

Gloomy  as  that  eternal  Porch, 

Through  which  departed  spirits  go ; — 
Not  e'en  the  flare  of  brand  and  torch 


6S 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Its  flickering  liglir  could  further  throw 

Than  the  thick  Hood  that  boil'd  below. 
Silent  they  floated — as  if  each 
Sat  breathless,  and  too  aw'd  for  speech 
In  thp*.  dark  chasm,  where  even  sound 
Seem'd  dark, — so  sullenly  around 
The  goblin  echoes  of  the  cave 
ftliitter'd  it  o'er  the  long  black  wave, 
As  'twere  some  secret  of  the  grave  ! 
But  soft — they  pause — the  current  turns 

Beneath  them  from  its  onward  track ; — 
Some  mighty,  unseen  barrier  spurns 

The  vexed  tide,  all  foaming,  back, 
And  scarce  the  oar's  redoubled  force 
Can  stem  the  eddy's  whirling  course ; 
When,  hark! — some  desperate  foot  has  sprung 
Among  the  rocks — the  chain  is  iiung — 
The  oars  are  up — the  grapple  clings. 
And  the  toss'd  bark  in  moorings  swings. 

Just  then  a  day-beam,  through  the  shade, 

Broke  tremulous — but,  ere  the  maid 

Can  see  from  whence  the  brightness  steals, 

Upon  her  brow  she  shuddering  feels 

A  viewless  hand,  that  promptly  ties 

A  bandage  round  her  burning  eyes  ; 

While  the  rude  litter  wl;ere  she  lies, 

Uplifted  by  the  warrior  throng. 

O'er  the  steep  rocks  is  borne  along. 

Blest  power  of  simshine  !  genial  day. 

What  balm,  what  life  is  in  thy  ray  ! 

To  feel  thee  is  such  real  bliss. 

That  had  the  world  no  joy  but  this, 

To  sit  in  sunshine  calm  and  sweet, — 

It  were  a  world  too  exquisite 

For  man  to  leave  it  for  the  gloom. 

The  deep,  cold  shadow  of  the  tomb  ! 

E'en  HiNDA,  though  she  saw  not  where 

Or  whither  wound  the  perilous  road. 
Yet  knew  by  that  awakening  air. 

Which  suddenly  around  her  glow'd, 
That  they  had  ris'n  from  darkness  then. 
And  breath'd  the  sunny  world  again  ! 

But  soon  this  balmy  freshness  fled  : 

For  now  the  steepy  labyrinth  led 

Througli  damp  and  gloom — 'mid  crash  of  boughs. 

And  fall  of  loosen'd  crags  that  rouse 

The  leopard  from  his  hungry  sleep. 

Who,  starting,  thinks  each  crag  a  prey. 
And  long  is  heard  from  steep  to  steep, 

(Jhasing  them  down  their  thundering  way. 
The  jackal's  cry — the  distant  moan 
Of  the  hyasna,  fierce  and  lone ; — 
And  that  eternal,  saddening  sound 

Of  torrents  in  the  glen  beneath, 
As  'twere  the  ever-dark  Profound 

That  rolls  beneath  the  Bridge  of  Death ! 
All,  all  is  fearful — e'en  to  see. 

To  ga/.e  on  those  terrific  things 
She  now  but  blindly  iicars,  would  be 

Relief  to  her  imaginings  ! 
Since  never  yet  was  shape  so  dread, 

But  fancy,  thus  in  darkness'thrown. 
And  by  such  sounds  of  horrf)r  fed, 

f^ould  fiaine  more  dreadful  of  her  own 


But  does  she  dream  ?  has  Fear  again 

Perplex'd  the  workings  of  her  brain. 

Or  did  a  voice,  all  music,  then 

Come  from  the  gloom,  low  whispering  near — 

"Tremble  not,  love,  thy  Ghcber  's  here  !" 

She  duen  not  dream — all  sense — all  ear. 

She  drinks  the  words,  "  Thy  Gheber  's  here." 

'Twas  his  own  voice — she  could  not  err — 

Throughout  the  breathing  world's  extent 
There  was  but  (me  such  voice  for  her. 

So  kind,  so  soft,  so  eloquent  I 
Oh  !  sooner  shall  the  rose  of  May 

JMistake  her  own  sweet  nightingale. 
And  to  some  meaner  minstrel's  lay 

Open  her  bosom's  glowing  veil,' 
Than  Love  shall  ever  doubt  a  tone, 
A  breath  of  the  beloved  one  ! 
Though  blest,  'mid  all  her  ills,  to  think 

She  has  that  one  beloved  near, 
AVliose  smile,  though  met  on  ruin's  brink. 

Hath  power  to  make  e'en  ruin  dear, — 
Yet  soon  this  gleam  of  rapture,  crost 
By  fears  for  him,  is  ehill'd  and  lost. 
How  shall  the  ruthless  Hafed  brook 
That  one  of  Gheber  blood  should  look, 
With  aught  but  curses  in  his  eye. 
On  her — a  maid  of  Araby- 
A  Moslem  maid — the  cliild  of  him, 

Whose  bloody  banner  s  dire  success 
Hath  left  their  altars  cold  and  dim, 

And  their  fair  land  a  wilderness  ! 
And,  worse  than  all,  that  night  of  blood 

Which  comes  so  fast — oh  !  who  shall  stay 
The  sword,  that  once  hath  tasted  food 

Of  Persian  hearts,  or  turn  its  way  ? 
^Miat.arm  shall  then  the  victim  cover. 
Or  from  her  father  shield  her  lover?. 

"  Save  him,  my  God  I"  she  inly  cries — 
"Savehim  this  night — and  if  thine  eyes 

Have  ever  welcom'd  with  delight 
The  sinner's  tears,  the  sacrifice 

Of  sinners'  hearts — guard  him  this  night, 
And  here,  before  thy  throne,  I  swear 
From  my  heart's  inmost  core  to  tear 

Love,  hope,  remembrance,  though  they  be 
Link'd  with  each  quivering  life-string  there, 

And  give  it  bleeding  all  to  Thee  ! 
Let  him  but  live,  the  burning  tear. 
The  sighs,  so  sinful,  yet  so  dear. 
Which  have  been  all  too  much  his  own, 
Shall  from  this  hour  be  Heaven's  alone. 
Youth  pass'd  in  penitence,  and  age 
In  long  and  painful  pilgrimage. 
Shall  leave  no  traces  of  the  flame 
That  wastes  me  now — nor  shall  his  name 
E'er  bless  my  lips,  but  when  I  pray 
For  his  dear  spirit  that  away 
Casting  from  its  angelic  ray 
Th'  eclipse  of  earth,  he  too  may  shine 
Rodeem'd,  all  glorious  and  all  Thine  ! 
Think — think  what  victory  to  win 
One  radiant  soul  like  his  from  sin ; — 


1  A  fiiMiuenl  imnge  unions  ''i"  oriental  poets.  ''  Tha 
nightinijalcs  wiirbleii  llicir  encliantin?  noies,  and  rent  th» 
thill  voils  of  the  rose-bud  and  the  rose." — ./ami 


r.M.i.A  uooKii 


09 


)ric  wandering  star  of  virtiu:  l)ack 
Vo  Its  own  native,  heaven-ward  track! 
^et  hiin  but  live,  and  both  arc;  Thine, 
Together  Tiiine — for,  bh;st  or  (mosI, 
Living  or  dead,  liis  doom  is  iiiiiie; 
And  if  he  perish,  bolli  are  lost!" 


The  next  evening  Lalla  Rookii  was  entreated 
by  her  ladies  to  continue  the  relation  of  her  won- 
derful dipam  ;  but  the  fearful  interest  tliat  hung  round 
the  laie  of  Hinua  and  her  lover  had  completely  re- 
moved every  trace  of  it  from  her  mind; — much  to 
the  disappointment  of  a  fair  seer  or  two  in  her  train, 
who  prilled  themselves  on  their  skill  iii  interpreting 
visions,  and  who  had  already  remarked,  as  an  un- 
lucky omen,  that  the  Princess,  on  the  very  morning 
after  the  dream,  had  worn  a  silk  dyed  with  the  blos- 
Koms  of  the  sorrowful  tree,  rviliea. 

Fadladken,  whose  wrath  had  more  than  once 
broken  out  during  the  recital  of  some  parts  of  this 
most  heterodox  poem,  seemed  at  length  to  have  made 
up  his  mind  to  the  intliction;  and  took  his  seat  for 
the  evening  with  all  the  patience  of  a  martyr,  while  the 
Poet  continued  his  profane  and  seditious  story  thus  : — 

To  tearless  eyes  and  hearts  at  ease 

The  leafy  shores  and  sun-bright  seas, 

'J'liat  lay  beneath  that  mountain's  height, 

Had  been  a  fair,  enchanting  sight. 

'Twas  one  of  those  ambrosial  eves 

A  day  of  storm  so  often  leaves 

At  its  calm  setting — wlicn  the  West 

Opens  her  golden  bowers  of  rest, 

And  a  moist  radiance  from  the  skies 

Shoots  trembling  down,  as  from  the  eyes 

Of  some  meek  penitent,  whose  last. 

Bright  hours  atone  for  dark  ones  past, 

And  whose  sweet  tears  o"er  wrong  forgiven, 

Shine,  as  they  fall,  with  light  from  heaven  ! 

'Twas  stillness  all — the  winds  that  late 

Mad  rush'd  through  Kerman's  almond  groves. 
And  shaken  from  her  bowers  of  date 

That  cooling  feast  the  traveller  loves,' 
Now,  luil'd  to  languor,  scarcely  curl 

The  Green  Sea  wave,  whose  waters  gleam 
Lampid,  as  if  her  mines  of  pearl 

Were  melted  all  to  form  the  stream. 
And  her  fair  islets,  small  and  bright, 

With  their  green  shores  reflected  there, 
Look  like  those  Peri  isles  of  light. 

That  hang  by  spell-work  in  the  air. 
But  vainly  did  those  glories  burst 
On  Himia's  dazzled  eyes,  when  first 
The  bandage  from  her  brow  was  taken, 
And  pale  and  aw'd  as  those  who  waken 
In  theii  dark  tombs — when,  scowling  near. 
The  Searchers  of  the  Grave-'  appear, — 
She  shuddering  turn'd  to  read  her  fate 

In  the  fierce  eyes  that  flash'd  around ; 


1  "  111  |i.irls  of  KciMiiiii,  \\  ImtcviT  ilaies  are  sliakcii  from 
.lie  trees  liy  the  wind  lliuy  do  not  louch,  but  leave  them  for 
lliose  wlio  have  not  any,  or  for  travellers." — F.bn  HniiUrl. 

'2  The  two  terrible  angels,  Monkir  and  Niikir;  wbo  ;ire 
called  "the  Searcliers  of  the  Ciave"  in  the  "I'reed  of  the 
tuthudux  Mahometans"  given  byOcklev,  vol.  ii. 


And  saw  Iwose  towers,  all  desolate, 

'i'hat  o'er  her  head  terrific  frovs'n'd. 
As  if  defying  e'en  the  smile 
Of  thai  soft  heaven  to  g'ld  their  pile. 
In  vam,  with  mingled  hope  and  fear, 
SIk!  looks  lor  him  whose  voice  so  dear 
Had  come,  like  music,  to  her  ear — 
Strange,  mocking  dream  !  again  'tis  fled. 
And  oh  1  the  shoots,  the  pangs  of  dread 
That  through  her  inmost  bosom  run, 

When  voices  from  without  proclaim 
"  Hai'EO,  the  Chicfl" — ami,  one  by  one. 

The  warriors  shout  that  fearful  name  ' 
lie  comes — the  rock  resounus  nis  treau — 
I  low  shall  she  dare  to  lift  her  nead. 
Or  meet  those  eyes,  whose  scorching  glai« 
Not  Vemk.n's  boldest  sons  can  bear? 
In  whose  red  beam,  the  Moslem  tells. 
Such  rank  and  deadly  lustre  dwells, 
As  in  those  hellish  fires  that  light 
The  mandrake's  charncl  leaves  at  night!' 
How  shall  she  bear  that  voice's  lone, 
.\t  whose  loud  battle-cry  alone 
Whole  squadrons  oft  in  panic  ran. 
Scattered,  like  some  vast  caravan. 
When,  strctch'd  at  evening,  round  the  well, 
Th<!y  hoar  the  thirsting  tiger's  yell  ? 
Breathless  she  stands,  with  eyes  cast  down. 
Shrinking  beneat!j  thr  fiery  frown. 
Which,  fancy  tells  her,  frcm  that  brow 
Is  flashing  o'er  her  fiercely  now  ; 
And  shuddering,  as  she  hears  the  tread 

Of  his  retiring  warrior  band. — 
Never  was  pause  so  full  of  dread ; 

Till  IIafei)  with  a  trembling  hand 
Took  hers,  and,  leaning  o'er  lier,  saut, 
"  HiNDA  !"' — that  word  was  all  he  spoke. 
And  'twas  enough — the  shriek  that  broke 

From  her  full  bosom  told  the  rest. — 
Panting  with  terror,  joy,  surprise. 
The  maid  but  lifts  her  wondering  eyes 

To  hide  them  on  her  Ghcber's  breast  1 
'Tis  he,  'tis  he — the  man  of  blood. 
The  fellest  of  the  fire-fiends  brood, 
Haked,  the  demon  of  the  fight. 
Whose  voice  unnerves,  whose  glances  blight,— 
Is  her  own  loved  (iheber,  mild 
And  glorious  as  when  first  he  smil'd 
In  her  lone  tower,  and  left  such  beams 
Of  his  pure  eye  to  light  her  dreams. 
That  she  believ'd  her  bower  had  given 
Rest  to  some  wanderer  from  heaven  ! 
^loments  there  are,  and  this  was  one, 
Snatch'd  like  a  minute's  gleam  of  sun 
Amid  the  black  Simoom's  eclipse — 

Or  like  those  >'erdant  spots  that  bloom 
Around  the  crater's  bur-ning  lips. 

Sweetening  the  very  edge  of  doom  ' 
The  past — the  future — all  that  Fate 
('an  bring  of  dark  or  desperate 
Around  such  hours,  but  makes  them  cast 
Intenser  radiance  while  they  last  i 


I  '-'nK-  .\r.ib  aos  iiiil  Ibc  niai.(lr;ikr  '  llic  Devil's  ran.I., 
on  luTount  of  i'.s  .-liii.  .;;  iiii|ie>irii«ce  in  the  ni^'li'." — Uir. 
ardson. 


70 


3IOORE'S  WORKS. 


E'en  he,  this  youth — though  dimm'd  and  gone 

Each  star  of  Hope  that  cheer'd  him  on — 

His  glories  lost — his  cause  betray'd — 

Iran,  his  dear-loved  country,  made 

A  land  of  carcases  and  slaves, 

One  dreary  waste  of  chains  and  graves  ! 

Himself  but  lingering,  dead  at  heart, 

To  see  the  last,  long-struggling  breath 
Of  Liberty's  great  soul  depart, 

Then  lay  him  down,  and  share  her  death — 
E'en  he,  so  sunk  in  wretchedness. 

With  doom  still  darker  gathering  o'er  him, 
Vet,  in  this  moment's  pure  caress. 

In  the  mild  eyes  that  shone  before  him, 
Beaming  that  blest  assurance,  worth 
All  other  transports  known  on  earth, 
That  he  was  lov'd — well,  warmly  lov'd — 
Oh  !  in  this  precious  hour  he  prov'd 
How  deep,  how  thorough-felt  the  glow 
Of  rapture,  kindling  out  of  woe ; — 
How  exquisite  one  single  drop 
Of  bliss,  thus  sparkling  to  the  top 
Of  misery's  cup — how  keenly  quaff'd. 
Though  death  must  Ibllow  on  the  draught ! 

She  too,  while  gazing  on  those  eyes 

That  sink  into  her  soul  so  deep, 
Forgets  all  fears,  all  miseries. 

Or  teels  them  like  the  wretch  in  sleep, 
Whom  Fancy  cheats  into  a  smile. 
Who  dreams  oi"  joy,  and  sobs  the  wliile ! 

The  mighty  ruins  where  they  stood. 

Upon  the  mount's  high,  rocky  verge, 
Lay  open  tow'rds  the  ocean  Hood, 

Wnere  lightly  o'er  th'  lUumin'd  surge 
Many  a  fair  bark,  that,  all  the  day. 
Had  lurk"d  in  sheltering  creek  or  bay, 
Now  bounded  on  and  gave  their  sails, 
Yet  dripping,  to  the  evening  gales ; 
Like  eagles,  when  the  storm  is  done, 
Spreading  their  wet  wings  in  the  sun. 
The  beauteous  clouds,  though  daylight's  Star 
Had  sunk  behind  the  hills  of  Lak, 
Were  still  with  lingering  glori«s  bright, — 
As  if  to  grace  the  gorgeous  West, 

The  Spirit  of  departing  Light 
Tli.it  eve  had  lell  its  sunny  vest 

liehind  him,  ere  he  wmg'd  his  flight. 
iNi'var  was  scene  so  (brin'd  for  love! 
lii'ueath  them  waves  of  crystal  move 
I.I  silent  swell — Heav'n  glows  above. 
And  their  pure  hearts,  to  transport  given. 
N'.vell  like  the  wave,  and  glow  like  heav'n. 

ihil  ah  !  too  soon  that  dream  is  past — 

Again,  again  her  fear  returns  ; — 
Night,  dreadful  night,  is  gathering  fast, 

More  faintly  the  horizon  burns, 
And  every  rosy  tint  that  lay 
O.i  the  smooth  sea  hath  died  away. 
Hastily  to  the  darkening  skies 
A  glance  she  casts — then  wildly  cries 
"  .At  night,  he  said — and,  look,  'tis  near — 

Fly,  tly — if  yet  thou  lov'sl  me,  fly — 
>.'on  will  his  murderous  band  be  here, 

\nii  1  shall  see  thee  bleed  and  die. — 


Hush  I — heard'st  thou  not  the  uamp  of  men 
Sounding  from  yonder  fearful  glen  ? — 
Perhaps  e'en  now  they  climb  the  wood — 

Fly,  fly — though  still  the  West  is  bright, 
He'll  come — oh  !  yes — he  wants  l)iy  blooo— 

I  know  him — he'll  not  wait  for  night!" 
In  terrors  e'en  to  a^ony 

She  clings  around  tlie  wondering  Chief: — 
"  Alas,  poor  wilder'd  maid  !  to  me 

Thou  ow'st  this  raving  trance  of  grief. 
Lost  as  I  am,  nought  ever  grew 
Beneath  my  shade  but  perish'd  too — 
i\Iy  doom  is  hke  the  Dead  Sea  air, 
And  nothing  lives  that  enters  there  ! 
Wliy  were  our  barks  together  driven 
Beneath  this  morning's  furious  heaven  ? 
Why,  when  1  saw  the  prize  that  chance 

Had  thrown  into  my  desperate  arms, — 
When,  casting  but  a  single  glance 

Upon  thy  pale  and  prostrate  charms, 
I  vow'd  (though  watching  viewless  o'er 

Thy  safety  through  that  hour's  alarms^ 
To  meet  th'  unmanning  sight  no  more — 
Why  have  I  broke  that  heart-wrung  vow  7 
Why  weakly,  madly  met  thee  now  ? — 
Start  not — that  noise  is  but  the  shock 

Of  torrents  through  yon  valley  hurl'd — 
Dread  nothing  here — upon  this  rock 

We  stand  above  the  jarring  world. 
Alike  beyond  its  hope — its  dread — 
In  gloomy  safety,  like  the  Dead  ! 
Or,  could  e'en  earth  and  hell  unite 
In  league  to  storm  this  sacred  height, 
Fear  nothing  thou — myself,  to-night. 
And  each  o'erlooking  star  that  dweUs 
Near  God,  will  be  thy  sentinels; 
And,  ere  to-morrow's  dawn  shall  glow. 

Back  to  thy  sire " 

"  To-morrow  ! — no — 
The  maiden  scream'd — "thou'lt  never  see 
To-morrow's  sun — death,  death  will  be 
The  night-cry  through  each  reeking  tower, 
Unless  we  fly,  ay,  fly  this  hour  ! 
Thou  art  betray'd — some  wretch  who  knew 
That  dreadful  glen's  mysterious  clew — 
Nay,  doubt  not — by  yon  stars  'tis  true — 
Hath  sold  thee  to  my  vengeful  sire ; 
This  morning,  with  that  smile  so  dire 
He  wears  in  joy,  he  told  me  all. 
And  stamp'd  in  triumph  through  our  hall 
As  though  thy  heart  already  beat 
Its  last  life-throb  beneath  his  feet  I 
Good  heav'n,  how  liitle  dieain'd  I  then 

His  victim  was  my  own  lov'd  youth  ! — 

Fly — send — let  some  one  u  atch  the  glen — 

By  all  my  hopes  of  heaven  'tis  truth !" 

Oh  !  colder  than  the  wind  that  freezes 
Founts,  that  but  now  in  sunshine  play'd. 

Is  that  congealing  pang  which  seizes 
The  trusting  bosom,  when  betray'd. 

He  felt  it — deeply  felt — and  stood. 

As  if  the  tale  had  I'roz'n  his  blood, 
So  amaz'd  and  motionless  was  he; — 

Like  one  wlioui  su''!iui  spells  enchant, 

Or  some  imii'.(\  ninhle  liahiuiiil 


LALI.A  ROOKII. 


71 


or  the  still  halls  or  Isiii>io.\iE  !' 
'$ut  soon  the  painful  chill  was  o'er, 

^d  his  groat  soul,  herself  once  more 
^ook'd  fioin  1''=  b'ow  in  all  the  rays 
Of  her  best,  happiest,  grandest  days  ! 
Never,  in  moment  most  elate, 

Did  that  high  spirit  lollier  rise  ; — 
While  bright,  serene,  determinate, 

His  looks  are  lirted  to  the  skies, 
As  if  the  signal  lights  of  Fate 

Were  shining  in  those  awful  eyes  ! 
Tis  come — his  hour  of  martyrdom 
In  Iran's  sacred  cause  is  come; 
And  though  his  life  hath  pass'd  away 
Like  lightning  on  a  stormy  day. 
Yet  shall  his  death-hour  leave  a  track 

Of  glory,  permanent  and  bright, 
To  which  the  brave  of  allcrtimes. 
The  suffering  brave  shall  long  look  back 

With  proud  regret, — and  by  its  light 

Watch  through  the  hours  of  slavery's  night 
For  vengeance  on  th'  oppressor's  crimes  ! 
This  rock,  his  monument  alofl. 

Shall  speak  the  tale  to  many  an  age ; 
And  hither  bards  and  heroes  oft 

Shall  come  in  secret  pilgrimage, 
And  bring  their  warrior  sons,  and  tell 
The  wondering  boys  where  IIafed  fell, 
And  swear  them  on  those  lone  remains 
Of  their  lost  country's  ancient  fanes. 
Never — while  breath  of  life  shall  live 
Within  them — never  to  forgive 
Th'  accursed  race,  whose  ruthless  chain 
Hath  left  on  Iran's  neck  a  stain. 
Blood,  blood  alone  can  cleanse  again  ! 

Such  are  the  swelling  thoughts  that  now 
Enthrone  themselves  on  Hafed's  brow: 
And  ne'er  did  Saint  of  Issa^  gaze 

On  the  red  wreath,  for  martyrs  twin'd, 
More  proudly  than  the  youth  surveys 

That  pile,  which  through  the  gloom  behind. 
Half  lighted  by  tlie  altar's  fire, 
f  Uimme-s, — his  destin'd  funeral  pyre  ! 
Heap'd  by  his  own,  his  comrade's  hands, 

Of  every  wood  of  odorous  breath, 
Therr,  by  the  Fire-god's  shrine  it  stands, 

Ready  to  fold  in  radiant  death 
The  few  still  left  of  those  who  swore 
To  perish  there,  when  hope  was  o'er — 
The  few,  to  whom  that  couch  of  fiame. 
Which  rescues  them  from  bonds  and  shame. 
Is  sweet  and  welcome  as  the  bed 
For  their  own  infant  Prophet  spread. 
When  pitying  Heav'n  to  roses  turn'd 
The  death-flames  that  beneath  him  burn'd  !' 

With  watchfulness  the  maid  attends 
His  rapid  glance,  where'er  it  bends — 

1  for  an  account  of  Isliinonie,  the  petrilieil  city  in  I'pper 
Egypt,  where  it  is  s.iid  there  are  many  staiU'S  of  nun, 
women,  etc.  to  be  seen  to  this  (l.iy,  see  Ferri/'s  ^'icw  of  the 
Levant. 

2  Ji'sns. 

T  "The  Ghebers  say,  that  when  Abraham,  tliiir  great 
Prophst,  was  thrown  into  the  fire  by  or<ler  of  Nimrod,  the 
flame  turned  instantly  into  a  Sed  of"  roses,  where  tlie  cliihl 
weeth        ~^fi\  " — 'J'avcrnie^ 


Why  slioots  his  eyes  such  awful  beams? 
What  plans  he  now  ?  what  thinks  or  dreamflT 
Alas!  why  stands  he  musing  here. 
When  every  moment  teams  with  fear? 
"  HaI'-ei),  my  own  beloved  lord," 
She  kneeling  cries — "  first,  last  ador'd  ! 
If  in  that  soul  thou'sl  ever  felt 

Half  what  thy  lips  iinpassion'd  swore, 
Here,  on  my  knees,  that  never  knelt 

To  any  but  their  God  before, 
I  pray  thee,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  fly — 
Now,  now — ere  yet  their  blades  are  nigh. 
Oh  haste — the  bark  that  bore  me  hither 

Can  waft  us  o'er  yon  darkening  sea 
East — west — alas,  I  care  not  whither, 
So  thou  art  safe,  and  J  with  thee  ! 
Go  where  we  will,  this  hand  in  thine, 

Those  eyes  before  me  smiling  thus. 
Through  good  and  ill,  through  storm  and  shine 

The  world  's  a  world  of  love  for  us ! 
On  some  calm,  blessed  shore  we'll  dwell. 
Where  'tis  no  crime  to  love  too  well ; — 
Where  thus  to  worship  tenderly 
An  erring  child  of  light  like  thee 
Will  not  be  sin — or,  if  it  be. 
Where  we  may  weep  our  faults  away. 
Together  kneeling,  night  and  day. 
Thou,  for  mi/  sake,  at  Alla's  shrine, 
Aaid  I — at  any  God's  for  thine  !" 

Wildly  those  passionate  words  she  spoke — 
Then  hung  her  head,  and  wept  for  i^hame 
Sobbing,  as  if  a  heart-string  broke 

With  every  deep-hcav'd  sob  that  came 
While  he,  young,  warm — oh  !  wonder  not 
If,  for  a  moment,  pride  and  fame. 
His  oath — his  cause — that  shrine  of  flame. 

And  Iran's  self  are  all  forgot 
For  her  whom  at  his  feet  he  sees. 
Kneeling  in  speechless  agonies. 
No,  blame  him  not,  if  Hope  awhile 
Dawn'd  in  his  soul,  and  threw  her  smile 
O'er  hours  to  come — o'er  days  and  nights 
Wing'd  with  those  precious,  pure  delights 
Wliich  she,  who  bends  all  beauteous  there, 
Was  born  to  kindle  and  to  share  ! 
A  tear  or  two,  which,  as  he  bow'd 

To  raise  the  suppliant,  trembling  stole. 
First  warn'd  him  of  this  dangerous  cloud 

Of  softness  passing  o'er  his  soul. 
Starting,  he  brush'd  the  drops  away. 
Unworthy  o'er  that  cheek  to  stray ; — 
Like  one  who,  on  the  morn  of  fight. 
Shakes  from  his  sword  the  dews  of  night, 
That  had  but  dimm'd,  not  stain'd  its  light. 

Yet,  though  subdued  th'  unnerving  thrill, 
Its  warmth,  its  weakness  hnger'd  still 

So  touching  in  each  look  and  tone. 
That  the  fond,  fearing,  hoping  ;iiaid 
Half  counted  on  the  flight  she  pray'd, 

Half  thought  the  hero's  soul  was  growTi 

As  soft,  as  j'ielding  as  her  own  ; 
Am'  smil'd  and  bless'd  him,  while  he  said, 
"  Yes — if  there  be  sopie  happier  sphere, 
VV'liere  fade'e"?  t^ntl.  nlje  ours  ifi  (far-- 


72 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


If  there  be  any  iand  of  rest 

For  those  who  love  and  ne'er  forget, 
Oh  I  comfort  thee — for  safe  and  blest 

We'll  meet  in  that  calm  region  yet!" 
Scarce  had  she  time  to  ask  her  heart 
If  good  or  ill  tliese  words  impart, 
When  the  rous'd  youth  impulieat  flew 
To  the  touer-wall,  vvuere,  high  in  view, 
A  ponderous  sea-horn'  hung,  and  ble\" 
A  signal,  deep  and  dread  as  those 
The  storm-fiend  at  his  rising  blows. — 
Full  well  his  Chieftains,  sworn  and  tnie 
Through  life  and  death,  that  signal  knew ; 
For  'twas  th"  appointed  warning-blast, 
Th'  alarm  to  tell  when  hope  was  past. 
And  the  tremendous  death-die  cast ! 
And  there,  upon  the  mouldering  tower, 
Jlath  hung  this  sea-horn  many  an  hour, 
Ri\idy  to  sound  o'er  land  and  sea 
T'hat  dirge-note  of  the  brave  and  free 
They  came — his  Chieftains  at  the  call 
Caine  slowly  round,  and  with  them  all — 
Alas,  how  few  I — -the  worn  remains 
Of  those  who  late  o'er  Kerman's  plains 
Went  gaily  prancing  to  the  clash 

Of  Moorish  zel  and  tymbalon, 
Catching  new  hope  from  every  flash 

Of  their  long  lances  in  the  sun — 
And,  as  their  coursers  chirg'd  the  wind, 
And  the  wide  ox-tails  stieam'd  beliind,'^ 
Looking,  as  if  the  steeds  they  rode 
Were  wing'd,  and  every  Chief  a  God! 

How  fall'n,  how  alter'd  now !  how  wan 
Each  scarr'd  and  faded  visage  shone. 
As  round  the  burning  shrine  they  came ; — 

How  deadly  was  the  glare  it  cast. 
As  mute  they  paus'd  before  the  flame 

To  light  their  torches  as  they  pass'd  ! 
'Twas  silence  all — the  youth  had  plann'd 
The  duties  of  his  soldier-band  ; 
And  each  determin'd  brow  declares 
His  faithful  Chieftains  well  know  theirs. 
But  minutes  speed — night  gems  the  skies — 
And  oh  how  soon,  ye  blessed  eyes. 
That  look  from  heaven,  ye  may  behold 
Sights  that  will  turn  your  star-fires  cold  ! 
Breathless  with  awe,  impatience,  hope, 
The  maiden  sees  the  veteran  group 
Her  litter  silently  prepare. 

And  lay  it  at  her  trembling  feet; — 
And  now  the  youth,  with  gentle  care. 

Hath  plac'd  h<,'r  in  the  shclter'd  seat. 
And  press'd  her  hand — that  lingering  press 

Of  hands,  that  for  the  last  time  sever; 
Of  hearts,  whose  pulse  of  happiness, 

When  that  hold  breaks,  is  dead  for  ever. 
And  yet  to  her  this  sad  caress 

Gives  hope — so  fondly  hope  can  err ! 


1  "Tiie  Hiiull  oiillud  riii  iiikos,  i-ominiiM  to  India,  \i'n>n, 
ami  (lie  Mcrditiirriiiin.-in,  and  still  us'd  in  many  iwii  s  as  ii 
irurn|i(;t  lor  blowing  uliirina  or  giving  signals  ustnl  "o."..'!!! 
di-i-)i  and  liolUiw  Bound." — i'cnnaiit. 

2  "  The  finest  nrnatucnt  lor  the  horses  is  made  of  six  Ihrge 
flying  t'4ssel8  of  long  white  hair,  taken  out  of  the  la  Is  of  wild 
»xen,  thill  ore  to  be  found  in  some  places  of  the  idies." — 
lUevaiuL 


'Twas  joy,  she  thought,  joy's  mute  excess — 
Their  happy  flight's  dear  harbinger; 

'Twas  warmth — assurance — tenderness — 
'Twas  any  thing  but  leaving  her. 

"  Haste,  haste !"  she  cried  "  the  clouds  grow  dart 
But  still,  ere  night,  we'll  reach  the  bark, 
And,  by  to-morrow's  dawn — oh  bliss ! 

With  thee  upon  the  sun-bright  ueep, 
Far  oil',  I'll  but  remember  this. 

As  some  dark  vanish  d  dreani  "f  sleep! 

1  And  thou "  but  ah  ! — he  answers  ut,. 

j      Good  Heav'n  ! — and  does  she  go  alone  ? 
I  She  now  has  reach'd  that  dismal  spot. 

Where,  some  hours  since,  his  voice's  tone 
Had  come  to  sooths  her  fears  and  ills, 
Sweet  as  the  Angel  Iskafil's,' 
When  every  leaf  on  Eden's  tree 
Is  trembling  to  his  minstrelsy — 
Yet  now — oh  now,  he  is  not  nigh — 

"  Hafed  I  my  Hafei)  I — if  it  be 
Thy  will,  thy  doom  this  night  to  die, 

Let  me  but  stay  to  die  with  thee, 
And  I  will  bless  thy  loved  name, 
'Till  the  last  life-breath  leave  this  frame. 
Oh  !  let  our  lips,  our  cheeks  be  laid 
But  near  each  other  while  they  fade  ; 
Let  us  but  mix  our  parting  breaths. 
And  1  can  die  ten  thousand  deatlis  ! 
You  too,  who  hurry  me  away 
So  cruelly,  one  moment  stay — 

Oh  !  stay — one  moment  is  not  much  ; 
He  yet  may  come — for  him  I  pray — 
Haf Eu  !  dear  Hafed  !" — All  the  way 

In  Wild  lamentihgs,  that  would  touch 
A  heart  of  stone,  she  shriek'd  his  name 
To  the  dark  woods — no  Ha;- ed  came  : — 
No — hapless  pair — you've  look'd  your  last; 

Your  hearts  should  both  have  broken  then: 
The  dream  is  o'er — your  doom  is  cast — 

You'll  never  meet  on  earth  again! 

Alas  for  him,  who  hears  her  cries  ! — 

Still  half-way  down  the  steep  he  stands, 
Watching  with  fix'd  and  feverish  eyes 

The  glimmer  of  those  burning  brands. 
That  down  the  rocks,  with  mournful  ray 
Light  all  he  loves  on  earth  away  ! 
Hopeless  as  they  who,  far  at  sea. 

By  the  cold  moon  have  just  consign'd 
The  corse  of  one,  lov'd  tenderly, 

To  the  bleak  flood  they  leave  behind ; 
And  OP    i\c  deck  still  lingering  stay, 
And  loi.g  look  back,  with  sad  delay. 
To  watch  the  moonlight  on  the  wave, 
That  ripples  o'er  that  cheerless  grave. 
But  see — he  starts — what  heard  he  then  ? 
That  dreadful  shout ! — across  the  glen 
From  the  land  side  it  comes,  and  loud 
Rings  through  the  chasm;  as  if  the  crowd 
Of  fearful  things,  that  haunt  that  dell. 
Its  Glioles  and  I)iv(!s  and  shap(;s  of  hell 
Had  a'l  in  one  tlread  howl  broke  out, 
f-o  loud,  so  terrible  that  shout ! 


1  -'fhe  Ai: 
ofiill  Ood'Bi. 


,'cl  Isrufi.    who  has  llie  most  meltvJious  V0)(' 

>;IlMjr>'s."--.S///, 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


They  come — the  Moslems  come !'' — he  cries, 
His  pniiui  soul  mounting  to  his  eyes — 
"Now,  Spirits  of  the  Bruve,  who  roam    _ 
Entranrhi»'cl  through  yon  sturry  dome, 
Rejoice — for  souls  of  kindred  tire 
Are  on  the  wing  to  join  yourciioir!" 
He  said — and,  light  as  bridegrooms  bound 

To  tlicir  young  loves,  rechmb  d  the  steep 
And  gain'd  the  shrine — iiis  Cliiefs  stood  round — 

Their  swords,  as  with  instinctive  leap. 
Together,  at  that  cry  accurst, 
j  Had  from  their  sheaths,  like  sunbeams,  burst. 

I  And  hark  I — again — ag.iin  it  rings; 

Near  and  more  near  its  eclioings 
Peal  through  the  chasm — oh  !  wlio  that  then 
Had  seen  those  listening  warrior-men. 
With  their  swords  grasp'd,  their  eyes  of  flame 
Turn'd  on  their  Chief — could  doubt  the  shame, 
Th'  indignant  shame  with  which  they  thrill 
To  hear  those  shouts  and  yet  stand  still  ? 
He  read  their  thoughts — they  were  his  own — 

"  What !  while  our  arms  can  wield  these  blades, 
Shall  we  die  tamely  ?  die  alone  ? 

VVithout  one  victim  to  our  shades. 
One  Moslem  heart  where,  buried  deep. 
The  sabre  from  its  toil  may  sleep  ? 
No — God  of  Iran's  burning  skies  ! 
Thou  scorn'st  th'  inglorious  sacrifice. 
No — though  of  all  earth's  hope  bereft. 
Life,  swords,  and  vengeance  still  are  left. 
We'll  make  yon  valley's  reeking  caves 
Live  in  the  awe-struck  minds  of  men. 
Till  tyrants  shudder,  when  their  slaves 

Tell  of  the  (liieber's  bloody  glen. 
Follow,  brave  hearts  I — this  pile  remains 
Our  refuge  still  from  life  and  chams  , 
Cut  his  the  best,  the  holiest  bed. 
Who  sinks  entomb'd  in  JMoslem  dead  !" 
Down  the  precipitous  rocks  they  sprung. 
While  vigour,  more  than  human,  strung 
Each  arm  and  heart. — Th'  exulting  foe 
Still  through  the  dark  deliles  below, 
Track'd  by  his  torches'  lurid  tire. 

Wound  slow,  as  through  Golconda's  vale' 
The  mighty  serpent,  in  his  ire. 

Glides  on  with  glittering,  deadly  trail. 
No  torch  the  Ghebers  need — so  well 
They  know  each  mystery  of  the  dell. 

So  oft  have,  in  their  wanderings, 
Cross'd  the  wild  race  that  round  them  dwell, 
The  very  tigers  from  their  delves 

Look  out,  and  let  them  pass,  as  things 
Untam'd  and  fearless  as  themselves! 
There  was  a  deep  ravine,  that  lay 
Vet  darkhng  in  the  Moslem's  way  ; — 
Fit  spot  to  make  invaders  ru° 
The  many  fall'n  before  the  tew. 
The  torrents  from  that  morning's  sky 
Had  fiird  the  narrow  chasm  breast-high. 
And,  on  each  side,  alotl  and  wild. 
Huge  dirt's  and  toppling  crags  were  pil'd. 
The  guards,  with  which  young  Freedom  lines 
The  pathways  to  her  mountain  shrines. 


1  See  JJoole  upon  tlie  Story  ofSiiibail. 


Here,  at  this  pass,  the  scanty  band 
Of  Iran's  last  avengers  stand — 
Here  wait,  in  silence  like  the  dead, 
And  listen  for  the  Moslem's  tread 
So  anxiously,  the  carrion-bird 
Above  them  Haps  his  wings  unheard  ! 

They  come — that  plunge  into  the  water 
Gives  signal  for  the  work  of  slaughter. 
Now,.(;hebers,  now — if  ere  your  blades 

Had  point  or  prowess,  prove  them  now— ■ 
Woe  to  the  file  that  foremost  wades! 

They  come — a  falchion  greets  each  brow. 
And,  as  they  tumble,  trunk  on  trunk, 
Beiie;ith  the  gory  waters  sunk, 
Still  o'er  their  drowning  bodies  press 
New  victims  quick  and  numberless ; 
Till  scarce  an  arm  in  Hafed's  band. 

So  fierce  their  toil,  hath  power  to  stir, 
But  listless  from  each  crimson  hand 

The  sword  hangs,  clogg'd  witli  massacre. 

Never  was  horde  of  tyrants  met 
With  bloodier  welcome — never  yet 
To  patriot  vengeance  hath  the  sword 
3Iorc  terrible  libations  pour'd  ! 
All  up  the  dreary,  long  ravine, 
By  the  red,  murky  glimmer  seen 
Of  half-quench'd  brands,  that  o'er  the  flood 
Lie  scatter'd  round  and  burn  in  blood. 
What  ruin  glares!  what  carnage  swims  ! 
Heads,  blazing  turbans,  quivering  limbs. 
Lost  swords  that,  dropp'd  from  many  a  hand. 
In  that  thick  pool  of  slaughter  stand ; — 
Wretches  who  wading,  half  on  fire 

From  the  toss'd  brands  that  round  them  flj 
'Tw-ixt  flood  and  flame  in  shrieks  expire . 

And  some  who,  grasp'd  by  those  that  die, 
Sink  woundless  with  them,  smother'd  o'er 
In  their  dead  brethren's  gushing  gore  ! 

But  vainly  hundreds,  thousands  bleed. 
Still  hundreds,  thousands  more  succeed  , 
Countless  as  tow'rds  some  Hame  at  night 
The  North's  dark  insects  wing  their  flight. 
And  quench  or  perish  in  its  light. 
To  this  terrific  spot  they  pour — 
Till,  bridg'd  with  iMoslem  bodies  o'er, 
It  bears  aloft  their  slippery  tread, 
And  o'er  the  dying  and  the  dead. 
Tremendous  causeway  !  on  they  pass. — 
Then,  hapless  Ghebers,  then,  alas. 

What  hope  was  left  for  you  ?  for  you, 
\Miose  yet  warm  pile  of  sacrifice 
Is  smoking  in  their  vengeful  eyes — 

Whose  swords  how  keen,  how  fierce  they  knev* 

And  burn  with  shame  to  find  how  few. 
Crush'd  down  by  that  vast  multitude. 
Some  found  their  graves  where  first  they  stoou 
While  some  with  hardier  struggle  died, 
And  still  fought  on  by  Haked's  side, 
Who,  fronting  to  the  foe,  trod  back 
Tow'rds  the  high  towers  his  gory  track; 
And  as  a  lion,  swept  away 

By  sudden  swell  of  J-^'dan's  pride' 


III  tins  ihi'ke.,  ui»>ii  iIh-  li.uiUs  of  tlie  Jordan,  severk 


74 


MOOUL'S  WORKS. 


From  the  wild  covert  where  he  lay, 

Long  battles  with  the  o'erwhelming  tide, 
So  <c}ught  he  back  with  fierce  delay, 
Ana  kept  both  foes  and  fate  at  bay. 

But  whither  now  ?  their  track  is  lost. 
Their  prey  escap'd — guide,  torches  gone — 

By  torrent-beds  and  labyrinths  crost, 
The  scatter'd  crowd  rush  blindly  on — 

"  Curse  on  those  tardy  lights  that  wind," 

They  panting  cry,  "  so  far  behind — 

Oh  for  a  bloodhound's  precious  scent, 

To  track  the  way  the  Gheber  went !" 

Vain  wish — confusedly  along 

They  rush,  more  desperate  as  more  wrong: 

Till,  wilder'd  by  the  far-off  lights. 

Yet  glittering  up  those  gloomy  heights. 

Their  footing,  maz'd  and  lost,  they  miss, 

And  down  the  darkling  precipice 

Are  dash'd  into  the  deep  abyss  : 

Or  midway  hang,  impal'd  on  rocks, 

A  banquet,  yet  alive,  for  flocks 

Of  ravening  vultures — while  the  dell 

Re-echoes  with  each  horrid  yell. 

Those  sounds — the  last,  to  vengeance  dear, 
That  e'er  shall  ring  in  Hafed's  ear, — 
Now  reach  him,  as  aloft,  alone. 
Upon  the  steep  way  breathless  thrown, 
He  lay  beside  his  reeking  blade, 

Resign'd,  as  if  life's  task  were  o'er, 
Its  last  blood-offering  amply  paid. 

And  Iran's  self  could  claim  no  more. 
One  only  thought,  one  lingering  beam 
Now  broke  across  his  dizzy  dream 
Of  pain  and  weariness — 'twas  she 

His  heart's  pure  planet,  shining  yet 
Above  the  waste  of  memory, 

When  all  life's  other  lights  were  set. 
And  never  to  his  mind  before 
Her  image  such  enchantment  wore. 
It  seem'd  as  if  each  thought  that  stain'd, 

Each  fear  that  chill'd  their  loves  was  past. 
And  not  one  cloud  of  earth  remain'd 

Between  him  and  her  glory  cast; — 
As  if  to  charms,  before  so  bright. 

New  grace  from  other  worlds  was  given, 
And  his  soul  saw  her  by  the  light 

Now  breaking  o'er  itself  from  heaven  ! 

A  voice  spoke  near  him — 'twas  the  tone 

Of  a  lov'd  friend,  the  only  one 

Of  all  his  warriors  left  with  life 

From  that  short  niiiht's  tremendous  strife. — 

"  And  must  we  then,  my  Chief,  die  here  ? — 

Foes  round  us,  and  the  Shrine  so  near?" 

These  words  have  rous'd  the  last  remains 

Of  life  within  him — "  what !  not  yet 
Beyond  the  reach  of  Moslem  chains?" — 

The  thought  could  make  e'en  Death  forget 
His  icy  bondage — with  a  bound 
He  springs,  all  bleeding,  from  the  ground, 

8(irl8  of  wild  bcusis  arc  wont  to  harbour  llieiiisolves,  wlioix; 
hr.ins  washed  out  of  the  covurl  hy  llifi  ovcrtlowiiigs  of  tho 
river,  gavo  occasion  lo  tliat  alhiuioii  of  .Icremiah,  he  shall 
cinne  tip  like  a  lion  from  IhcsiccUin^  of  Jordan." — Mauii- 
drcU's  Jilcppo. 


And  grasps  his  comrade's  arm,  now  grown 
E'en  feebler,  heavier  than  his  own. 
And  faintly  up  the  pathway  leads. 
Death  gaining  on  each  step  he  treads 
Speed  them,  thou  God,  who  heard'st  theii  .01* 
They  mount — they  bleed — oh  save  them  no\*  - 
The  crags  are  red  they've  clamber'd  o'er. 
The  rock-weeds  dripping  with  their  gore  - 
Thy  blade  too,  Hafed,  false  at  length. 
Now  breaks  beneath  thy  tottering  strength — 
Haste,  haste — the  voices  of  the  foe 
Come  near  and  nearer  from  below — 
One  effort  more — thank  Heav'n  !  'tis  past, 
They've  gain'd  the  topmost  steep  at  last. 
And  now  they  touch  the  temple's  walls. 

Now  Hafed  sees  the  Fire  divine — 
When,  lo  ! — his  weak,  worn  comrade  falla 

Dead  on  the  threshold  of  the  Shrine. 
"  Alas,  brave  soul,  too  quickly  fled  ! 

And  must  I  leave  thee  withering  here, 
The  sport  of  every  rufiian's  tread. 

The  mark  for  every  coward's  spear? 
No,  by  yon  altar's  sacred  beams !" 
He  cries,  and  with  a  strength  that  seems 
Not  of  this  world,  uplifts  the  frame 
Of  the  fall'n  Chief,  and  tow'rds  the  flame 
Bears  him  along  ;— with  death-damp  hand 

The  corpse  upon  the  pyre  he  lays, 
Then  lights  the  consecrated  brand. 

And  fires  the  pile,  whose  sudden  blaze, 
Like  lightning  bursts  o'er  Oman's  Sea. — 

"Now,  Freedom's  God  !  I  come  to  Thee.'' 
The  youth  exclaims,  and  with  a  smile 
Of  triumph  vaulting  on  the  pile. 
In  that  last  effort,  ere  the  fires 
Have  harm'd  one  glorious  limb,  expires  ' 

What  shriek  was  that  on  Oman's  tide? 

It  came  from  yonder  drifting  bark. 
That  just  has  caught  upon  her  side 

Tfie  death-light — and  again  is  dark. 
It  is  the  boat — ah,  why  delay'd  ? — 
That  bears  the  wretched  ftloslem  maiu 
Confided  to  the  watchful  care 

Of  a  small  veteran  band,  with  whom 
Their  generous  Chieftain  would  not  share 

The  secret  of  his  final  doom  ; 
But  hop'd  when  Hinda,  safe  and  free, 

Was  render'd  to  her  father's  eyes. 
Their  pardon,  full  and  prompt,  would  be 

The  ransom  of  so  dear  a  prize. 
Unconscious,  thus,  of  Hafed'.s  fate. 
And  proud  to  guard  their  beauteous  freight, 
Scarce  had  they  clear'd  the  surfy  waves 
Tliat  foam  around  those  frightful  caves. 
When  the  curst  war-whoojjs,  known  so  well, 
Come  echoing  from  the  distant  dell — 
Sudden  each  oar,  upheld  and  still. 

Hung  dripping  o'er  the  vessel's  side 
And,  driving  at  the  current's  will. 

They  rock'd  along  the  whispering  tide, 
Wl.ile  every  eye,  in  nuite  dismay. 

Was  tow'rd  that  fatal  mountain  turn'd, 
Wliere  the  dim  altar's  quivering  ray 

As  vet  all  lone  and  tranquil  burn'd 


LALLA  ROOKll. 


Oh  !  'tis  not,  HiNDA,  in  the  power 

Of  Fancy's  most  terrific  toucli, 
To  paiiit  thy  pangs  in  that  dread  hour — 

Thy  silent  agony — 'twas  suc-h 
As  those  who  feel  could  paint  too  well, 
But  none  e'er  felt  and  Hv'd  to  tell ! 
'Twas  not  alone  the  dreary  state 
Of  a  lorn  spirit,  crush'd  by  fate, 
When,  though  no  more  remains  to  dread, 

The  panic  chill  will  not  depart ; — 
»Vhen,  though  the  inmate  Hope  be  dead. 

Her  ghost  still  haunts  the  mouldering  heart. 
No — pleasures,  hopes,  aifections  gone. 
The  wretch  may  bear,  and  yet  live  on, 
Liice  things  within  the  cold  rock  found 
Alive,  when  all 's  congeal'd  around. 
But  there  's  a  blank  repose  in  this, 
A  calm  stagnation,  that  were  bliss 
To  the  keen,  burning,  harrowing  pain. 
Now  felt  through  all  thy  breast  and  brain — 
That  spasm  of  terror,  mute,  intense. 
That  breathless,  agoiii/.'d  suspense. 
From  whose  hot  throb,  whose  deadly  aching 
The  heart  hath  no  relief  but  breaking ! 

Calm  is  the  wave — hcav'n's  brilliant  lights 

Reflected  dance  beneath  the  prow ; — 
rhne  was  when,  on  such  lovely  nights. 

She  who  is  there,  so  desolate  now, 
ZIould  sit  all  cheerful,  though  alone. 

And  ask  no  happier  joy  than  seeing 
That  star-light  o'er  the  waters  thrown — 
No  joy  but  that  to  make  her  blest. 

And  this  fresh,  buoyant  sense  of  Being 
That  bounds  in  youth's  yet  careless  breast — 
'tself  a  star,  not  borrowing  light. 
But  in  its  own  glad  essence  bright. 
How  different  now  ! — but,  hark,  again 
The  yell  of  havoc  rings — brave  men  ! 
hi  vain,  with  beating  hearts,  ye  stand 
On  tlie  bark's  edge — in  vain  each  hand 
Half  draws  the  fdchion  fconi  its  sheath ; 

All's  o'er — in  rust  your  blades  may  lie : 
He,  at  whose  word  they've  seatter'd  death. 

E'en  now,  this  night,  himself  must  die  ! 
Well  may  ye  look  to  yon  dim  tower. 

And  ask,  and  wondering  guess  what  means 
The  battle-cry  at  this  dead  hour — 

Ah  !  she  could  tell  you — she,  who  leans 
Unheeded  there,  pale,  sunk,  aghast, 
With  brow  against  the  dew-cold  mast — 

Too  well  she  knows — her  more  than  life. 
Her  soul's  first  idol  and  its  last. 

Lies  bleeding  in  that  murderous  strife. 
But  see — what  moves  upon  the  height? 
some  signal ! — 'tis  a  torch's  light. 

What  bodes  its  solitary  glare  ? 
'n  gasping  silence  tow'rd  the  shrine 
Ml  eyes  are  turn'd — thine,  Hinda,  thine 

Fi.\  their  last  filling  life-beam  there. 
Twas  but  a  moment — fierce  and  high 
The  death-pile  blaz'd  into  the  sky. 
And  far  away  o'er  rock  and  flood 

Its  melancholy  radiance  sent ; 
Wliile  Hafed,  like  a  vision,  stood 
Reveal'd  before  the  burning  pyre. 


Tall,  shadowy,  like  a  Spnit  of  Fire 
Shrin'd  in  its  own  grand  element ! 

"  "I'ls  he  !" — the  shuddering  maid  exclaims, — 
But,  while  she  speaks,  he  's  seen  no  more ; 

High  burst  in  air  the  funeral  flames. 
And  Iran's  hopes  and  hers  are  o'er  ! 

One  wild,  heart-broken  shriek  she  gave — 
Then  sprung,  as  if  to  reach  the  blaze, 
Where  still  she  fix'd  iier  dying  gaze, 
Ai»l,  gazing,  sunk  into  the  wave, — 
Deep,  deep, — where  never  care  or  pain 
ibhall  reach  her  innocent  heart  again ! 


Farewell — farewell  to  thee,  Akabv's  daughter! 

(Thus  warbled  a  I'eiu  beneath  the  dark  sea :) 
No  pearl  ever  lay,  under  O.ma.n's  green  water, 

More  pure  hi  its  shell  than  thy  spirit  in  thee. 

Oh  I  fair  as  the  sea-flower  close  to  thee  growing. 
How  light  was  thy  heart 'till  Love's  witchery  canio. 

Like  the  wind  of  the  south'  o'era  summer  lute  blowii,^ 
And  hush'd  all  its  music  and  wither'd  its  frame  I 

But  long,  upon  Araby's  green  sunny  highlands, 
Shall  maids  and  tlieir  lovers  remember  the  doom 

Of  her,  who  lies  sleeping  among  the  I'earl  Islands, 
With  nought  but  the  sea-star-  to  light  up  her  tomb. 

And  still,  when  the  meriy  date-season  is  burning. 
And  calls  to  the  palm-groves  the  young  and  the  old,' 

The  happiest  there,  from  their  pastime  returning, 
At  sunset,  will  weep  when  thy  story  is  told. 

The  young  village  maid,   when   with  flowers  sb? 
dresses 

Her  dark  flowing  hair  for  some  festival  day, 
Will  think  of  thy  fate  till,  neglecting  her  tresses. 

She  mournfully  turns  from  the  mirror  away. 

Nor  shall  Irax,  belov'd  of  her  Hero  I  forget  thee,— 
Though  tyrants  watch  over  her  tears  as  they  siari, 

Close,  close  by  the  side  of  that  Hero  she'll  set  thee, 
Embalm'd  in  the  innermost  shrine  of  her  heart. 

Farewell — be  it  ours  to  embellish  thy  pillow 

Whh  every  thing  beauteous  that  grows  in  the  deep; 

Each  flower  of  the  rock  and  each  gem  of  the  billow 
Shall  sweeten  thy  bed  and  illumine  thy  sleep. 

Around  thee  shall  glisten  the  loveliest  amber 
That  ever  the  sorrowing  sea-bird  has  wept  ;* 

With  many  a  shell,  in  whose  hollow-wreath'd  chamber 
We,  Peris  of  Ocean,  by  moonlight  have  slept. 

We'll  dive  where  the  gardens  of  coral  lie  darkling, 
And  plant  all  the  rosiest  stems  at  thy  head ; 


1  "Tills  wind  (the  Sanioor)  so  sofli^ns  the  strings  of  lutes, 
ihat  they  can  never  be  tuned  whili  it  la.s\s."—i>tcjj/u7i'i 
Persia. 

'2  "  One  of  the  greatest  curiosities  found  in  the  Persiar 
(lulf  is  a  tish  which  the  Enghsh  call  Star-tish.  It  is  circu- 
lar, and  at  night  very  luminous,  resembling  llie  full  niuoo 
surrounded  by  rays." — Jlirza  Jibu  Talcb. 

3  For  a  description  of  the  merriment  of  the  date-time,  of 
their  work,  their  dances,  and  their  return  home  from  the 
palm-groves  at  the  end  of  autumn  with  the  fruits,  see 
Kempfcr,  .'Imtenitat,  F.iot. 

4  Some  naturalisis  have  imagined  Ihat  amber  is  a  cjncre 
lion  of  the  tears  of  birds. — See  Vreooux,  Chamhers 


76 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


We'll  seek  wheie  the  sands   of  the   Caspian'    are 
sparkling, 
And  gather  tlielr  gold  to  strew  over  thy  bed. 

Farewell — farewell — until  Pity's  sweet  fountain 
Is  lost  in  tlie  hearts  of  the  fair  and  the  brave, 

They'll  weep  for  the   Clrieftain  who   died   on  that 
mountain, 
They'll  weep  forthe  Maiden  who  sleeps  in  tliis  wave. 


The  singular  placidity  with  v,'hich  Fadladeen 
had  listened,  during  the  latter  part  of  this  obnoxious 
story,  surprised  the  Princess  and  Feramorz  exceed- 
ingly ;  and  even  inclined  towards  him  the  hearts  of 
lliese  unsuspicious  young  persons,  who  little  knew 
the  source  of  a  complacency  so  marvellous.  The 
truth  was,  he  had  been  organizing,  for  the  last  few 
days,  a  most  notable  plan  of  persecution  against  the 
poet,  in  consequence  of  some  passages  that  had  liil- 
leii  from  him  on  the  second  evening  of  recital,  which 
appeared  to  this  worthy  Chamberlain  to  contain  lan- 
guage and  principles,  for  which  nothing  sliort  of  the 
summary  criticism  of  the  Ciiabuk*  would  be  advisa- 
ble. It  was  his  intention,  tlierefoie,  immediately  on 
their  arrival  at  Caslimere,  to  give  information  to  the 
king  of  Bucharia  of  tlie  very  dangerous  sentiments 
of  his  minstrel;  and  if,  unfortunately,  that  monarch 
did- not  act  with  suitable  vigour  on  the  occasion,  (that 
IS,  if  he  did  not  give  the  Chabuk  to  Feramorz,  and 
a  place  to  Fadladeen,)  there  would  be  an  end,  he 
feared,  of  all  legitimate  government  in  Bucharia.  He 
could  not  help,  however,  auguring  better  bolii  for 
himself  and  the  cause  of  potentates  in  general ;  and 
it  was  tlie  pleasure  arising  from  these  mingled  antici- 
pations that  ditt'used  such  unusual  satisfaction  through 
his  features,  and  made  his  eyes  shine  out,  like  poppies 
of  the  desert,  over  the  wide  and  lifeless  wilderness 
of  that  countenance 

Having  decided  upon  the  Poet's  chastisement  in 
this  manner,  lie  thougiit  it  but  humanity  to  spare  hiin 
the  minor  tortures  of  criticism.  Accordingly,  when 
ihey  assembled  next  evening  in  the  pavilion,  and 
Lalla  Rookh  expected  to  see  all  the  beauties  of  her 
bard  melt  away,  one  by  one,  in  the  acidity  of  criti- 
cism, like  pearls  in  the  cup  of  the  Egyptian  Queen — 
he  agreeably  disappointed  her  by  merely  saying,  with 
an  ironical  smile,  that  the  merits  of  such  a  poem  de- 
served to  be  tried  at  a  much  higher  tribunal ;  and  then 
suddenly  passing  off  into  a  panegyric  upon  all  Mus- 
sulman sovereigns,  more  particularly  his  august  and 
imperial  master,  Aurungzebe — the  wisest  and  best  of 
llie  descendants  of  Timur — who,  among  other  great 
things  he  had  done  for  mankind,  had  given  to  him, 
Fadladeen,  the  very  prolitable  posts  of  Betel-car- 
rier and  Taster  of  Slierbets  to  the  Emperor,  Chief 
Holder  of  the  (iirdle  of  Beautiful  Forms,'  and  Grand 
Nazir,  or  (Jhambcrlain  of  the  llaram. 

They   were   now   not  far  from  that  forbidden  ri- 


1  "Tlio  Imy  ol'  KiisiOiirke,  wliicli  is  otlicrwise  called  the 
Golilftfi  l{ay,  tliu  sanil  wlieiool'  slilnes  as  liiu." — Utruy. 

'.'  "  The  iipplicutiuii  of  wlii|is  or  rods." — Dubois. 

'S  Keiiiplbr  inuiilirjiis  su(;li  an  oHicer  among  the  iittendiinls 
of  tlie  King  of  Persia,  and  culls  liiin,  "forrnu!  corporis  csti- 
malor."  liiu  business  was,  at  stated  periods,  to  measure 
'in  ladies  of  the  Haram  by  a  sort  of  regulation  girdle,  whoso 


ver,'  beyond  which  no  pure  Hindoo  can  pass;  .and 
were  reposing  for  a  time  in  the  rich  valley  of  Hussun 
Abdaul,  which  had  always  been  a  favourite  resting- 
place  of  the  emperors  in  their  annual  migrations  to 
Cash:nere.  Here  often  had  the  Light  of  the  Faith, 
Jehanguire,  wandered  with  his  beloved  and  beautiful 
Nourmahal ,  and  here  would  Lalla  Rookh  have 
been  happy  to  remain  for  ever,  giving  up  the  throne 
of  Bucharia  and  the  world,  for  Feramorz  and  love 
in  this  sweet  lonely  valley.  The  time  was  now  fas' 
approaching  when  she  must  see  him  no  longer — oi 
see  him  with  eyes  whose  every  look  belonged  to 
another ;  and  there  was  a  melancholy  preciousness  in 
these  last  moments,  which  made  her  heart  cling  to 
them  as  it  would  to  life.  During  the  latter  part  of 
the  journey,  indeed,  she  had  sunk  into  a  deep  sadness, 
from  which  nothing  but  the  presence  of  the  young 
minstrel  could  awake  her.  Like  those  lamps  in 
tombs,  which  only  ligiit  up  when  the  air  is  admitted, 
it  was  only  at  his  approach  that  her  eyes  became 
smiling  and  animated.  But  here,  in  this  dear  valley, 
every  moment  was  an  age  of  pleasure ;  she  saw  him 
all  day,  and  was,  therefore,  all  day  happy — resem- 
bling, she  often  thought,  that  people  ol'  Zinge,  who 
attribute  the  unfading  cheerfulness  they  enjoy  to  one 
genial  star  that  rises  nightly  over  their  heads.^ 

The  whole  party,  indeed,  seemed  in  their  liveliest 
mood  during  the  few  days  they  passed  in  this  delight- 
ful solitude.  The  young  attendants  of  the  Princess, 
who  were  here  allowed  a  freer  range  than  they  could 
safely  be  indulged  with  in  a  less  sequestered  place, 
ran  wild  among  the  gardens,  and  bounded  through 
the  meadows,  lightly  as  young  roes  over  the  aromatic 
plains  of  Tibet.  While  Fadladeen,  beside  the  spi- 
ritual comfort  he  derived  from  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
tomb  of  the  Saint  from  whom  the  valley  is  named, 
had  opportunities  of  gratifying,  in  a  small  way,  his 
taste  for  victims,  by  putting  to  death  some  hundreds 
of  those  unfortunate  little  lizards,  which  all  pious 
3Iussulmans  make  it  a  point  to  kill ; — taking  for 
granted,  that  the  manner  in  which  the  creature  hangs 
Its  head  is  meant  as  a  mimicry  of  the  attitude  lu 
wliich  the  Faithful  say  their  prayers  ! 

About  two  miles  from  Hussun  Abdaul  were  those 
Royal  Gardens,  which  had  grown  beautiful  under  the 
care  of  so  many  lovely  eyes,  and  were  beautiful  still, 
though  those  eyes  could  see  them  no  longer.  This 
place,  with  its  flowers  and  its  holy  silence,  interrupted 
only  by  the  dipping  of  the  wings  of  birds  in  its  mar- 
ble basins  tilled  with  the  pure  water  of  those  hills, 
was  to  Lalla  Rookh  all  that  her  heart  could  fiincy 
of  fragrance,  coolness,  and  almost  heavenly  tran- 
quillity. As  tlie  Propliet  said  of  Damascus,  "  it  was 
too  delicious ;" — and  here,  in  listening  to  tlie  swee. 
voice  of  Feramorz,  or  reading  in  his  eyes  what  ye( 
he  never  dared  to  tell  her,  the  most  exquisite  moments 
of  her  whole  life  were  passed.  Onf>  evening,  when 
they  had  been  talking  of  the  Sultana  Nourmahal — 
the  Light  of  the  Haram,'  who  had  so  often  wandered 


limits  It  was  not  llujuglil  giacet'iil  to  exceeil.  IT  :uiv  of 
them  outgrew  this  standard  ol'snupe,  lliuy  were  reducuil  bj 
abstinence  till  tliey  came  vvitliin  its  bonmJs. 

1  The  Attock. 

2  The  star  Solieil,  or  Canopus. 

3  JS'oiirnialial  signilies  Light  of  the   Haram.     She  wa» 
afterwards  called  Nourjehaii,  or  the  Light  of  the  World 


LALLA  ROOKII. 


77 


among  these  flowers,  and  fed  with  her  own  hands,  in 
those  marble  basins,  the  small  shining  fishes  of  which 
she  was  so  foiKJ,' — the  youth,  in  order  to  delay  the 
moment  of  aopa ration,  proposed  to  recite  u  sliort  story, 
or  rather  rhapsody,  of  which  this  adored  Sultana  was 
the  heroine.  It  related,  he  said,  to  the  reconcilement 
of  a  sort  of  lovers'  quarrel,  which  took  place  between 
her  and  the  Emperor  during  a  Feast  of  Hoses  at  Cash- 
mere ;  and  would  remind  the  Princess  of  that  difter- 
ence  between  llaroun-al-Raschid  and  his  fair  mistress 
Marida,  which  was  so  happijy  made  up  by  the  sod 
strains  of  the  musician,  IMoussali.  As  the  story  was 
chieHy  to  be  told  m  song,  and  Fkhamorz  had  un- 
luckily forgotten  his  own  lute  in  the  valley,  he  bor- 
rowed the  vina  of  Lalla  liooKii's  little  Persian 
shne   and  thus  began  : — 

THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HARAM. 


Who  has  not  heard  of  the  Vale  of  Cashmere, 

With  its  roses,  the  brightest  that  earth  ever  gave,^ 
Its  temples  and  grottos,  and  fountains  as  clear 
As  the  love-lighted  eyes  that  hang  over  their  wave  ? 

Oh  !  to  see  it  at  sunset, — when  warm  o'er  the  Lake 

Its  splendour  at  parting  a  summer  eve  throws, 
Like  ?  Dride  full  of  blushes,  when  lingering  to  take 

A  last  look  of  her  mirror  at  night  ere  she  goes  ! — 
When  the  shrines  through  the  foliage  are  gleaming 

half  shown, 
And  each  hallows  the  hour  by  some  rites  of  its  own. 
Here  the  music  of  pray'r  from  a  minaret  swells, 

Here  the  magian  his  urn  full  of  perfume  is  swinging, 
And  here,  at  the  altar,  a  zone  of  sweet  bells 

Round  tlie  waist  of  some   fair  Indian  dancer  is 
ringing.'' 
Or  to  see      by  moonlight, — when  mellowly  shines 
The  light  o'er  its  palaces,  gardens  and  shrines; 
When  the  water-falls  gleam  like  a  quick  fall  of  stars. 
And  the  nightingale's  hymn  from  the  Isle  of  Chenars 
Is  broken  by  laughs  and  light  echoes  of  feet 
From  the  cool,  shining  walks  where  the  young  peo- 
ple meet : — 
Or  at  morn,  when  the  magic  of  daylight  awakes 
A  new  wonder  each  minute,  as  slowly  it  breaks. 
Hills,  cupolas,  fountains,  call'd  forth  every  one 
Oat  of  darkness,  as  they  were  just  born  of  the  Sun. 
When  the  Spirit  of  Fragrance  is  up  with  the  day. 
From  his  llaram  of  night-Howers  stealing  away  ; 
And  the  wind,  full  of  wantonness,  woos,  like  a  lover, 
The  young  aspen-trees"  till  they  tremble  all  over. 
When  the  East  is  as  warm  as  the  light  of  first  hopes. 

And  Day,  with  his  banner  of  radiance  unfurl'd. 
Shines  in  througli  the  mountainous'  portal  tliat  opes, 

Sublime,  from  that  valley  of  bliss  to  tlie  world  1 


1  See  Hole,   |).  05. 

2  "  The  ruse  of  Knshmire,  for  its  brilliancy  and  delicacy 
of  colour  has  I0115;  heeii  proverbial  in  the  East." — Far.slir. 

3  "  Tied  round  her  waist  tiie  zone  of  bells,  that  sounded 
with  ravishing  melody." — tioiin^  of  Jayadcva. 

4  "The  liltie  ishs  in  the  Lake  of  Cacheinire  are  set  with 
Hrhisurs  and  hiige-leaved  aspen-trees,  slender  and  tall." — 

.S  "The  Tuckt  Puliman,  the  name  bestowed  by  the  Ma- 
nometans  on  this  hill,  forms  one  side  of  a  grand  portal  to 
the  Lake." — Forstcr 


But  never  yet,  by  night  or  day. 
In  dew  of  spring  or  summer's  ray, 
Did  the  sweet  Valley  shine  so  gay 
As  now  it  shines — all  love  and  light, 
Visions  by  day  and  feasts  by  night! 
A  happier  smile  illumes  each  brow. 

With  quicker  spread  each  heart  unclosei, 
And  all  is  ecstasy, — for  now 

The  Valley  holds  its  Feast  of  Roses.' 
That  joyous  time,  when  pleasures  pour 
Profusely  round,  and  in  their  shower 
Hearts  open,  like  the  Season's  Rose, — 

The  flowret  of  a  hundred  leaves,* 
E.\panding  while  the  dew-fiill  flows, 

And  every  leaf  its  balm  receives  ! 
'Twas  when  ths  hour  of  evening  came 

Upon  the  Lake,  serene  and  cool. 
When  Day  had  hid  his  sultry  flame 

Pehind  the  palms  of  Hara.moule.' 
When  maids  began  to  lift  their  heads, 
RefVesh'd,  from  their  cmbroider'd  beds. 
Where  they  had  slept  the  sun  away. 
And  wak'd  to  moonlight  and  to  play. 
All  were  abroad — the  busiest  hive 
On  Bela's*  hills  is  less  alive 
When  satlron  beds  are  full  in  flower, 
Than  look'd  the  Valley  at  that  hour 
A  thousand  restless  torches  play'd 
Through  every  grove  and  island  shade ; 
A  thousand  sparkling  lamps  were  set 
On  every  dome  and  minaret ; 
And  fields  and  pathways,  far  and  near, 
Were  lighted  by  a  blaze  so  clear. 
That  you  could  see,  in  wandering  round. 
The  smallest  rose-leaf  on  the  ground. 
Yet  did  the  maids  and  matrons  leave 
Their  veils  at  home,  that  brilliant  eve ; 
And  there  were  glancing  eyes  about. 
And  cheeks,  that  would  not  dare  shine  out 
In  open  day,  but  thought  they  might 
Look  lovely  then,  because  'twas  night ! 
And  all  were  free,  and  wandering. 

And  all  exclaim'd  to  all  they  met 
That  never  did  the  summer  bring 

So  gay  a  Feast  of  Roses  yet ; — 
The  moon  had  never  shed  a  light 

So  clear  as  that  which  bless'd  them  there ; 
The  roses  ne'er  shone  half  so  bright, 

Nor  they  themselves  look'd  half  so  fair 
And  what  a  wilderness  of  flowers  ! 
It  seem'd  as  though  from  all  the  bowers 
And  fairest  fields  of  all  the  year. 
The  mingled  spoil  were  scatter'd  here. 
The  Lake,  too,  like  a  garden  breathe.s. 

With  the  rich  buds  that  o'er  it  lie, 
As  if  a  shower  of  fairy  wreaths 

Had  fall'n  upon  it  from  the  sky ! 

And  then  the  sounds  of  joy — the  beat 
Of  tabors  and  of  dancing  feet ; — 


1  "The  Feast  of  Roshs  continues  the  whole  time  of  tliKW 
remaining  in  bloom." — See  Piet.ro  de  la  Vallf. 

2  "  (Jul  sad  berk,  the  Ro.se  of  a  hundred  leaves.  I  belinv« 
a  particular  species." — Ouseley. 

3  Uernier. 

4  A  place  mentioned  in  the  Tooze'.t  .lehanecery,  or  Mo 
moirs  of  .lehanguire,  where  there  in  m  account  ol'  tlie  beds 
of  salVron  flowers  about Caslimeru 


78 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  miiiaret-cryer's  chaunt  of  glee 

Sung  from  his  hghted  gallery,' 

And  ansuer'd  by  a  ziialeet 

From  neighbouring  Ilaram,  wild  and  sweet ; — 

The  merry  laughter,  echoing 

From  gardens,  where  the  silken  swing 

Wafts  some  delighted  girl  above 

The  top  leaves  of  the  orange  grove ; 

Or,  from  those  infant  groups  at  play 

Among  the  tents-  that  line  the  way, 

Flinging,  unaw'd  by  slave  or  mother, 

Ilandfuls  of  roses  at  each  other  ! — 

And  the  sounds  from  the  Lake, — the  low  whisp'ring 
boats. 
As  they  shoot  through  the  moonlight ; — the  dipping 
of  oars. 
And  the  wild,  airy  warbling  that  every  where  floats, 
Through  the  groves,  round  the  islands,  as  if  all  the 
shores 
Like  those  of  Kathay  utter'd  music,  and  gave 
An  answer  in  song  to  the  kiss  of  each  wave  !^ 
But  the  gentlest  of  all  are  those  sounds,  full  of  feeling, 
That  soft  from  the  lute  of  some  lover  are  stealing, — 
Some  lover,  who  knows  all  the  heart-touching  power 
Of  a  lute  and  a  sigh  in  this  magical  hour. 
Oh  !  best  of  deUghts,  as  it  every  where  is, 
To  be  near  the  lov'd  One, — what  a  rapture  is  his 
Who  in  moonlight  and  music  thus  sweetly  may  glide 
O'er  the  Lake  of  Cashmere,  with  that  One  by  his  side  ! 
If  Woman  can  make  the  worst  wilderness  dear. 
Think,  think  what  a  heav'n  she  must  make  of  Cash- 
mere! 

So  felt  the  magnificent  Son  of  Acbar,* 

When  from  power  and  pomp  and  the  trophies  of  war 

He  tiew  to  that  Valley,  forgetting  them  all 

Wi'.h  the  Light  of  the  Haram,  his  young  Nourmahal. 

When  free  and  uncrown'd  as  the  Conqueror  rov'd 

By  the  banks  of  that  Lake,  with  his  only  belov'd, 

Ele  saw,  in  the  wreaths  she  would  playfully  snatch 

From  the  hedges,  a  glory  his  crown  could  not  match. 

And  preferr'd  in  his  heart  the  least  ringlet  that  curl'd 

Down  her  exquisite  neck  to  the  throne  of  the  world  ! 

There  's  a  beauty,  for  ever  unchangingly  bright. 
Like  the  long,  sunny  lapse  of  a  summer-day's  light, 
Shining  on,  shining  on,  by  no  shadow  made  tender, 
Till  Love  falls  asleep  in  its  sameness  of  splendour. 
This  was  not  the  beauty — oh  I  nothing  like  this, 
That  to  young  Nourmahal  gave  such  magic  of  bliss; 
But  that  loveliness,  ever  in  motion,  which  plays 
Like  the  light  upon  Autumn's  soft  shadowy  days, 


1  "It  is  the  cusloin  :iiii<ing  tlie  women  to  iiii|ili)y  llir 
Maazccn  to  (rliaiiiil  iVoiii  llie  gallirj'  of  llie  iieaiost  ininur(  t. 
which  on  lliiit  occasion  is  illuiiiiiKLtiHl,  uml  tlio  w  Jinen  ;is 
scinbled  at  the  house  respond  at  intervals  witli  a  ziralout  or 
jiryoos  '  liorns." — liussiLl. 

2  '■  \t  llic  keeping  of  tlie  Feiist  of  Roses  we  lull' Id  an 
iiifinilii  number  of  lenls  pitched,  with  such  a  crowd  of  njen, 
women,  hoys  and  girls,  with  nmsic,  dunces,"  olr.  etc. — 
llirbrrl. 

:!  "  .All  old  coinmenlntor  of  the  Chou-King  says,  the  an- 
jienls  having  remarked  that  a  current  of  water  made  some 
nf  the  si  ones  near  its  h  inks  send  forth  a  sound,  they  detached 
ionic  of  ilieiii,  and  being  iliartnrd  with  the  delightful  .sound 
liey  emitted,  coiii<lrucled  King  or  musical  instruments  of 
'I'jrn." — flrii.iirr 
\   lehanguire  "'as  the  Hon  of  the  Great  Acbar 


Now  here,  and  now  there,  giving  warmth  as  it  flies 
From  the  lips  to  me  cheeks,  from  the  cheek  to  ti 

eyes. 
Now  melting  in  mist  and  now  breaking  in  gleams, 
Like  the  glimpses  a  saint  hath  of  Heav'n  in  his  dreams 
When  pensive  it  seem'd  as  if  tliat  very  grace, 
That  charm  of  all  others,  was  born  with  her  face ; 
And  when  angry, — for  e'en  in  the  tranquillest  clime* 
Light  breezes  will  ruffle  the  blossoms  sometimes — 
The  short  passing  anger  but  seem'd  to  awaken 
New  beauty,  like   flowers   that  are  sweetest  when 

shaken. 
If  tenderness  touch  d  her,  the  dark  of  her  eye 
At  once  took  a  darker,  a  heavenlier  dye. 
From  the  depth  of  whose  shadow,  like  holy  revealings 
From  innermost  shrmes,  came  the  light  of  her  feelings. 
Then  her  mirth — oh  !  'twas  sportive  as  ever  took  wing 
From  the  heart  with  a  burst,  like  a  wild-bird  in  Spring : 
lllum'd  by  a  wit  that  would  fascinate  sages, 
Yet  playful  as  Peris  just  loos'd  from  their  cages.' 
While  her  laugh,  full  of  life,  without  any  controul 
But  the  sweet  one  of  gracefulness,  rung  from  her  soul; 
And  where  it  most  sparkled  no  glance  could  discover 
In  lip,  cheek,  or  eyes,  for  she  brighten'd  all  over, — 
Like  any  fair  lake  that  the  breeze  is  upon, 
When  it  breaks  into  dimples  and  laughs  in  the  sun. 
Such,  such  were  the  peerless  enchantments  that  gave 
Nourmahal  the  proud  Lord  of  the  East,  for  her  slave  . 
And  though  bright  was  his  Haram, — a  living  parterre 
Of  the  flowers'-  of  this  planet — though  treasures  were 

there, 
For  which  Soliman's  self  might  have  given  all  the 

store 
That  the  navy  from  Ophir  e'er  wing'd  to  his  shore, 
Yet  dim  before  her  were  the  smiles  of  them  all, 
And  the  Light  of  his  Haram  was  young  Nourmahal. 

But  where  is  she  now,  this  night  of  joy, 

When  bliss  is  every  heart's  employ  ? — 

When  all  around  her  is  so  bright, 

So  like  the  visions  of  a  trance. 

That  one  might  think,  who  came  by  chance 

Into  the  vale  tliis  happy  night, 

He  saw  the  ('ity  of  Delight'' 

In  fairy-land,  whose  streets  and  towers 

Are  made  of  gems  and  liglit  and  flowers ! 

Where  is  the  lov'd  Sultana  ?  where, 

When  mirth  brings  out  the  young  and  fair. 

Does  she,  the  fairest,  hide  her  brow. 

In  melancholy  stillness  now  ? 

Alas — how  light  a  cause  may  move 

Dissensions  between  hearts  that  love  ! 

Hearts  that  the  world  in  vain  had  tried ; 

And  sorrow  but  more  closely  tied  ; 

That  stood  the  storm,  when  waves  were  rough. 

Yet  in  a  sunny  hour  fall  off. 

Like  ships  that  have  gone  down  at  sea. 

When  heav'n  was  all  tranquillity  ! 


1  "  In  the  wars  of  the  Oives  with  the  I'eris,  whenever  the 
former  took  the  latter  prisoners,  they  shut  thiMii  up  in  iron 
cases,  and  hung  them  on  the  highest  trees.  Here  they  wer*- 
visited  by  I  heir  companions,  who  broughlt  them  the  ciioicest 
odours." — Hichardson. 

'2  In  the  Malay  language  the  same  word  signifies  womec 
and  llow.rs. 

3  The  capital  of  Shadukiam.     See  nolo,  p.  54 


LALLA.  ROOKH. 


79 


A  something,  light  as  air — a  look, 

A  word  unkind,  or  wrongly  taken^ 
Oh  !  love,  that  tempests  never  shook, 

Al  breath,  a  touch  like  this  hath  shaken. 
And  ruder  words  will  soon  rush  in 
To  spread  the  breach  that  words  begin  : 
And  eyes  forget  the  gentle  ray 
They  wore  in  courtship's  smiling  day  ; 
And  voices  lose  the  tone  that  shed 
A  tenderness  round  all  they  said  ; 
Till  fast  declining,  one  by  one, 
The  sweetnesses  of  love  are  gone, 
And  hearts,  so  lately  mingled,  seem 
Like  broken  clouds, — or  like  the  stream, 
Tliat  smiling  left  the  mountain's  brow. 

As  tiiougli  its  waters  ne'er  could  sever, 
Yet,  ere  it  reach  the  plain  below, 

Breaks  into  floods,  that  part  for  ever. 

Oh  you,  that  have  the  charge  of  Love, 

Keep  him  in  rosy  bondage  bound. 
As  in  the  Fields  of  Bliss  above 

He  sits,  with  flowrets  fctter'd  round;' — 
Loose  not  a  tie  that  round  him  clings. 
Nor  ever  let  him  use  his  wings  ; 
For  ev'n  an  hour,  a  minute's  llight 
Will  rob  the  plumes  of  half  their  light. 
Like  that  celestial  bird, — whose  nest 

Is  found  benejth  far  Eastern  skies, — 
Whose  wings  ;  though  radiant  when  at  rest. 

Lose  all  their  glory  when  he  Hies  !- 
Some  ditferer.re,  of  this  dangerous  kind, — 
By  which,  though  light,  the  links  that  bind 
The  fondcf t  hearts  may  soon  be  riven ; 
Some  sh;iJ)w  in  love's  summer  heaven, 
Which,  though  a  fleecy  speck  at  first, 
IMay  yrt  in  awful  thunder  burst ; — 
Such  c'pud  it  is,  that  now  hangs  over 
The  heart  of  the  Imperial  Lover, 
And  far  hath  banish'd  from  his  sight 
His  NouRMAHAL,  his  Haram's  Light ! 
Hence  is  it,  on  this  happj'  night, 
When  Pleasure  through  the  fields  and  groves 
Has  let  loose  all  her  world  of  loves. 
And  every  heart  has  found  its  own, — 
He  wanders,  joyless  and  alone. 
And  weary  as  that  bird  of  Thrace, 
Whose  pinion  knows  no  resting-place.' 
In  vain  the  loveliest  cheeks  and  eyes 
This  Eden  of  the  earth  supplies 

Come  crowding  round — the  cheeks  are  pale. 
The  eyes  are  dim — though  rich  the  spot 
With  every  flower  this  earth  has  got, 

AVTiat  is  it  to  the  nightingale. 
If  there  his  darling  rose  is  not?'' 


1  See  llie  ro|irosem:itinn  of  the  Kastcrn  Cujiirt  pinioned 
closely  round  with  wreaths ot'flowers,  in  l^icart's  Ceremonies 
Relig  lenses. 

2  "  .\nii)ng  the  birds  of'Tonquin  is  a  species  of  goldfinch, 
wliich  sings  so  melodiously  that  it  is  called  the  ("elesli  il  Hird. 
[is  wings,  when  it  is  perched,  appear  variegated  with  beau- 
tiful colours,  but  when  it  flies  they  lose  all  their  splendour." — 
Orofier. 

3  "  As  these  birds  on  the  Bosphorus  are  never  known  to 
test,  t'l'.y  are  called  by  the  French  '  les  anies  damnfees." — 
Dall„way. 

4  "  You  may  place  a  hundred  handfuls  of  fragrant  herbs 
«nd  flowers  before  the  nightingale,  yet  he  wishes  not,  in  his 


In  vain  the  Valley's  smihng  throng 
Worship  him,  as  he  moves  along ; 
He  heeds  them  not — one  smile  of  hers 
Is  worth  a  world  of  worshippers  ; 
They  but  the  Star's  adorers  are. 
She  is  the  Ileav'n  that  lights  the  Star! 

Hence  is  it  too,  that  Nourmaiial, 

Amid  the  luxuries  of  this  hour, 
Far  from  the  joyous  festival. 

Sits  in  her  own  sequester'd  bower, 
With  no  one  near,  to  soothe  or  aid, 
But  that  inspir'd  and  wond'rous  maid, 
Namouna,  the  Enchantress; — one, 
O'er  whom  his  race  the  golden  sun 
For  unremember'd  years  has  run. 
Yet  never  saw  her  blooming  brow 
Younger  or  fairer  than  'tis  now. 
Nay,  rather,  as  the  west  wind's  sigh 
Freshens  the  flower  it  passes  by. 
Time's  wing  but  seem'd,  in  stealing  o'er, 
To  leave  her  lovelier  than  before. 
Yet  on  her  smiles  a  sadness  hung. 
And  when,  as  oft,  she  spoke  or  stmg 
Of  other  worlds,  there  came  a  light 
From  her  dark  eyes  so  strangely  bright. 
That  all  believ'd  nor  man  nor  earth 
Were  conscious  of  Namou.\a's  birth  ! 
All  spells  and  talismans  she  knew. 

From  the  great  Mantra,'  which  aroiuid 
The  Air's  sublimer  Spirits  drew. 

To  the  gold  gems-  of  Akric,  bound 
Upon  the  wandering  Arab's  arm. 
To  keep  him  from  the  Siltim's^  harm. 
And  she  had  plcdg'd  her  powerful  art, 
Pledg'd  it  with  all  the  zeal  and  heart 
Of  one  who  knew,  though  high  her  sphere. 
What  'twas  to  lose  a  love  so  dear. 
To  find  some  spell  that  should  recall 
Her  Seli.m's*^  smile  to  Nour.mahal  ! 

'Twas  midnight — through  the  lattice,  wreath'd 
With  woodbine,  manj'  a  perfume  breath'd 
From  plants  that  wake  when  others  sleep, 
From  timid  jasmine  buds,  that  keep 
Their  odour  to  themselves  all  day. 
But,  when  the  sun-light  dies  away. 
Let  the  delicious  secret  out 
To  every  breeze  that  roams  about ; — 
When  thus  NAMOtJNA  : — "  'Tis  the  houi 
That  scatters  spells  on  herb  and  flower, 
And  garlands  might  be  gather'd  now. 
That,  twin'd  around  the  sleeper's  brow. 
Would  make  him  dream  of  such  delights, 
Such  miracles  and  dazzling  sights. 


constant  liiart,  for  more  th.m  the  swbet  breath  of  his  be 
loved  rose." — ./ami. 

1  "  He  is  said  to  have  found  the  great  jWantri,  spell  oi 
talisman,  through  which  lie  ruled  over  the  elements  and 
spirits  of  all  dinominations." — Hi/ford. 

2  "The  gidd  jewels  of  .luinle,  wlijoh  are  called  by  tlip 
Arabs  El  Herrez,  from  the  supposed  charm  they  contain." — 
.liickson. 

3  "  A  demon,  supposed  to  haunt  woods,  &c.  in  b  hurnnn 
shape." — Kichnrdson. 

4"  The  name  of  Jehanguiro  before  his  accession  to  tlis 
throne. 


80 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


As  Genii  of  the  Sun  behold. 
At  evening,  from  their  tents  of  gold 
Upon  the  horizon — where  they  plaj 
Till  twilight  comes,  and,  ray  by  ray, 
Their  siiuuy  mansions  melt  away  ! 
Now,  too,  a  chaplet  might  be  wreath'd 
Of  buds  o'er  which  the  moon  has  breath'd. 
Which  worn  by  her,  whose  love  has  stray'd, 

Might  bring  some  Peri  from  the  skies, 
Some  sprite,  whose  very  soul  is  made 

Of  flowrets'  breaths,  and  lovers'  sighs, 
And  who  might  tell '1 

"  For  me,  for  me," 
Cried  Nourmahal  impatiently, — 
"  Oh  !  twine  that  wreath  for  me  to-night." 
Then  rapidly,  with  foot  as  hght 
As  the  young  musk-roe's,  out  she  flew 
To  cull  each  sliining  leaf  that  grew. 
Beneath  the  moonlight's  hallowing  beams 
For  this  enchanted  Wreath  of  Dreams. 
Anemones  and  Seas  of  (iold,' 

And  new-blown  lilies  of  the  river, 
And  those  sweet  flowrets,  that  unfold 

Their  buds  on  Camedeva's  quiver;^ — 
The  tube-rose,  with  her  silvery  light, 

That  in  the  Gardens  of  Malay 
Is  call'd  the  Mistress  of  the  Night,' 
So  like  a  bride,  scented  and  bright, 

She  comes  out  when  the  sun's  away. — 
Amaranths,  such  as  crown  the  maids 
That  wander  through  Zamara's  shades;* — 
And  the  white  moon-flower,  as  it  shows 
On  Serendih's  high  crags  to  thpse 
Who  near  the  isle  at  evening  sail. 
Scenting  her  clove-trees  in  the  gale  ; — 
\n  short,  all  flowrets  and  all  plants, 

From  the  divine  Amrita  tree,^ 
That  blesses  heaven's  inhabitants 

With  fruits  of  immortality, 
Down  to  the  basil''  tuft,  that  waves 
Its  fragrant  blossom  over  graves, 

And  to  the  humble  rosemary, 
Whose  sweets  so  thanklessly  are  shed 
To  scent  the  desert' — and  the  dead, — 
All  in  that  garden  bloom,  and  all 
Are  gather'd  by  young  Nour.maiial, 


WTio  heaps  her  baskets  with  the  flowers 
And  leaves,  till  they  can  hold  no  more, 

Then  to  Namou.na  Hies,  and  showers 
Upon  her  lap  the  shining  store. 

With  what  delight  th'  Enchantress  views 

So  many  buds,  bath'd  with  the  dews 

And  beams  of  that  bless'd  hour  ! — her  glance 

Spoke  something,  past  all  mortal  pleasures. 
As,  in  a  kind  of  holy  trance, 

She  hung  above  those  fragrant  treasures, 
Bending  to  drink  their  balmy  airs. 
As  if  she  mix'd  her  soul  with  theirs. 
And  'twas,  indeed,  the  perfume  shed 
From  flow'rs  and  scented  flame  that  fed 
Her  charmed  life — for  none  had  e'er 
Beheld  her  taste  of  mortal  fare, 
Nor  ever  in  aught  earthly  dip. 
But  the  morn's  dew,  her  roseate  lip. 
Fill'd  with  the  cool,  inspiring  smell, 
Th'  Enchantress  now  begins  her  spell, 
Thus  singing,  as  she  winds  and  weaves 
In  mystic  form  the  glittering  leaves  — 


1  "  Hcma.-iagiire,  or  the  Soa  <it"  Gold,  with  flowers  of  the 
brightest  gold  colour." — sir  IV.  ./ones. 

2  "  'I'his  tree  (the  Niigacusara)  is  one  of  the  most  de- 
lightful on  earth,  and  Ihi;  deMcious  odour  of  its  blossoms 
justly  gives  thecn  a  place  in  the  quiver  of  Caniadcva,  orthe 
God  of  l/ove." — Id. 

3  "  The  M;\layans  style  the  tube-rose  (Polianthes  tiibe- 
rosa)  Sandal  Maiam,  or  the  Mistress  of  the  Nighl." — Feji- 
nant. 

4  The  people  of  the  Batta  country  in  Sumatra  (of  which 
/amara  is  one  of  the  ancii'nl  names)  "when  not  engaged  in 
war,  lead  an  idle,  Inactive  life,  passing  the  day  in  playing  on 
a  Kind  of  flute,  crowned  witli  garlands  of  flowers,  among 
which  the  globe-amaranthus,  a  native  of  the  country,  most- 
ly (irevails." — Mar.idim. 

r>  "  The  largest  and  richest  sort  (of  the  Jambu  or  rose- 
apple)  is  called  Annita  or  inmiortal,  and  the  mythologists 
of  Tibet  ajiply  the  same  word  to  a  celestial  tree,  bearing 
anihrosial  fruit." — .Sir  IV.  .Junin. 

G  Sweet-basil,  called  Rayhnn  in  Persia,  and  generally 
found  in  church-yardfl. 

7  ■'  In  the  Great  Desert  are  foimd  nuiny  stalks  of  lavendei 
1  id  '■osemarv  " — ^*»'at.  lira. 


I  know  where  the  winged  visions  dwell 

That  around  the  night-bed  play ; 
I  know  each  herb  and  flowret's  bell. 
Where  they  hide  their  wings  by  day. 
Then  hasten  we,  maid. 
To  twine  our  braid. 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade. 
The  image  of  love,  that  nightly  flies 

To  visit  the  bashful  maid. 
Steals  from  the  jasmine  flower,  that  sighs 

its  soul,  like  her,  in  the  shade. 
The  hope,  in  dreams,  of  a  happier  hour  . 

That  alights  on  misery's  brow. 
Springs  out  of  the  silvery  almond-flower, 
That  blooms  on  a  leafless  bough,' 
Then  hasten  we,  maid. 
To  twine  our  braid. 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fada 

The  visions  that  oft  to  worldly  eyes 

The  glitter  of  mines  unfold. 
Inhabit  the  mountain-heib,-^  that  dyes 

The  tooth  of  the  fawn  like  gold. 
The  phantom  shapes — oh  touch  not  them — 

That  appal  the  murderer's  sight, 
Lurk  in  the  fleshy  mantlrake's  stem, 

That  shrieks,  when  torn  at  night ! 
Then  hasten  we,  maid. 
To  twine  our  braid. 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade 

The  dream  of  the  injur'd,  patient  mind, 

Tliat  smiles  at  the  wrongs  of  men. 
Is  found  in  the  bruis'd  and  wounded  rind 
Of  the  cinnainon,  sweetest  then  ! 
Then  hasten  we,  maid. 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade. 


1  "  The  uhnomltree,  wiih  white  flowers,  blossoms  on  lh» 
l)are  branches." —  //<;^.t(7(/H^s•^ 

2  An  herl)  on  Moiuil  l.iibanus,  which  is  said  to  comm'J 
nicate  a  yellow  golden  hue  to  the  teeth  of  the  jo&is  ^n<' 
other  animals  that  graze  ui)on  it. 


No  sooner  was  the  flowery  crown 

Plac'd  on  her  liead,  than  sleep  came  down, 

Gently  as  nights  of  summer  fall, 

Upon  the  liiis  of  Nourm.mial  ; — 

And,  suddenly,  a  tuneful  breeze, 

As  full  of  small,  rich  harmonies 

As  ever  wind,  that  o'er  the  tents 

Of  Azab'  blew,  was  full  of  scents. 

Steals  on  her  ear  and  floats  and  swells. 

Like  the  first  air  of  morning  creeping 
Into  those  wreathy,  Rcd-Sna  shells, 

Wiiere  Love  himself,  of  old,  lay  sleeping;- — 
And  now  a  spirit  forni'd,  'twould  seem, 

Of  music  and  of  light,  so  fair, 
So  brilliantly  his  features  beam, 

And  such  a  sound  is  in  the  air 
Of  sweetness,  when  he  waves  his  wings, 
Hovers  around  her,  and  thus  sings : — 


From  Ciiindara's^  warbling  fount  I  come, 
Call'd  by  that  moonlight  garland's  spell  ; 
^I'rom  Chindaua's  (oimt,  my  fairy  home, 

Where  in  music  morn  and  night,  I  dwell  ; 
Where  lutes  in  the  air  are  heard  about, 

And  voices  are  singing  the  whole  day  long, 
And  every  sigh  the  heart  breathes  out 
Is  turn'd,  as  it  leaves  the  lips,  to  song  ! 
Hither  I  come, 
From  my  fairy  home. 
And  if  there  's  a  magic  in  Music's  strain, 
I  swear  by  the  breath 
Of  that  moonlight  wreath, 
Thy  Lover  shall  sigh  at  thy  feet  again. 

For  mine  is  the  lay  that  lightly  floats, 
And  mine  are  murmuring,  dying  notes. 
That  liill  as  soft  as  snow  on  the  sea, 
And  melt  in  the  heart  as  mstantly  ! 
And  the  passionate  strain  that,  deeply  going, 

Refines  the  bosom  it  trembles  through. 
As  the  musk-wind,  over  the  water  blowing, 

Ruffles  the  wave,  but  sweetens  it  too! 

Mine  is  the  charm,  whose  mystic  sway 

The  Spirits  of  past  Delight  obey: 

Let  but  the  tuneful  talisman  sound, 

And  ihey  come,  like  Genii,  hovering  round. 

As  mine  is  the  gentle  song,  that  bears 

From  soul  to  soul,  the  wishes  of  love. 
As  a  bird,  that  wafts  through  genial  airs 

The  cinnamon  seed  from  grove  to  grove.* 
'Tis  1  that  mingle  in  one  sweet  measure 
The  past,  the  present,  and  future  of  pleasure; 
When  Memory  links  the  tone  that  is  gone 

With  the  blissful  tone  that's  still  in  the  ear; 


1  Thi^  myrrh  ci)"iitry. 

2  "  This  idea  (of  dellios  living  inslieiis;  was  not  unknown 
to  the  GrBeks,  who  npresenl  the  young  Nerlles,  one  of  the 
Cupiils,  us  living  in  shells  on  the  shores  of  ihe  Red  Sea." — 
fVilford. 

3  "  A  fahulous  fountain,  whore  instruments  are  said  to  be 
coii.-lamlv  phiying." — liichardsnn. 

4  •'  The  Pniuiiadour  pigeon  is  the  species,  which,  by 
carrying  the  fruil  of  the  ciriiiainon  to  different  places,  i<  a 
great  dissemmator  of  this  valuable  tree." — See  Brown's 
'lllustr.  Tab.  19. 

F 


.\nd  Hope  from  a  heavenly  note  flies  on. 

To  a  note  more  heavenly  still  that  is  near  I 
The  warrior's  heart,  when  touch'd  by  tne, 
Can  as  downy  soft  and  as  yielding  be. 
As  his  own  white  plume,  that  high  amid  death 
Through   the   field   has   shone — yet   moves   w.tL 

breath. 
And,  oh,  how  the  eyes  of  beauty  glisten, 

W'hen  Music  has  reach'd  her  inward  soul, 
Like  th'  silent  stars,  that  wink  and  listen 
While  Heav'n's  eternal  melodies  roll ! 
So,  hither  I  come. 
From  my  fairy  home, 
And  if  there's  a  magic  in  Music's  strain, 
I  swear  by  the  breath 
Of  that  moonlight  wreath, 
Thy  lover  shall  sigh  at  thy  feet  again. 


'Tis  dawn — at  least  that  earher  dawn, 
Whose  glimpses  arc  again  withdrawn,' 
As  if  the  morn  had  wak'd,  and  then 
Shut  close  her  lids  of  light  again. 
And  NouRMAHAL  is  up,  and  trying 

The  wonders  of  her  lute,  whose  strings- 
Oh  bliss  ! — now  murmur  like  the  sighing 

From  that  ambrosial  Spirit's  wings! 
And  then,  her  voice — 'tis  more  than  human — 
Never,  till  now,  had  it  been  given 
To  lips  of  any  mortal  woman 

To  utter  notes  so  fresh  from  heaven ; 
Sweet  as  the  breath  of  angel  sighs, 

WTicn  angel  sighs  are  most  divine.— 
"  Oh  !  let  it  last  till  night,"  she  cries, 

"  And  he  is  more  than  ever  mine." 
And  hourly  she  renews  the  lay, 

So  fearful  lest  its  heavenly  sweetness 
Should,  ere  the  evening,  fade  away, — 

For  things  so  heavenly  have  such  fleetness  ! 
But,  far  from  fading,  it  but  grows 
Richer,  diviner  as  it  fiows; 
Till  rapt  she  dwells  on  every  string. 
And  pours  again  each  sound  along. 
Like  Echo,  lost  and  languishing 

In  love  with  her  own  wondrous  song. 
That  evening,  (trusiing  that  his  soul 

Might  be  from  haunting  love  releas'd 
By  mirth,  by  music,  and  the  bowl) 

Th'  Imperial  Ski.i.m  hold  a  Feast 
In  his  magnilicent  Shalimar; 
Fn  whose  Saloons,  when  the  first  star 
Of  evening  o'er  the  waters  trembled. 
The  Valley's  loveliest  all  assembled  ; 
\ll  the  bright  creatures  that,  like  dreams. 
Glide  through  its  foliage,  and  drink  beams 
Of  beauty  froin  its  founts  and  streams,^ 
And  all  those  wandering  miiistrel-maids. 
Who  leave — how  cayt  they  leave? — the  shades 
Of  that  dear  Valley,  and  are  found 


1  " 'I'hey  have  two  mornings,  thi'  rjimbhi  Kazim,  and  the 
Soobhi  Sadig,  the  fais''  and  the  real  day-hreuk." — H'aritig. 

:  "  Tlie  waters  of  Cachemir  arc  lh'>  more  renowned  t'oia 
being  supposed  that  the  Cnclienurians  are  indeliteci  ini 
tlieir  beauty  to  ilnin." — .Hi  Yezili 


82 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Singing  in  gardens  of  the  Soutli' 
Those  songs,  that  ne'er  so  sweetly  sound 

As  from  a  young  (^ashmerian's  mouth; 
There  too  the  Harani's  inmates  smile ; — 

Maids  from  the  West,  with  sun-brigiit  hair, 
And  from  the  Garden  of  the  Nile, 

Delicate  as  the  roses  there  ;^ 
Daughters  of  Love  from  Cyprus'  rocks, 
VV'ith  Paphian  diamonds  in  their  locks  i^ 
Light  Peri  forms,  such  as  tliere  are 
On  the  gold  meads  of  Candahar  ;" 
And  they,  before  wliose  sleepy  eyes, 

In  their  own  bright  Kathaian  bowers, 
Sparkle  such  rainbow  butterflies,'' 

That  they  might  fancy  the  rich  flowers, 
That  round  them  in  the  sun  lay  sighingf 
Had  been  by  magic  all  set  flying  ! 

Every  thing  young,  every  thing  fair 
From  East  and  West  is  blushing  there. 
Except — except — oh  Nourmaiial  ! 
Thou  loveliest,  dearest  of  them  all. 
The  one,  whose  smile  slione  out  alone, 
Amidst  a  world  the  only  one  ! 
Whose  light,  among  so  m.iny  lights, 
Was  like  that  star,  on  starry  nights, 
The  seaman  singles  from  the  sky. 
To  steer  his  bark  for  ever  by  ! 
Thou  wert  not  there — so  Selim  thought, 

And  every  thing  seem'd  drear  without  thee : 
But  ah .  thou  wert,  thou  wert — and  brought 

Thy  charm  of  song  all  fresh  about  thee. 
Mingling  unnotic'd  with  a  band 
Of  lutanists  from  many  a  land. 
And  veil'd  by  such  a  mask  as  shades 
The  features  of  young  Arab  maids, — ° 
A  mask  that  leaves  but  one  eye  free, 
To  do  its  best  in  witchery, — 
She  rov'd,  with  beating  heart,  around, 

And  waited,  trembling,  for  the  minute. 
When  she  might  try  if  still  the  sound 

Of  her  lov'd  lute  had  magic  in  it. 

The  board  was  spread  with  fruits  and  wine ; 
With  grai)es  of  gold,  like  those  that  shine 
On  Casuin's  hills  ;" — pomegranates  full 


Of  melting  sweetness,  and  the  pears 
And  sunniest  apples  that  Cauuul' 

In  all  its  thousand  gardens'-  bears. 
Plantains,  the  golden  and  the  green, 
i  Malaya's  nectard  mangustccn  ;' 
Prunes  of  Bokara,  and  sweet  nuts 

From  the  fiir  groves  of  Samarkand, 
And  Basra  dates,  and  apricots. 
Seed  of  the  Sun,*  from  Iran's  land  ; — 
With  rich  conserve  of  Visna  cherries,' 
Of  Orange  flowers,  and  of  those  berries 
That,  wild  and  fresh,  the  young  gazelles 
Feed  on  in  Erac's  rocky  dells." 
All  these  in  richest  vases  smile. 

In  baskets  of  pure  sandal-wood. 
And  urns  of  porcelain  from  that  isle' 

Sunk  underneath  the  Indian  flood, 
Whence  oft  the  lucky  diver  brings 
Vases  to  grace  the  halls  of  kings. 
Wines  too,  of  every  clime  and  hue, 
Around  their  liquid  lustre  threw  ; 
Amber  Rosolli,'' — the  bright  dew 
From  vineyards  of  the  Green-Sea  gushing ;' 
And  Shiraz  wine,  that  richly  ran 

As  if  that  jewel,  large  and  rare. 
The  ruby,  for  which  Cublai-Chan 
Ofter'd  a  city's  wealth,'"  was  blushing 

3Ielted  within  the  goblets  there ! 

And  amply  Selim  quaffs  of  each, 

And  seems  resolv'd  the  floods  shall  reach 

His  inward  heart — shedding  around 

A  genial  deluge,  as  they  run. 
That  soon  shall  leave  no  spot  undrown'd, 

For  Love  to  rest  his  wings  upon. 

He  little  knew  how  well  the  boy 

Can  float  upon  a  goblet's  streams. 
Lighting  them  with  his  smile  of  joy  ; — 

As  bards  have  seen  him,  in  their  dreams, 
Down  the  blue  Ganges  laughing  glide 

Upon  a  rosy  lotus  wreath," 
Catching  new  lustre  from  the  tide 

That  with  his  image  shone  beneath. 


1  "  F'Oin  liiin  I  recL-ivi'il  the  following  little  Gazzel,  or 
Love  Song,  the  notes  ol' which  hn  coniiniited  to  paper  from 
the  voice  of  one  of  those  sinijing  girls  of  Cachnieru,  who 
waniler  Iroin  that  (leliglilCnl  valley  over  llie  various  parts  of 
India." — I'ersian  Misi:i  Uavirs. 

2  "The  roses  of  the  Jinan  Nile,  or  Garden  of  the  Nile, 
(attached  to  the  Emperor  of  Morocco's  palace)  are  une- 
qualled, and  mattresses  are  made  o!' their  leaves  for  men  of 
rank  to  recline  upon." — Jacksun. 

'i  "  On  the  side  of  a  mountain  near  PaphoB  there  is  a 
cavern  which  produces  the  most  beautiful  rock  crystal.   On 
account  of  its  brilliancy  it  has  been  called  the  Paphian  dia- 
ML  m(  nd." — .Variti. 

4  "  'rhete  is  a  part  of  Candahar,  called  Venn,  or  Fairy 
I-and." — Thriuvdt.  In  Bome  of  those  countries  to  the  Nortii 
of  Inilin  vegetal)!!'  gold  is  supposed  to  be  produced. 

5  " 'I'bi^sn  are  ib^'  butterflies,  which  ur(!  called  in  the  Chi- 
nese language  Flyinir  Iii;aves.  Some  of  them  have  such 
shining  colours,  and  are  so  variegated,  that  they  may  he 
callerl  (lying  (lowers;  and  indeed  they  are  always  produced 
in  the  finest  flower-gardens." — Dimn. 

fi  "The  Arabian  women  w.ar  black  masks  with  little 
clasps,  prettily  ordered." — Cnrnri.  Niebuhr  mentions 
(heir  showin;;  i)ut  one  eye  in  conversation. 

7  ''Tlio  golden  grapes  of  ('ashin." — /Jcticrijition  of  Per- 


1  "The  Iruis  exported  from  Caubul  are  apples,  pears, 
ponii-trraiiMtes,  etc." — F.ljihinslune. 

2  "  We  sat  down  under  a  tree,  listened  to  the  birds,  and 
talked  with  the  son  of  our  Mehmaunder  about  our  country 
iind  Canbiil,  of  which  he  gave  !in  enchanting  account:  that 
city  and  its  100,000  gardens,  etc."— W. 

I!  "  The  Manirusteen,  the  most  delicate  fruit  in  the  world; 
the  pride  of  the  Malay  I.-lands."— .«(/«■/(■». 

4  "A  ilelicious  kind  of  apricr)t,  called  by  the  Persians 
tokm-ed-shems,  signifying  sun's  seed." — Description  of 
Persia. 

5  "  Sweetmeats  in  a  crystal  cup,  consisting  of  rose-leavos 
in  conserve,  with  lemon  or  Visna  cherry,  orange  flowers, 
etc."— rtHs.se/. 

(>  "  Antelopes  cropping  the  fresh  berries  of  Erac." — The 
Moallalcat,  a  poeni  of  Tiirafa. 

7  .Mauri-ga-Sima,  an  island  near  Formosa,  supposed  to 
have  been  siink  in  the  sea  fur  the  crim(!s  of  its  inhahitnntj). 
The  vessels  which  the  fislicimen  and  divers  bring  up  from 
it  are  sold  at  an  immense  price  in  China  and  Japan. — See 
Kniipfcr 

8  Persian  Tales.  9  The  white  wine  of  Kishitia. 
10  "The  King  of  Zeilnn  is  said  to  have  the  very  finest 

ruby  that  was  ever  seen,  Kublai-Kahn  .sent  and  offered  the 
value  of  a  ciiy  for  it,  but  the  King  answered  he  would  not 
give  it  for  the  treasure  of  the  world." — Jifnrco  Pulo. 

I!  The  Indians  feign  that  Ciipiil  wn^!  first  seen  floating 
down  the  Ganges  on  ibe  Nyniphiru  NcUiinho. — See  Prv 
naiit. 


LALLA  ROOKII. 


83 


15-11  what  tire  cups,  without  Ihe  aid 

or  song  to  speed  them  as  they  flow? 
And  see — a  lovely  (Georgian  maid, 

Wit!)  aii  the  bloom,  llie  fVeshen'd  glow 
Of  her  own  country  maidens'  looks, 
When  warm  they  rise  from  Tefi.is'  brooks;' 
And  with  an  eye,  whose  restless  ray. 

Full,  (loating,  dark — oh  he,  who  knows 
His  heart  is  weak,  of  heav'n  should  pray. 

To  guard  hiin  from  such  eyes  as  those ! — 
'Vith  a  voluptuous  wildness  Hiugs 
Her  snowy  hand  across  the  strings 
Of  a  syrinda,-  and  thus  sings; — 


Come  hither,  come  hither — by  night  and  by  day, 
We  linger  in  pleasures  that  never  are  gone; 

Like  the  waves  of  the  summer,  as  one  dies  away 
Another  as  sweet  and  as  shining  comes  on. 

And  the  love  that  is  o'er,  in  expiring  gives  birth 
To  a  new  one  as  warm,  as  unequalfd  in  bliss ; 

And  oh  !  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth. 
It  is  this,  it  is  this. 

Here  maidens  are  sighing,  and  fragrant  their  sigh 
As  the  flower  of  the  Amra  just  op'd  by  a  bee  ;^ 

And  precious  their  tears  as  that  rain  from  the  sky,* 
Which  turns  into  j)earls  as  it  falls  in  the  sea. 

Oh  !  think  what  the  kiss  and  the  smile  must  be  worth. 
When  the  sigh  and  the  tear  are  so  perfect  in  bliss , 

And  own,  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth. 
It  is  this,  it  is  this.  . 

here  sparkles  the  nectar,  that  hallow'd  by  love, 
Could  draw  down  those  angels  of  old  from  their 
sphere. 
Who  for  wine  of  this  carth^  left  the  fountains  above. 
And  forgot  heaven's  stars  for  the  eyes  we  have 
here. 
And,  bless'd  with  the  odour  our  goblets  give  forth, 

What  Spirit  the  sweets  of  his  Eden  would  miss? 
For  oh  I  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  eartii. 
It  is  this,  it  is  this. 


I'he  Georgian's  song  was  scarcely  mute. 

When  the  same  measure,  sound  for  sound. 
Was  caught  up  by  another  lute. 

And  so  divinely  breath'd  around. 
That  all  stood  hush'd  and^vondering. 

And  turn'd  and  look'd  into  the  air. 
As  if  they  thought  to  see  the  wing 

Of  IsRAi'iL,^  the  Angel,  there; — 
So  powerfully  on  every  soul 
That  new,  enchanted  measure  stole. 
While  now  a  voice,  sweet  as  the  note 
Of  the  charm'd  lute,  was  heard  to  float 
Along  its  chords,  and  so  entwine 

Its  sound  with  theirs,  that  none  knew  whether 

1  Teflis  is  celebrated  for  its  natural  warm  ballis. — Set 
F.bn  Haiikal. 

2  "Tlie  Indiiin  Syrinda  or  guitar." — Syme.t. 

3  "  Dellgliiful  aro  ilie  flowers  of  the  Amra-trces  on  the 
.Tioiintnin  tops,  while  the  niurmuring  bees  pursue  their  vo- 
luptuous toil." — Sonfr  of  Jiiyadi'i'ii. 

4  "  The  Ni.san,  or  drops  of  sprin!»  rain,  which  they  believe 
.0  produce  pearls  if  they  fall  into  shells." — liiihardson. 

5  For  an  account  oTlhe  share  which  wine  had  in  the  fall 
of  the  angels — see  Mariti. 

fi  The  .\ngei  of  Music,  see  note,  p.  72. 


The  voice  or  lute  was  most  divine, 
So  wond'rously  they  went  together : 


There  's  a  bliss  beyond  all  that  the  minstrel  has  tohi 
When  two,  that  are  link'd  in  one  heavenly  tie, 

With  heart  never  changing  and  brow  never  coid, 
Love  on  through  all  ills,  and  love  on  till  they  die 

One  hour  of  a  passion  so  sacred  is  worth 

Whole  ages  of  heartless  and  wandering  bliss; 

And  oh !  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth, 
It  is  this,  it  is  this. 


'Twas  not  the  air,  'twas  not  the  words, 
But  that  (le(?j)  magic  in  the  chords 
And  in  the  lips,  that  gave  such  power 
As  music  knew  not  till  that  hour. 
At  once  a  hundred  voices  said, 
"  It  is  the  mask'd  Arabian  maid  !" 
While  Sei.im,  who  had  felt  the  strain 
Deepest  of  any,  and  had  lain 
Some  minutes  wrapt,  as  in  a  trance, 

Afler  the  fairy  sounds  were  o'er. 
Too  inly  touch'd  for  utterance, 

Now  motion'd  with  his  hand  for  more : — 


Fly  to  the  desert,  tiy  with  me. 

Our  Arab  tents  are  rude  for  thee  ; 

Rut  oh  !  the  choice  what  heart  can  doubt 

Of  tents  with  love,  or  thrones  without? 

Our  rocks  are  rough,  but  smiling  there 
Th'  acacia  waves  her  yellow  hair. 
Lonely  and  sweet,  nor  lov'd  the  less 
For  flowering  in  a  wilderness. 

Our  sands  are  bare,  but  down  their  slope 
The  silvery-footed  antelope 
As  gracefully  and  gaily  springs 
As  o'er  the  marble  courts  of  kings. 

Then  come — thy  .Arab  maid  will  be 
The  lov'd  and  lone  acacia-tree. 
The  antelope,  whose  feet  shall  bless 
With  their  light  sound  thy  loneliness. 

Oh !  there  are  looks  and  tones  that  dart 
An  instant  sunshine  through  the  heart, — 
As  if  the  soul  that  minute  caught 
Some  treasure  it  through  life  had  sought: 

As  if  the  very  lips  and  eyes 
Prede.^tin'd  to  have  all  our  sighs. 
And  never  be  forgot  again. 
Sparkled  and  spoke  before  us  then  ! 

So  came  thy  every  glance  and  tone. 
When  first  on  me  they  broath'd  and  shone 
New,  as  if  brought  from  other  spheres, 
Yet  welcome  as  if  lov'd  for  years ! 

Then  fly  with  me, — if  thou  hast  known 
No  other  flame,  nor  falsely  thrown 
A  gem  away,  that  thou  hadst  sworn 
Should  ever  in  thy  heart  be  worn. 

Come,  if  the  love  thou  hast  for  me 
Is  pure  and  fresh  as  mine  for  thee — 


Fresh  as  the  fountain  under  ground 
When  first  'tis  by  the  lapwing  found.' 

But  if  for  me  thou  dost  forsaiie 
Some  otiier  maid,  and  rudely  break 
He'  worshipp'd  image  from  its  base, 
To  give  to  me  the  ruin'd  place  ; — 

Then  fare  thee  well— I'd  rather  make 
My  bower  upon  some  icy  lake 
When  thawing  suns  begin  to  shine, 
Than  trust  to  love  so  false  as  thine ! 


There  was  a  pathos  in  this  lay, 

That,  e'en  without  enchantment's  art, 
Would  instantly  have  found  its  way 

Deep  into  Selim's  burning  heart; 
But  breathing,  as  it  did,  a  tone 
To  earthly  lutes  and  lips  unknown, 
With  every  chord  fresh  from  the  touch 
Of  Music's  Spirit, — 'twas  too  much  ! 
Starting,  he  dash'd  away  tlie  cup, — 

Which,  all  the  time  of  this  sweet  air, 
His  hand  had  held,  untasted,  up, 

As  if  'twere  held  by  magic  there, — 
And  namjng  her,  so  long  uniiam'd, 
"Oh  Nourmahal!  oh  Nourmahal! 

Had'st  thou  but  sung  this  witching  strain, 
I  could  forget — forgive  thee  all. 

And  never  leave  those  eyes  again." 

The  mask  is  off— the  charm  is  wrought — 
And  Selim  to  his  heart  has  caught. 
In  bluslies,  more  than  ever  bright, 
His  NouRMAifAL,  his  Haram's  Light! 
And  well  do  vanish'd  frowns  enliance 
The  charm  of  every  brighten'd  glance; 
And  dearer  seems  each  dawning  smile 
For  having  lost  its  light  awhile ; 
And,  happier  now  for  all  her  sighs. 

As  on  his  arm  her  head  reposes, 
She  whispers  him,  with  laughing  eyes, 

"  Remember,  love,  the  Feast  of  Roses !" 


Fadladeen,  at  the  conclusion  of  this  light  rhap- 
sody, took  occasion  to  sum  up  his  opinion  of  the 
young  Casiiinerian's  poetry, — of  whicli,  he  trusted, 
they  had  tltat  evening  heard  the  last.  Hr^ving  recapi- 
tulated the  epithets,  "frivolous" — "  inhiirrnonious" — 
"nonsensical,"  he  proceeded  to  say  that,  viewjr^g  it 
in  the  most  favourable  liglit,  it  resembled  (vne  of  those 
JIaklivian  boats,  to  which  the  Princess  had  alluded 
in  the  relation  of  her  dream, ^ — a  slight,  gilded  thing, 
sent  adrift  without  rudder  or  ballast,  n".i  with  nothing 
but  vapid  sweets  and  f idcd  lioweis  on  board.  The 
profusion,  indeed,  of  (lowers  and  birds,  which  this 
poet  had  ready  on  all  occasions, — not  to  mention 
dews,  gems,  etc. — was  a  most  oppressive  kind  of 
opulence  to  his  hearers ;  and  had  the  unlucky  effect 
of  giving  to  his  stvle  all  the  glitter  of  the  flower-gar- 
den witfiout  its  method,  and  all  the  flutter  of  the 

1  The  Huilhiid  or  liiijuving,  issupiioscil  'o  huvollii:  power 
III'  (llHcovcriru'  water  under  ground. 
'I  S«i',  imse  65 


aviary  without  its  s(»ng.  In  addition  to  this,  he  chost 
his  subjects  badly,  and  was  always  most  inspired  by  the 
worst  parts  of  tiiem.  The  charms  of  paganism,  the 
merits  of  rebellion, — these  were  the  themes  honoured 
with  his  particular  enthusiasm  :  and,  in  the  poem  jusl 
recited,  one  of  his  most  palatable  passages  was  in 
praise  of  that  beverage  of  the  unfaithful,  wine;  "be- 
ing, perhaps,"  said  he,  rela.xing  into  a  smile,  3.^  con- 
scious of  his  own  character  in  the  Haram  or.  this 
point,  "  one  of  those  bards,  whose  fmcy  owes  all  ita 
illumination  to  the  grape,  like  that  painted  porcelain 
so  curious  and  so  rare,  whose  images  are  only  visible 
when  liquor  is  poured  into  it."  Upon  tlie  whole,  i' 
was  his  opinion,  from  tlie  specimens  which  they  had 
heard,  and  which,  he  begged  to  say,  were  the  most 
tiresome  part  of  the  journey,  that — whatever  other 
merits  this  well  dressed  young  gentleman  might  pos- 
sess— poetry  was  by  no  means  his  proper  avocation : 
"  and  indeed,"  concluded  the  critic,  "  from  his  fond- 
ness for  flowers  and  for  birds,  I  would  venture  to 
suggest  that  a  florist  or  a  bird-catcher  is  a  much  more 
suitable  calling  for  him  than  a  poet." 

They  had  now  begun  to  Jiscend  those  barren 
mountains,  which  separate  Cashmere  from  the  rest 
of  India ;  and,  as  the  heats  were  intolerable,  and  the 
time  of  their  encampments  limited  to  the  few  hours 
necessary  for  refreshment  and  repose,  there  was  an 
end  to  all  their  delightful  evenings,  and  Laj^laRookh 
saw  no  more  of  Feramorz.  She  now  felt  that  her 
short  dream  of  happmess  was  over,  and  that  she  had 
nothing  but  the  recollection  of  its  few  blissful  hours, 
like  the  one  draught  of  sweet  water  that  serves  the 
camel  across  the  wilderness,  to  be  her  heart's  re 
freshment  during  the  dreary  waste  of  life  that  was 
before  her.  The  blight  that  had  fallen  upon  her 
spirits  soon  found  its  way  to  her  check,  and  her  ladies 
saw  with  regret — though  not  without  some  suspicion 
of  the  cause — that  the  beauty  of  their  mistress,  of 
which  they  were  almost  as  proud  as  of  their  own 
was  fast  vanishing  away  at  the  very  moment  of  al 
when  she  had  most  need  of  it.  What  must  the  King 
of  Bucharia  feel,  when,  instead  of  the  lively  and 
beautiful  Lalla  Rookk,  whom  the  poets  of  Delhi 
had  described  as  more  perfect  than  the  divinest 
images  in  the  House  of  A/,or,  he  should  receive  a  pale 
and  inanimate  victim,  upon  whose  cheek  neither 
health  nor  pleasure  bloomed,  and  from  whose  eyes 
Love  had  fled, — to  hide  himself  in  her  heart  I 

If  any  thing  could  have  charmed  away  the  melan- 
choly of  her  spirits,  it  would  have  been  the  fresh  airs 
and  enchanting  scenery  of  that  Valley,  which  the 
Persians  so  justly  called  the  Unequalled.'  But  nei 
ther  the  coolness  oPits  atmosphere,  so  lu.xurious  aftei 
toiling  up  those  bare  and  burning  mountains — neither 
the  splendour  of  the  minarets  and  pagodas,  that  shon* 
out  from  the  depth  of  its  woods,  nor  the  grottos,  her 
mitagcs,  and  miracidous  fountains,  which  "'ike  evr.y 
spot  of  that  region  holy  ground  ; — noimer  the  coupv 
less  water-falls,  that  rush  into  the  Valley  Trom  all  thos'i 
high  and  romantic  mountains  that  enc'rcic  it,  nor  the 
fair  city  on  the  Lake,  whose  houses,  roofed  witi 
flowers,  appeared  at  a  distance  like  one  vast  and  varie- 
gated parterre ; — not  all  these  wonders  and  gloricif 
of  the  most  lovely  country  under  the  sun  could  stea,' 

1   Kaclimiie  lie  Naziior  —  F</i'b"" 


her  heiirt  tor  a  minute  from  tliose sad  thoughts,  which  I  not  feel  with  transport.  To  Lalla  RooKir  alone  ii 
butilariicnedand  grew  bitterer  every  stepsheadvanced.  was  a  melancholy  pageant;  nor  could  she  have  ever 
The  gay  poinps  and  processions  tliut  met  her  upon  borne  to  look  upon  the  scene,  were  it  not  for  a  hope 
her  entrance  into  the  Valley,  and  the  magnillcence  :  that,  among  the  crowds  around,  she  might  once  more 
with  which  the  roads  all  along  were  decorated,  did  !  perhaps  cutch  a  glimpse  of  Fkramokz.  So  much 
honour  to  the  taste  and  gallantry  of  the  young  King,  j  was  her  imagination  haunted  by  this  thought,  lint 
It  was  night  when  they  approached  the  city,  and,  for  [there  was  scarcely  an  islet  or  boat  she  passed,  at 
the  last  two  miles,  they  had  passed  under  arches, '  which  her  heart  did  not  flutter  with  a  momentary 
thrown  from  hedge  to  hedge,  festooned  with  only  fancy  that  he  was  there.  Happy,  in  her  eyes,  the 
those  rarest  roses  from  which  the  Attar  Gul,  more  ;  humblest  slave  upon  whom  the  light  of  his  dear  looks 
precious  than  gold,  is  distilled,  and  illuminated  in  :  fell. — In  the  barge  immediately  alter  the  Princess  was 
rich  and  fanciful  forms  with  lanterns  of  the  triple- [  Faui.adekn,  with  his  s,lken  curtains  thrown  widely 
coloured  tortoise-shell  of  Pegu.  Sometimes,  from  a  \  apart,  that  all  might  have  the  benelit  of  his  august  pre- 
dark  wood  by  the  side  of  the  road,  a  display  of  (ire- :  sence,  and  with  his  head  full  of  the  speech  he  was 
works  would  break  out,  so  sudden  and  so  brilliant,   to  deliver  to  the  King,  "concerning  Feramorz,  and 


that  a  Bramin  might  think  he  saw  that  grove,  in  whose 
purple  shade  the  ("od  of  Battles  was  born,  burstiu] 


literature,  and  the  Chabuk,  as  connected  therewith." 
They  had  now  entered  the  canal  which  leads  from 


into  a  flame  at  the  moment  of  his  birth. — While,  at  i  the  Lake  to  the  splendid  domes  and  saloons  of  the 
other  times,  a  quick  and  playful  irradiation  continued  ,  Shalimar,  and  glided  on  through  gardens  ascending 
to  brighten  all  the  fields  and  gardens  by  which  they  [  from  each  bank,  full  of  flowering  shrubs  that  made 
passed,  forming  a  line  of  dancing  lights  along  the  the  air  all  perfume;  while  from  the  middle  of  the 
hori/on ;  like  the  meteors  of  the  north  as  they  are  i  canal  rose  jets  of  water,  smooth  and  unbroken,  to 
seen  by  those  hunters,  who  pursue  the  white  and  blue  '  such  a  dazzling  height,  that  they  stood  like  pillars  of 
bxes  on  the  confines  of  the  Icy  Sea.  diamond  in  tno  sunsliine.     After  sailing  under  the 

These  arches  and  fire-works  delighted  the  ladies  |  arches  of  various  saloons,  they  at  length  arrived  at 
of  the  Princess  exceedingly;  and,  with  their  usual' the  last  and  most  magnificent,  where  the  monarch 
good  logic,  they  deduced  from  his  taste  for  illumina-  !  awaited  the  coming  of  his  bride ;  and  such  was  the 
tions,  that  the  King  of  Bucharia  woidd  make  the  most ,  agitation  of  her  heart  and  frame,  that  it  was  with  dif- 
e.\emplary  husband  imaginable.  Nor,  indeed,  could  |  ficulty  she  walked  up  the  marble  steps,  which  were 
Lai.i.a  RoniCH  herself  l.elp  feeling  the  kindness  and  ,  covered  with  cloth  of  gold  for  her  ascent  from  the 
splendour  with  which  the  young  bridegroom  welcom- 1  barge.  At  the  end  of  the  hall  stood  two  thrones,  as 
ed  her; — but  she  also  felt  how  painful  is  the  gratitude,  precious  as  the  Cerulean  Throne  of  Koolburga,  on 
which  kindness  from  those  we  cannot  love  e.xcites ;  one  of  which  sat  Ai.iRis,  the  youthful  King  of  Bu- 
and  that  tlieir  best  blandishments  come  over  the  heart   charia,  and  on  the  other  was,  in  a  few  minuves,  to  be 


with  all  that  chilling  and  deadly  sweetness,  which  we 
can  fancy  in  the  cold,  odoriferous  wind  that  is  to  biow 
over  the  earth  in  the  last  days. 

The  marriage  was  fixed  for  the  morning  af\er  her 
arrival,  when  she  was,  for  the  first  time,  to  be  pre- 
sented to  the  monarch  in  that  Imperial  Palace  be- 
yond the  lake,  called  the  Shalimar.     Though  a  night 


placed  the  most  beautiful  Princess  in  the  world. — 
Immediately  upon  the  entrance  of  Lai-la  Rookii 
into  the  saloon,  the  monarch  descended  from  his 
throne  to  meet  her ;  but  scarcely  had  he  time  to  take 
her  hand  in  his,  when  she  screamed  with  surprise  and 
fainted  at  his  feet.  It  was  Fera.vorz  himself  that 
stood    before   her! — Ferajiokz    was,    himself,  the 


of  more  wakeful    and    anxious   thought   had    never  ,  Sovereign  of  Bucharia,  who  in  this  disguise  had  ac 
been  passed  in  the  Happy  Valley  before,  yet,  \/hcn  i  companied  his  young  bride  from  Delhi,  and,  having 


she  rose  in  the  morning,  and  her  ladies  came  round 
her,  to  assist  in  the  adjustment  of  the  bridal  orna- 
ments, they  thought  they  had  never  seen  her  look 
half  so  beautiful.  What  she  had  lost  of  the  bloom 
and  radiancy  of  her  charms  was  more  than  made  up 
by  that  intellectual  expression,  tha;  soul  in  the  eyes 
which  is  worth  all  the  rest  of  loveliness.  When  they 
had  tinged  lier  fingers  with  the  Henna  leaf,  and  placed 
upon  her  brow  a  small  coronet  of  jewels,  of  the  shape 
worn  by  the  ancient  Queens  of  Bucharia,  they  fiung 
over  her  head  tlie  rose-coloured  bridal  veil,  ami  she 
proceeded  to  the  barge  that  was  to  convey  her  across 
the  lake ; — first  kissing,  with  a  mournful  look,  the 
little  amulet  of  cornelian  which  her  father  had  hung 
auout  her  neck  at  parting. 

The  morning  was  as  fair  as  the  maid  upon  whose 
nuptials  it  rose,  and  the  shining  lake,  all  covered  with 
boa's,  the  minstrels  playing  upon  the  shores  of  the 
islands,  and  the  crowded  summer-houses  on  the  green 
hills  around,  with  shawls  and  banners  waving  from 
,heir  roofs,  presented  such  a  picture  of  animated  re- 
joicing, as  only  she,  who  was  'he  object  of  it  all,  did 


won  her  love  as  an  humble  minstrel,  now  amply  de- 
served to  enjoy  it  as  a  King. 

The  consternation  of  Fadladeen  at  this  discovery 
was,  for  the  moment,  almost  pitiable.  But  change 
of  opinion  is  a  resource  too  convenient  in  courts  for 
this  experienced  courtier  not  to  have  learned  to  avail 
himself  of  it.  His  criticisms  were  all,  of  course, 
recanted  instantly;  he  was  seized  with  an  admiration 
of  the  King's  verses,  as  unbounded,  as.  he  begged 
him  to  believe,  it  was  disinterested  ;  and  the  follow- 
ing week  saw  him  in  possession  of  an  additional 
place,  swearing  by  all  the  Saints  of  Islam  that  never 
had  there  existed  so  great  a  poet  as  the  Monarch,  .\i.i- 
Ris,  and  ready  to  prescribe  his  favourite  regimen  of 
the  Chabuk  for  every  man,  woman,  and  child  that 
dared  to  think  otherwise. 

Of  the  happiness  of  the  King  and  Queen  of  BucIm 
ria,  afler  such  a  beginning,  there  can  Ix;  but  little 
doubt;  and,  among  the  lesser  symptoms,  it  is  recorded 
of  Lalla  Rookii,  that,  to  the  day  of  her  death,  m 
memory  of  their  delightful  journey,  she  never  called 
the  King  by  any  other  name  than  Fera.mor/ 


86 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


NOTEf!^. 


Page  27. 
1  HESE  particulars  of  the  visit  of  the  King  of  Bu- 
charia  to  Aurungzebe  are  found  in  Dow's  History  of 
Hhidostan  vol.  iii.  p.  392. 

Page  27,  line  16. 
Leila. 
The  Mistress  of  Mejnoun,  upon  whose  story  so 
many  romances,  in  all  the  languages  of  the  East,  are 
founded. 

Page  27,  line  16. 

Shiri.ie. 
For  the  loves  of  this  celebrated  beauty  with  Khos- 
rou  and  with  Ferhad,  see  D'Herbelot,  Gibbon,  Ori- 
ental CoUeclions,  etc. 

Page  27,  line  16. 

Deuiltl,-. 
"  Tlie  history  of  the  loves  of  Dewilde  and  Chizer, 
the  son  of  the  Emperor  Alia,  is  written  in  an  elegant 
poem,  by  tiie  noble  Chusero." — Ferishia. 

Page  27,  line  47. 

Tliose  iiisi^niii  of  the  Em|ieror's  favour,  etc. 

"  One  mark  of  honour  or  knighthood  bestowed  by 
the  Emperor,  is  the  permission  to  wear  a  small  kettle- 
drum, at  tlie  bows  of  tlieir  saddles,  which  at  first  was 
invented  for  the  training  of  hawks,  and  to  call  them  to 
tiie  lure,  and  is  worn  in  the  field  by  all  sportsmen  to 
that  end." — Fryer's  Travels. 

"  Those  on  whom  the  King  has  conferred  tlie  pri- 
vilege must  wear  an  ornament  of  jewels  on  the  right 
side  of  the  turban,  surmounted  by  a  high  plume  of 
the  featliers  of  a  kind  of  egret.  This  bird  is  found 
only  in  Caslmiere,  and  tlie  feathers  are  carefully  col- 
lected for  the  King,  who  bestows  them  on  his  nobles." 
—ElphinstoJie's  Account  of  Cauhul. 

Page  27,  line  52. 
Kh.daf  Kli:ui,  etc. 
"  IChedar  Khan,  the  Khakan,  or  King  of  Turques- 
tan  beyond  the(iihon  (at  the  end  of  the  eleventh  <;en- 
lury,)  whenever  he  appeared  abroad  was  preceded  by 
seven  hundred  horsemen  witli  silver  battle-axes,  and 
jfas  followed  by  an  equal  immber  bearing  maces  of 
gold.  He  was  a  great  patron  of  poetry,  and  it  was 
be  who  used  to  preside  at  public  exercises  of  genius, 
with  four  basins  of  gold  and  silver  by  him  to  distri- 
Dute  among  the  poets  who  excelled." — Richardson's 
Dissertation  prefixed  to  his  Dictionary. 

Page  27,  line  54. 

The  gilt  i)ine-ii|i|ile,  eti-. 
"  The  kubdeh,  a  large  golden  knob,  generally  in 
ilje  shape  of  a  pine-apple,  on  the  top  of  the  canopy 
)vei   the  litter  or  palanquin." — Scott's  Jiotes  on  the 
HahariUinusli. 

Page  27,  line  5'J. 

'I'lic  rose-coluuRMl  vuiU  uf  ;|i(r  I'rinccss's  littpr 
l:i   the  poem  of  Zohair,  in  the   Moallakal,  there 


is  the  following  lively  description  of  "  company  of 
maidens  seated  on  camels." 

"  They  are  mounted  in  carriages  covered  with 
costly  awnings,  and  with  rose-coloured  veils,  the 
linings  of  which  have  the  hue  of  crimson  Andem- 
wood. 

"  When  they  ascend  from  the  bosom  of  the  vale, 
they  sit  forward  on  the  saddle-cloths,  with  every 
mark  of  a  voluptuous  gaiety. 

"  Now,  when  they  have  reached  the  brink  of  von 
blue  gushing  rivulet,  they  fix  the  poles  of  their  tents 
like  the  Arab  with  a  settled  mansion." 

Page  27,  line  60. 
A  young  fi  nMlo  siiivc  .^iil  laiinin<r  lior,  etc. 
See  Bernier's  description  of  the  attendants  on  Rau- 
chanara-Begum  in  her  progress  to  Caslunere. 

Page  28,  line  13. 

Religion,  nf  which  Auniiigzi  he  wa.s  a  munificent  protector. 
This  hypocritical  Emperor  would  have  made  a 
worthy  associate  of  certain  Holy  Leagues. — "  He 
held  the  cloak  of  religion  (says  Dow)  between  his 
actions  and  the  vulgar ;  and  impiously  thanked  the 
Divinity  for  a  success  which  he  owed  to  his  ov/n 
wickedness.  When  he  was  murdering  and  perse 
cutiug  his  brothers  and  their  families,  he  was  building 
a  magnificent  mosque  at  Delhi,  as  an  ofi'ering  to  God 
for  his  assistance  to  him  in  the  civil  wars.  He  acted 
as  high-priest  at  the  consecration  of  this  temple,  and 
made  a  practice  of  attending  divine  service  there,  in 
the  humble  dress  of  a  Fakeer.  But  when  he  lifted 
one  hand  to  the  Divinity,  he,  with  the  other,  signed 
warrants  for  the  assassination  of  his  relations." — 
History  of  Hitidostan,  vol.  iii.  p.  235.  See  also  the 
curious  letter  of  Aurungzebe,  given  in  the  Oriental 
Collections,  vol.  i.  p.  320. 

Page  28,  line  15. 

The  diamond  cyus  of  the  idol,  elc. 
"  The  Idol  at  Jaghernaut  has  two  fine  diamonds 
for  eyes.     No   goldsmith   is   suffered   to  enter   the 
Pagoda,  one  having  stole  one  of  these  eyes,  being 
locked  up  all  night  with  the  Idol." — Tavernier. 

Page  28,  line  19. 
Garden-  of  Slialiniar. 
See  a  description  of  these  royal  Gardens  in  "  An 
Account  of  the  present  State  of  Delhi,  by  Lieut 
W.  Franklin." — Asiat.  Research,  vol.  iv.  p.  417. 

Page  28,  line  26. 
liiikeol'  I'earl. 
"In  the  neighbourhood  is  Nolle  Gill,  or  the  Lak<; 
of  Pearl,  which  receives  ihis  name  from  its  pelluoid 
water." — Pennant's  Hindostun. 

"  Nasir  .lung,  encamped  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Lake 
of  Tonoor,  amused  himself  with  sailing  on  that  cleai 
and  beautiful  water,  and  gave  it  the  fanciful  n.inie  ni 


r-ALLA  ROOKII. 


87 


Motce  Tiilab,  'the  Lake  of  Pciirls,'  which  it  still  re- 
iaiiis." — W'ilke's  Soulh  of  India. 

Page  28,  line  30. 
Dpsci-il)(Ml  l)y  otit!  iVoiii  ilic  IsI-h  ot'  ilu-  VVc-si,  (■tc. 
Sir  Thomas  Roe,  Ambassador  from  James  I.  to 
Jehanguire. 

Page  28,  line  45. 

I.cives  ..fVV:iniiili  .-iiid  Kzrn. 
"  The  romanr-e  Wemakwcazra,  written  in  Persian 
verse,  whidi  contains  the  loves  of  Wamak  and  Ezra, 
two  celebrated  lovers  who  lived  before  the  time  of 
Mahomet." — Notes  on  the  Oriental  Tales. 

Page  28,  line  45. 

Of  the  f:iir-li:iiieil  Zal,  a.  il  liis  niistrrss  Kndalivrr. 

Their  amour  is  recounted  in  the  Shah-Nameh  of 
Ferdousi ;  and  there  is  much  beauty  in  the  passage 
which  describes  the  slaves  of  Rodahver,  sitting  on 
the  bank  of  the  river,  and  throwing  flowers  into  the 
stream,  in  order  to  draw  the  attention  of  the  young 
Hero,  who  is  encamped  on  the  opposite  side. — See 
Champion's  Translation. 

Page  28,  line  46. 


'I'lif^  ('oml)at  o'Kii.-i'aiii 


til  •  tcrrililo  wliiti'  Demon 


Rustam  is  the  Hercules  of  the  Persians.  For  the 
particulars  of  his  V^ictory  over  the  Sepeed  Deeve,  or 
White  Demon,  see  Oriental  CoU-edinn-t,  vol.  ii.  p.  45. — 
Near  the  city  of  Shirauz  is  an  immense  quadrangular 
monument  in  commemoration  of  this  combat,  called 
the  Kelaat-i-Doev  Sepeed,  or  Castle  of  the  White 
(iiant,  which  Father  .\ngelo,  in  his  Gazophylacium 
Persicum,  p.  127,  declares  to  have  been  the  most 
memorable  monument  of  antiquity  which  he  had 
seen  in  Persia. — See  Ouseleys  Persian  Miscellanies. 

Page  28,  line  53. 

Their  K')lil   ii  ankU.'l^. 

"  The  women  of  the  Idol,  or  dancing  girls  of  the 
Pagoda,  have  little  golden  bells  fastened  to  their  feet, 
the  soft  harmonious  tinkling  of  which  vibrates  in 
unison  with  the  exquisite  melody  of  their  voices." — 
Maurice's  Indian  Antitjuities. 

"  The  Arabian  courtezans,  like  the  Indian  w-omen, 
have  little  golden  bells  fastened  round  their  legs, 
neck  and  elbows,  to  the  sound  of  which  they  dance 
before  the  King.  The  Arabian  princesses  wear 
golden  ringa  on  their  fingers,  to  which  little  bells 
are  suspended,  as  in  the  flowing  tresses  of  their 
hair,  that  their  superior  rank  may  be  known,  and 
they  themselves  receive,  in  passing,  the  homage  due 
to  them." — See  Calmel's  Dictionary,  art.  Bells. 

Page  28,  line  68. 

Tliar  ilt-licious  tiuiniii,  etc. 

*'  .Abou-Tige,  ville  de  la  Thebaide,  ou  il  croit  beau 
coup  de  pavots  noir,  dont  se  fait  le  milleur  opium  " — 
D'  Herhelut. 

Page  28,  line  78. 
'I'liai  iiUil  of  woiiieri,  Crislma. 

"  He  and  the  'hree  Ramas  are  described  as  youths 
of  perfect  beauty ;  and  the  Princesses  of  Hindostan 
were  all  passionately  in  love  with  Crishna,  who  con- 
tinues to  this  hour  the  darling  god  of  the  Indian 
ivomen." — i^ir  W.  Jones  on  the  Gods  of  Greece,  Italy, 
3nd  India 


Page  28,  line  86. 

Tlie  shawl-Ma!  ol' 'I'ihef. 

Soe  Turner's  Emhussy  for  a  description  of  this 
animal,  "  the  most  beautiful  among  the  w  hole  lrib« 
of  goats."  The  materials  for  the  shawls  (which  is 
carried  to  Cashmere)  is  found  ne.xt  the  skin. 

Page  28,  line  107. 
The  vcnk'il  rrnplii  t  of  Khorassan. 
For  the  real  history  of  this  Impostor,  whose  on 
ginal  name  was  Ilaken  ben  Ilaschem,  and  who  waa 
called  Mokanna  from  the  veil  of  silver  gauze  (or,  aa 
others  say,  golden)  which  he  always  wore,  see  D' 
Ilerlielot, 

Page  28,  line  111. 

Flowerets  and  fruits  blush  over  every  stroam. 

"  The  fruits  of  Meru  are  finer  than  those  of  any 

other  place;  and  one  cannot  see 'in  any  other  city 

such  palaces,  with  groves,  and  streams,  and  gardens." 

Ebn  Haukal's  Geography. 

Page  28,  line  120. 
For,  far  less  luminous.  Ids  votaries  said, 
Were  e'en  the  gleams,  miraculously  shed 
O'er  Moussa's  cheek. 
"  Ses  disciples  assuraient  qu'il  se  cou\Tait  le  vis- 
age, pour  nc  pas  eblouir  ceu.\  qui  I'approchaient  pat 
I'eclat  de  son  visage  comme  3Ioyse." — D'  Herhelol 

Page  29,  line  7. 

In  hatred  to  the  Caliph's  hue  of  night. 
"  II  faut  remarquer  ici  touchant  les  habits  blancs 
des  disciples  de  Hakem,  que  la  couleur  des  habits, 
des  coitiures  et  des  etendards  des  Khalifes  Abassidea 
etant  la  noire,  ce  chef  de  rebelles  ne  pouvait  pas  ep 
choisir  une  qui  lui  fut  plus  opposee." — D'  Herbelvt. 

Page  29,  line  10. 

.Iivelins  oi'  the  liifiit  Kaihaian  reed. 
"  Our  dark  javelins,  exquisitely  wrought  of  Katha- 
ian  reeds,  slender  and  delicate." — Poem  of  Amru. 

Page  29,  line  12. 

Filled  with  the  stems  that  hloom  on  Iran's  rivers. 
The  Persians  call  this  plant  (raz.  Tlie  celebrated 
shaft  of  Isfendiar,  one  of  their  ancient  heroes,  was 
made  of  il. — "  Nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than 
the  appearance  of  this  plant  in  flower  during  the 
rains  on  the  banks  of  the  rivers,  where  it  is  usually 
interwoven  w'ith  a  lovely  twining  asclepias." — Su 
\V.  Jones,  Botanical  Observations  on  select  Indian 
Plants. 

Page  29,  line  17. 

liike  a  elienar-tree  i;rove. 
The  oriental  plane.     "The  chenar  is  a  delightful 
tree  ;  its  bole  is  of  a  fine  white  and  smooth  bark ; 
and  its  foliage,  which  grows  in  a  tuft  at  the  summit, 
is  of  a  bright  green." — Morier's  Travels. 

Page  29,  line  47 
With  turban'd  heads,  of  every  hue  and  race, 
Rowin»  before  that  veil'd  and  awl'u   '"ice, 

Like  tulip  beds 

"  The  name  of  Tulip  is  said  to  be  of  Turkish  ex- 
traction, and  given  to  the  flower  on  account  of  iu 
resembling  a  turban." — Bechriaii's  IlUton/  of  bive'i- 
tidiis 


'8 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Page  29,  line  57.  I  tradition,  thus  adopted  : — "  The  earth  (which  God  hao 

Witi  lieli  of  bro.ilcr'il  cra'ie  selected  for  the  materials  of  his  work)  was  carried 

And  tur  b  .in. J  1 n  ;!  of  Bucliaiian  shape.  into  Arabia,  to  a  place  between  Mecca  and  Tayef, 

"  The  iniiabitants  of  Bucharia  wear  a  round  cloth  where,  being  llrst  kneaded  by  the  Angels,  it  waa 
bonnet,  shaoed  much  after  the  Polish  fashion,  liavmg  afterwards  tashioned  by  God  himself  into  a  human 
a  laro-e  fur  border,  'f  hey  tie  their  kaftans  about  the  |  fo™,  and  left  to  dry  ior  the  space  of  forty  days,  or, 
middle  with  a  girdle  of  a  kind  of  silk  crape,  several  as  others  say,  as  many  years  ;  tiie  angels,  in  the  mean 
times   -ound   the   body."— Account   of  Lidependent  time,   often   visiting  it,  and    Eblis  (then  one  of  the 


Tartary,  in  Pinkertoii's  CoUectiiii. 
Page  29,  line  108. 

Wav'd,  lik-.?  the  wings  ui  the  while  h  rds  that  liiii 
T.ie  tiyi:ig  Tliruiif  o.-'  stai-triiigui  Soiiiii  ui. 
This  wonderful  Throne  was  called.  The  Star  of 
the  Genii.  For  a  full  description  of  it,  see  the  Frag- 
ment, translated  by  captain  Franklin,  from  a  Persian 
MS.  entitled  "  The  History  of  Jer.usalem  :"  Oriental 
Collections,  vol.  i.  p.  23.5. — When  Solomon  travelled, 
the  eastern  writers  say,  "  he  had  a  carpet  of  green 
silk  on  which  his  throne  was  placed,  be.ng  of  a  pro- 
digious length  and  breadth,  and  sutiicient  for  all  his 
forces  to  stand  upon,  the  men  placing  themselves  on 
his  right  hand,  and  the  spirits  on  his  letl ;  and  that, 
when  all  were  in  ordwr,  the  wind,  at  his  command, 
took  up  the  carpet,  and  transported  it,  with  all  that 
were  upon  it,  wherever  he  pleased ;  the  army  of 
birds  at  the  same  time  Hying  over  their  heads,  and 
foi-ming  a  kind  of  canopy  to  shade  them  from  the 
sun." — Sale's  Koran,  vol.  ii.  p.  214.  note. 

Page  30,  line  7. 
Ail  1  .li<-:i.-'.>  ilosoeriiling  llowM 
Thmu;;li  iii.ny  ii  PiophcJ's  hro  .ft. 
This  is  according  to  D'Herbelot's  account  of  the 
doctrines  of  Mokanna  : — "Sa  doctrine  etait  que  Dieu 
avait  pris  une  forme  et  figure  humaine  depuis  qu'il  eut 
commande  aux  Anges  d'adorer  Adam,  le  premier  des 
hommes.     Qu'apres  la  mort  d'Adam,  Dieu  etait  ap- 
paru  sous  la  figure  de  plusiours  Prophetes  et  autre.s 
grands  hommes  qu'il  avait  choisis,  jusqu  a  ce  qu'il 
prit  celle  d' Abu  Moslem,  Prince  de  Ivhorassan,  lequel 
professait  I'erreur  de  la  Teuassiikhiah  ou  Metempsy- 
chose ;  et  qu'apres  la  mort  de  ce  Prince,  la  Divinite 
etait  passee,  et  descendue  en  sa  personne." 


Page  33,  line  5. 
Such  Gods  as  he, 
Whom  India  serves,  tlio  monkey  Deity. 
"  Apes  are  in  many  parts  of  India  highly  venerated, 
oat  of  respect  to  the  God  Hannaman,  a  deity  par- 
taking of  the  form  of  that  race." — PennaiiVs  Hin- 
doostan. 

See  a  curious  account  in  Stephen's  Persia  of  a 
solemn  embassy  from  some  part  of  the  Indies  toGoa, 
when  the  Portuguese  were  there,  offering  vast  trea- 
sures for  the  recovery  of  a  monkey's  tooth,  which 
they  held  in  great  veneration,  and  which  had  been 
taken  away  upon  the  conquest  of  the  kingdom  of 
Jafanapatan. 

Page  33,  line  7. 

Proud  Ihinifs  of  ciny, 

Til  whom  irijucifer,  lis  ;;riind  ims  say, 
Refus'd,  though  at  the  I'o.r.il  o'Heavoii's  Hghr, 
To  bend  in  woishi|>,  I,ucifer  was  right. 
This  resolution  of  Eblis  not  to  acknowledge  the 
new  creature,  man,  was    according  to  Mahometan 


angels  nearest  to  God's  presence,  afterwards  the 
devil)  among  the  rest;  but  he,  not  contented  with 
looking  at  it,  kicked  it  with  his  foot  till  it  rung;  and 
knowing  God  designed  that  creature  to  be  his  supe- 
rior, took  a  secret  resolution  never  to  acknowledge 
him  as  such." — Sale  on  the  Koran. 

Page  33,  line  44. 

Where  none  but  i)ric.-.ts  are  privileg>;d  to  trade 
In  lliiit  best  marble  oi'whicli  Gods  are  made. 
The  material  of  which  images  of  Gaudma  (the 
Birman  Deity)  is  made,  is  held  sacred.  "  Birmans 
may  not  purchase  the  marble  in  mass  but  are  suffer- 
ed, and  indeedencouraged,  to  buy  figures  of  the  Deity 
already  made." — Syines's  Ava,  vol.  ii.  p.  376. 

Page  34,  line  93. 

The  puny  bird  that  dares,  with  teazing  hum, 
W.tliin  the  crocodile's  strelch'd  jaws  to  come. 
The  humming-bird  is  said  to  run  this  risk  for  the 
purpose  of  picking  the  crocodile's  teeth.  The  same 
circumstance  is  related  of  the  Lapwing,  as  a  fact,  to 
which  he  was  witness,  by  Paul  Lucas, — Voyage  fad 
en  1714. 

Page  35,  line  38. 

;-?(inie  ariisis  of  Yamtcheoii  liaving  burn  sent  on  previou-ly 

"  The  Feast  of  Lanterns  is  celebrated  at  Yampt- 
cheou  with  more  magnificence  than  any  where  else; 
and  the  report  goes,  that  the  illuminations  there  are 
so  splendid,  that  an  Emperor  once,  not  daring  openly 
to  leave  his  Court  to  go  thither,  committed  himself 
with  the  Queen  and  several  Princesses  of  his  family 
into  the  hands  of  a  magician,  who  promised  to  trans- 
port them  tliitlier  in  a  thrice.  He  made  them  in  the 
night  to  ascend  magnificent  thrones  that  were  borne 
up  by  swans,  which  in  a  moment  arrived  at  Y'\mt- 
cheou.  The  Emperor  saw  at  his  leisure  all  the  so- 
lemnity, being  carried  upon  a  cloud  that  hovered  ovei 
the  city,  and  descended  by  degrees  ;  and  came  back 
again  with  the  same  speed  and  equipage,  nobody  at 
court  perceiving  his  absence." — The  present  State  of 
China,  p.  156. 

Page  35,  line  41. 

Arlifii'i.il  sciMien.  s  cif  biiniboo-woi  k. 

See  a  description  of  the  nuptials  of  Vizier  Alee  id 
the  Asiatic  Annual  Register  of  1804. 


Page  35,  line  59. 

'I'be  iiriirn  ol'ilic-'  iiui'as.ic  Chinese  illinninations 
"  The  vulgar  ascribe  it  to  an  accident  that  hapjjcn 
ed  in  the  family  of  a  famous  mandarin,  whose  daugn- 
tor  walking  one  evening  upon  the  shore  of  a  lake,  fell 
in  and  was  drowned  ;  this  afflicted  father,  with  his 
family,  ran  thither,  and,  the  better  to  find  her.  he 
caused  a  great  company  of  lanterns  to  be  lighted 
Ail  the  inhabitants  of  the  place  thtonged  after  him 
with  torches.    The  year  ensuing  they  made  fires  upon 


che  shores  the  same  day ;  they  continued  the  cere- 
mony every  year,  every  one  lighted  liis  lantern,  and 
by  degrees  it  commenced  into  a  custom." — Present 
Slatf  of  China 

Page  35,  line  100. 

•Via:  Koli..l'.,j.'n.<lv.!. 

"None  of  these  ladies,"  says  S/iuw,  "take  them- 
selves to  be  completely  dressed,  till  they  have  tinged 
the  hair  and  edges  of  tiieir  eyelids  with  the  powder 
of"  leatl-ore.  Now,  as  this  operation  is  performed  by 
dipping  first  into  the  powder  a  small  wooden  bodkin 
of  the  thickness  of  a  quill,  and  then  drawing  it  after- 
wards, through  the  eyelids  over  the  ball  of  the  eye, 
we  shall  have  a  lively  image  of  what  the  prophet 
f  Jer.  iv.  30,)  may  be  supposed  to  mean  by  rendering 
the  eyes  vnth  fHiinting.  This  pra(;tice  is,  no  doubt,  of 
great  antiquity  ;  for  besides  the  instance  already  taken 
notice  oli  we  find  that  where  Jezebel  is  said  (iJ  Kings, 
IS.  30,)  to  have  painted  her  face, the  original  words  are, 
Khe  udjusled  her  eyes  loith  the  powder  of  lead-ore." — 
Shauos  Travels. 


Page  36,  line  53. 


■  Drop 


Al)our  the  giirdfiis,  driiuk  willi    hat  >woi.-t  food. 

Tavernier  adds,  that  while  the  Birds  of  Paradise 
lie  in  this  intoxicated  state,  the  emmets  come  and  eat 
off  their  k-gs ;  and  that  hence  it  is  they  are  said  to 
have  no  feet. 

Page  37,  hne  53. 

As  Ihey  were  cai);ivLS  to  the  Kiiif:  of  !''h)\vers. 
"  They  deferred  it  till  the  King  of  Flowers  should 
ascend  his  throne  of  enamelled  foliage." — The  Ba- 
hardanush. 

Page  37,  line  78. 

Hill  a  lifjht  ^olJeii  chain-work  roniiil  her  h;i:r,  etc. 
"One  of  the  head-dresses  of  the  Persian  women  is 
composed  of  a  light  golden  chain-work,  set  with 
small  pearls,  with  a  thin  gold  plate  pendant,  about 
tlie  bigness  of  a  crown-piece,  on  which  is  impressed 
an  Arabian  prayer,  and  which  hangs  upon  the  cheek 
below  the  ear." — Hanwafs  Travels. 

Page  37,  line  79. 

The  iMai.is  ,f  Vezd. 

"Certainly  the  women  ofYezd  are  the  handsomest 

women  in  Persia     The  proverb  is,  that  to  live  happy, 

a  man  must  have  a  wife  of  Yezd,  eat  the  bread  of 

Vezdecas,  and  drink  the  wine  of  Shiraz." — Tavernier. 

Page  38,  line  54. 
And  his  floating  eyes — oh  1  they  leseinble 
Hiue  Wiiter-I.lies. 

"  Whose  wanton  eyes  resemble  blue  water-lilies, 
agitated  by  the  breeze-" — Jayadeva. 

Page  38,  line  87. 

To  muse  upon  th  ■  pirliires  thai  hung  round. 
It  has  been  generally  supposed  that  the  Mahome- 
tans prohibit  all  pictures  of  animals ;  but  Torderini 
sliows  that,  though  the  practice  is  forbidden  by  the 
Koran,  they  are  not  more  averse  to  painted  figures 
.md  images  than  other  people.  From  Mr.  Murphy's 
work,  too,  we  find  that  the  Arabs  of  Spain  had  no 
'ibjeption  to  the  introduction  of  figures  into  paintmg. 


Page  38,  line  97. 

Ii'k  ■  iier  own  radiant  planot  of  the  wem, 
Whose  oih  whin  halCn-lir'd  hioks  loveliest. 
This  is  not  quite  astronomically  true.  "  Dr.  Ilad 
Icy  (says  Keil)  has  shown  that  Venus  is  brighvcsi, 
when  she  is  about  forty  degrees  removed  from  liib 
sun  ;  and  that  then  but  only  a  fourth  part  of  her  lucirt 
disk  is  to  be  seen  from  the  earth." 

Page  38,  line  101. 

VV  Ih  her  from  Saba's  howers,  in  wh.ise  tjngh:  eves 
lie  r^ad,  tha   to  Uj  bl.saM,  is  to  he  wise. 

"  In  the  palace  which  Solomon  ordered  to  be  buili 
against  the  arrival  of  the  Queen  of  Saba,  the  floor  or 
pavement  was  of  transparent  glass,  laid  over  running 
water  in  which  fish  were  swimming."  This  led  the 
Queen  into  a  very  natural  mistake,  which  the  Koran 
has  not  thought  beneath  its  dignity  to  commemorate. 
"  It  was  said  unto  her.  Enter  the  palace.  And  when 
she  saw  it  she  imagined  it  to  be  a  great  water ;  and 
she  discovered  her  legs,  by  Idling  up  her  robe  to  pass 
through  it.  Whereupon  Solomon  said  to  her.  Verily, 
this  is  the  place  evenly  floored  with  glass." — Chap.  2" 

Page  38,  line  103. 

Zul.  ika. 
"  Such  was  the  name  of  Potiphar's  wife  according 
to  the  sura,  or  chapter  of  the  Alcoran,  which  con- 
tains the  history  of  Joseph,  and  which  for  elegance 
of  style  surpasses  every  other  of  the  Prophet's  books  ; 
some  Arabian  writers  also  call  her  Rail.  The  passion 
which  this  frail  beauty  of  antiquity  conceived  for  her 
young  Hebrew  slave  has  given  rise  to  a  much  esteem- 
ed poem  in  the  Persian  language,  entitled  Yusef  vau 
Zclikha,  by  Noureddin  Jumi;  the  manuscript  copy 
of  which,  in  the  Bodleian  Library  at  Oxford,  is  sup- 
posed to  be  the  finest  in  the  whole  world." — Noit 
upon  Noifs  Translation  of  Hafez. 

Page  41,  line  22. 

The  apples  .  I"  Llkahar. 
"  In  the  territory  of  Istkahar,  there  is  a  kind  of  ap- 
ple, half  of  which  is  sweet  and  half  sour." — Ebn 
Haukal. 

Page  41,  line  25. 
They  saw  a  youn;;  iliiuioo  girl  upon  the  bank. 

For  an  account  of  this  ceremony,  see  Grandpre'$ 
Voyage  in  the  Indian  Ocean. 

Page  41,  line  38. 
The  OioM-i^ili  or  S.  a  of  Stars. 
"The  place  where  the  Whangho,  a  river  of  Tibet, 
rises,  and  where  there  are  more  than  a  hundred 
springs,  which  sparkle  like  stars  ;  whence  it  is  callcc' 
Hfitunior,  that  is,  the  Sea  of  Stars." — Description  of 
Tibet  in  Pinkerton. 

Page  41,  line  07. 

This  City  of  War,  which  mi  u  few  short  hour* 

Has  sprung  up  here. 
"The  Lescar,  or  Imperial  Camp,  is  divided,  like  a 
regular  town,  into  squares,  alleys,  and  streets,  ana 
from  arising  ground  furnishes  one  of  the  most  agree- 
able prospects  in  the  world.  Starting  up  in  a  few 
hours  in  an  uninhabited  plain,  it  raises  the  idea  of  u 
city  built  by  enchantment.     Even  those  who  leavf 


90 


aiOORE'S  WORKS. 


meir  houses  in  cities  to  follow  the  prince  in  his  pro- 
gress, are  frequently  so  charmed  with  the  Lescar, 
when  situated  in  a  beautiful  and  convenient  place, 
that  they  cannot  prevail  with  themselves  to  remove. 
To  prevent  this  inconvenience  to  the  court,  the  Em- 
peror, after  sufficient  time  is  allowed  to  the  trades- 
r.ien  to  follow,  orders  them  to  be  burnt  out  of  their 
tents." — Daw's  Hindostun. 

Colonel  Wilks  gives  a  lively  picture  of  an  Eastern 
encampment. — "  His  camp,  like  that  of  most  Indian 
armies,  exhibited  a  motley  collection  of  covers  from 
the  scorching  sun  and  dews  of  the  night,  variegated 
according  to  the  taste  or  means  of  each  individual,  by 
extensive  inclosures  of  coloured  calico  surrounding 
superb  suits  of  tents ;  by  ragged  cloths  or  blankets 
stretched  over  sticks  or  branches  ;  palm  leaves  hastily 
spread  over  similar  supports ;  handsome  tents  and 
splendid  canopies  ;  horses,  oxen,  elephants,  and  ca- 
mels, all  intermixed  without  any  exterior  mark  of  or- 
der or  design,  except  the  liags  of  the  chiefs,  which 
usually  mark  the  centres  of  a  congeries  of  these 
masses ;  the  only  regular  part  of  the  encampment 
Deing  the  streets  of  shops,  each  of  which  is  construct- 
ed nearly  in  the  manner  of  a  booth  at  an  English 
fair." — Historical  Sketches  of  the  South  of  India. 

Page  41,  line  77. 

And  camels,  tiit'itid  o'er  with  Yemen's  shells. 
"  A  superb  camel,  ornamented  with  strings,  and 
lufts  of  small  shells." — AU  Bey. 

Page  41,  line  85. 

The  tiiiklin;^  throngs 
Of  laden  camels,  and  their  drvers'  son^s. 

"  Some  of  the  camels  have  bells  about  their  necks, 
and  some  about  their  legs,  like  those  which  our  car- 
riers put  about  their  fore-horses'  necks,  which,  to- 
gether with  the  servants  (who  belong  to  the  camels, 
and  travel  on  foot,)  singing  all  night,  make  a  pleasant 
noise,  and  the  journey  passes  away  delightfully." — 
Pitt's  Account  of  the  Mahometans. 

"  The  camel-driver  follows  the  camels  singing,  and 
sometimes  playing  upon  his  pipe:  the  louder  he  sings 
and  pipes,  the  faster  the  camels  go.  Nay,  they  will 
stand  still  when  he  gives  over  his  music." — Tavernier. 

Page  42,  line  63. 

Hot  as  til  it  crinison  liaze 
By  which  the  pro.strate  caravan  is  aw'd. 
Savary  says  of  the  south  wind,  which  blows  in 
Egypt,  from  February  to  May,  "  Sometimes  it  appears 
only  in  the  shape  of  an  impetuous  whirlwind,  whiirh 
passes  rapidly,  and  is  fatal  to  the  traveller  surprised 
in  the  middle  of  the  deserts.  Torrents  of  burning 
sand  roll  before  it,  the  firmament  is  enveloped  in  a 
thick  veil,  and  the  sun  appears  of  the  colour  of  blood. 
Sometimes  whole  caravans  are  buried  in  it." 

Page  44,  line  31. 

—The  pilhir'd  Tliroiie 
or  I'arvi/.. 

"There  were  said  to  be  under  this  Throne  or  Palace 
of  Khosrou  Parvis,  a  huntlred  vaidts  filled  with  trea- 
sures so  immense,  that  some  Mahometan  writers  tell 
118,  their  Prophet,  to  encourage  his  disciples,  carried 
them  to  a  rock,  which  at  his  command  opened,  and 


gave  them  a  prospect  through  it  of  the  treasutoa  o( 
Khosrou." —  Universal  History. 

Page  44,  line  46. 

And  they  beheld  an  irh,  ainide  and  bri^'lil, 
Ri  e  from  ihe  Huly  Well. 
We  are  not  told  more  of  this  trick  of  the  Impostor 
than  that  it  was  "  une  machine,  qu'il  disait  etre  la 
Lune."  According  to  Richardson,  the  miracle  is  per- 
petuated in  Nekscheb. — "  Nakshab,  the  name  of  a  city 
in  Transoxiania,  where  they  say  there  is  a  well,  in 
which  the  appearance  of  the  moon  is  to  be  seen  night 
and  day." 

Page  44,  line  73. 

On  ("or  the  himiis  that  light  yon  lo'ty  screen 

The  tents  of  Princes  were  generally  illuminated. 
Norden  tells  us  that  the  tents  of  the  Bey  of  Girge  was 
distinguished  from  the  other  tents  by  forty  lanterns 
being  suspended  before  it. — See  Harmer's  Observa 
tions  on  Job. 

Page  45,  line  51. 
Ensines  of  havoc  in,  unknown  before 

That  they  knew  the  secret  of  the  Greek  fire  among 
the  Mussulmans  early  in  the  eleventh  century,  ap- 
pears from  Duw's  Account  of  Maynood  I.  "When  he 
arrived  at  IMoultan,  finding  that  the  country  of  the 
Jits  was  defended  by  great  rivers,  he  ordered  fifteen 
hu:idred  boats  to  be  built,  each  of  which  he  armed 
with  six  iron  spikes,  projecting  from  their  prows  and 
sides,  to  prevent  their  being  boarded  by  the  enemy 
who  were  very  expert  in  that  kind  of  war.  When  he 
had  launched  this  fleet,  he  ordered  twenty  archers 
into  each  boat,  and  five  others  with  fire-balls,  to  burn 
the  craft  of  the  Jits,  and  naptha  to  set  the  whole  river 
on  fire." 

The  agnee  aster,  too,  in  Indian  poems,  the  Instru- 
ment of  Fire,  whose  flames  cannot  be  extinguished, 
is  supposed  to  signify  the  Greek  Fire. — See  Wilhss 
South  of  India,  vol.  i.  p.  471. — And  in  the  curious  Ja- 
van  poem,  the  Bruta  Yvdha,  given  by  Mr.  Rajjies  in 
his  History  of  Java,  we  find,  "  He  aimed  at  the  heart 
of  Soeta  with  the  sharp-pointed  Weapon  of  Fire." 

The  mention  of  gunpowder  as  in  use  among  the 
Arabians,  long  before  its  supposed  discovery  in  Eu- 
rope, is  introduced  by  Ebn  Fadhl,  the  Egyptian  geo- 
grapher, who  lived  in  the  thirteenth  century.  "  Bo- 
dies," he  says,  "  in  the  form  of  scorpions,  bound 
round  and  filled  with  nitrous  powder,  glide  along, 
making  a  gentle  noise ;  then,  exploding,  they  lighten, 
as  it  were,  and  burn.  But  there  are  others,  which, 
cast  into  the  air,  stretch  along  like  a  cloud,  roaring 
horribly,  as  thunder  roars,  and  on  all  sides  vomiting 
out  flames,  burst,  burn,  and  reduce  to  cinders  what- 
ever comes  in  their  way."  The  historian  Bni  Ahd/illa, 
in  speaking  of  the  siege  of  Abuliialid  in  the  year  of 
the  IIcgira'712,  says,  "A  fiery  globe,  by  means  of 
combustible  matter,  with  a  mighty  noise  suddenly 
emitted,  strikes  with  the  force  of  lightning,  and  shakes 
the  citadel." — See  the  extracts  from  Casiri's  Bihiioth 
Arab.  Hispan.  in  the  Appendix  to  Berington's  Literary 
Hi.ttory  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

Page  45,  line  55. 

nischarce,  as  from  a  kindled  naptha  foniil. 
See  Hanway's  Account  of  the  Springs  of  Naptha 
at   Baku   (which  is  called  bv  Lieutenant   Potlinae' 


LALLA  ROOIvlI. 


91 


Joala  Mookhce,  or  the  naming  mouth,)  taking  fire 
and  riiiiiiiiiu  into  the  sea.  Dr.  Coolie  in  his  Journal 
mentions  some  wells  in  CirTassia,  strong))'  impregna- 
leu  witli  tliis  inllanimabic  oil,  from  which  issues  boil- 
ing water,  "  Though  tnc  weather,"  he  adds,  "  was 
now  very  cold,  the  warmth  of  these  wells  of  hot  wa- 
ter produced  near  them  the  verdure  and  flowers  of 
spring." 

Major  Srott  Waring  says,  that  naptha  is  used  by 
'he  I'ersians,  as  we  are  told  it  was  in  hell,  for  lamps. 
Many  a  row 
Olstary  Iaiii|)s  nml  bliizinj;  rressets,  fed 
Wiih  na|iiha  and  aspliallus,  yielded  light 
As  from  a  sky. 

Page  46,  line  107. 

Thou  sei'st  yon  cisliin  in  the  >hade — 'tis  fill'd 

With  buinin^  driiir?,  '6i  lliis  last  hour  distill'd. 

"  II  donna  du  poison  dans  le  vin  a  tons  ses  gens,  et 

ae  jetta  lui-meme  ensuita  dans  une  cuve  pleine  de 

drogues  brulantes  et  consumantes,  afin  qu'il  ne  restat 

rien  de  tous  les  membres  de  son  corps,  et  que  ccu.x 

qui   restaient  de  sa  secte  puissent  croire  qu'il  ^tait 

monte  au  ciel,  ce  qui  ne  manqua  pas  d'arriver." — 

D'Herhelut. 

Page  43,  line  28. 
To  eat  any  mangoes  but  those  of  Ma/.agong  was,  of  course, 
iinpossilile. 
"  The  celebrity  of  Mazagong  is  owing  to  its  man- 
goes, which  are  certainly  the  best  fruit  I  ever  tasted. 
The  parent  tree,  from  which  all  those  of  this  species 
have  been  grafted,  is  honoured  during  the  fruit  sea- 
son by  a  guard  of  sepois ;  and,  in  the  reign  of  Shah 
Jehan,  couriers  were  stationed  between  Delhi  and  the 
iVlahratta  coast,  to  secure  an  abundant  and  fresh  sup- 
ply of  mangoes  for  the  royal  table." — Mrs.  Graham's 
Journal  of  a  Residence  in  India. 

Page  40,  line  30. 

Ills  tiii«  ;ii)tu;ue  |io  celnii. 
This  old  porcelain  is  found  in  digging,  and  "if  it  is 
esteemed,  it  is  not  because  it  has  acquired  any  new 
degree  of  beauty  in  the  earth,  but  because  it  has  re- 
tained its  ancient  beauty  ;  and  this  alone  is  of  great 
importance  in  China,  where  they  give  large  sums  for 
the  smallest  vessels  which  were  used  under  the  Em- 
perors Yan  and  Chun,  who  reigned  many  ages  before 
the  dynasty  of  Tang,  at  which  time  porcelain  began 
to  be  used  by  the  Emperors,"  (about  the  year  442.) — 
Dunn's  Collection  of  Curious  Ohservations,  etc. — a 
bad  translation  of  some  parts  of  the  Letires  Edijiayites 
et  Curieuses  of  the  Missionary  Jesuits. 

Page  49,  line  36. 

That  sublime  bird,  uliicli  tlies  always  in  tlio  air. 
The  Humma,  a  bird  peculiar  to  the  East.  It  is 
aupposed  to  fiy  constantly  in  the  air,  and  never  touch 
the  groimd  :  it  is  looked  upon  as  a  bird  of  happy 
rtmen,  and  that  every  head  it  ovcrshades  will  in  time 
wear  a  crown  " — liichardson. 

In  the  terms  of  alliance  made  by  Fuzzel  Oola  Khan 
with  Ilyderin  1760,  one  of  the  stipidations  was,  "that 
be  should  have  the  distinction  of  two  honorary  atten- 
dants standing  behind  him,  holdings  fans  composed 
of  the  feathers  of  the  humma,  according  to  the  prac- 
tice of  his  family." — Wilks's  South  of  India,  lie 
silds  in  a  note  .  "  The  Humma  is  a  fabulous  bird.  The 


head  over  which  its  shadow  once  passes  will  assur- 
edly be  circled  with  a  crown.  The  splendid  little 
bird,  suspended  over  the  throne  of  Tippoo  Sultaun 
found  at  Seringapatam  in  17'J9,  was  intended  lo  re 
present  this  poetical  fancy." 

Page  49,  line  36. 

Whose  words,  liki!  lho.-<c  on  llie  Written  Mounlaiti,  last 
for  over. 

"  To  the  pilgrims  to  Mount  Sinai  we  must  attributf. 
the  inscriptions,  figures,  etc.  on  those  rocks,  which 
have  from  thence  acquired  the  name  of  the  Written 
Mountain." — Volney.  31.  Gebelin  and  others  have 
been  at  much  pains  to  attach  some  mysterious  and 
important  meaning  to  these  inscriptions  ;  but  Niebuhr, 
as  well  as  Volney,  thinks  that  they  must  have  btjen 
executed  at  idle  hours  by  the  travellers  to  Blount  Si- 
nai, "  who  were  satisfied  with  cutting  the  unpolished 
rock  with  any  pointed  instrument;  adding  to  their 
names  and  the  date  of  their  journeys  some  rude 
figures  which  bespeak  the  hand  of  a  people  but  little 
skilled  in  the  arts  " — Nithuhr. 

Page  49,  line  70. 

From  the  dark  hyacinth  lo  which  llafiz  compares  hi3 

misiress's  hair. 

Vide  Nott's  Hafez,  Ode  v. 

Page  49,  line  71. 

To  the  Camalaa  by  wl  ose  ro^y  blossoms  the  heaven  of 
India  is  scented. 

"TheCamalata  (called  by  Linnseus,  Ipomoea)  is  the 
most  beautiful  of  its  order,  both  in  the  colour  and 
form  of  its  leaves  and  (lowers ;  its  elegant  blossoms 
are  'celestial  rosy  red.  Love's  proper  hue,'  and  have 
justly  procured  it  the  name  of  Camalata,  or  Love's 
Creeper." — Sir  \V.  .Jones. 

"  Camalata  may  also  mean  a  mythological  plant,  by 
which  all  desires  are  granted  to  such  as  inhabit  the 
heaven  of  India;  and  if  ever  flower  was  worthy  of 
paradise,  it  is  our  charming  Ipomsa." — lb. 

Page  49,  line  73. 

That  rioNver-lovii.g  .\ympii,  uli.nii  they  worship  in  llie 
t  niples  o   Kai!  ay. 

"  According  to  Father  Premare,  in  his  tract  on  Chi 
nese  IMythology,  the  mother  of  Ichi  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  heaven,  surnamed  Flower-loving ;  and  as  the 
nymph  was  walking  alone  on  the  bank  of  a  river,  she 
found  herself  encircled  by  a  rainbow,  after  whic^h  she 
became  pregnant,  and,  at  the  end  of  twelve  years,  was 
delivered  of  a  son,  radiant  as  herself." — Asiat.  Res. 

Page  50,  line  1. 

On  the  blue  Mower,  v\in<h,  Braniins  say, 

I!l..oins  no  "here  liul  in  I'aradise. 
"The  Brahmins  of  this  province  insist  that  the  blue 
Campac  flowers  only  in  Paradise." — Sir  W.  Jones 
It  appear.s,  however,  from  a  curious  letter  of  the  Sul- 
tan of  3Ienangcabow,  given  by  Marsden,  that  one 
place  on  earth  may  lay  claim  to  the  possession  of  it. 
"This  is  the  Sultan,  who  keeps  the  flower  Champaka 
that  is  blue,  and  to  be  found  in  no  other  country  bu" 
his,  being  yellow  elsewhere." — Marsden's  Surnutra 

Page  50,  line  2R. 

I  know  where  iho  Isles  of  Perliiinc  HT". 

Dindorus  mentions  the  Isle  of  Panchaia,  to  i\i< 
south  of  Arabia  Felix,  where  there  was  a  temple  o; 


92 


MOORK'S  WORKS. 


Jupiter.  This  island,  or  rather  cluster  of  isles,  has 
disappeared,  "sunk  (says  Grandpre)  in  the  abyss 
made  by  the  fire  beneath  their  foundations." — Voyage 
to  the  liidhui  Ocean. 

Page  50,  line  39. 
Whose  air  is  b.iira,  wliose  o  'ean  spreads 
O'.-r  coral  rocks  and  ainliur  beds,  etc;. 
"  It  is  not  like  the  Sea  of  India,  whose  bottom  is 
rich  with  pearls  and  ambergris,  whose  mountains  of 
the  coast  are  stored  with  gold  and  precious  stones, 
whose  gulfs   breed  creatures  that  yield  ivory,  and 
among  the  plants  of  whose  shores  are  ebony,  red 
wood,  and  the  wood  of  Hairzan,  aloes,   camphor, 
cloves,  sandal-wood,  and  all  other  spices  and  aroma- 
tics  ;   where   parrots   and   peacocks  are  birds  of  the 
torest,  and  musk   and  civet  are  collected  upon  the 
lands." — TmveU  of  two  Mohammediuis. 

Page  50,  line  54. 

T)iy  |)iilar'(l  shades. 

In  the  ground 

The  bended  twigs  take  root,  and  daughters  grow 
About  the  mother  tree,  a  pillar' d  ahade, 
High  over-arch'd,  and  echoing  walks  between. 

MtLTOX. 

For  a  particular  description  and  plate  of  the  Ban- 
yan-tree, see  Cordiner^s  Ceylon. 

Page  50,  line  56. 
Thy  Munurclia  ami  thpir  tlunisand  thrones. 
"  With  this  immense  treasure  Mamood  returned  to 
Ghizni,  and,  in  the  year  -iOO,  prepared  a  magnificent 
festival,  where  he  displayed  to  the  people  his  wealth 
in  golden  thrones  and  in  other  ornaments,  in  a  great 
plain  without  the  city  of  Ghizni." — Ferishta 

Page  50,  Une  91. 

Blood  like  this. 
For  L  berty  shf:d,  s  >  holy  is. 
Objections  may  be  made  to  my  use  of  the  word  Li- 
berty, in  this,  and  more  especially  in  the  story  that 
follows  it,  as  totally  inapplicable  to  any  state  of  things 
that  has  ever  existed  in  the  East ;  but  though  I  can- 
not, of  course,  mean  to  employ  it  in  that  enlarged 
and  noble  sense  which  is  so  well  understood  in  the 
present  day,  and,  I  grieve  to  say,  so  little  acted  upon, 
yet  it  is  no  disparagement  to  the  word  to  apply  it  to 
that  national  independence,  that  freedom  from  the 
interference  and  dictation  of  foreigners,  without 
which,  indeed,  no  lil)erty  of  any  kind  can  exist,  and 
for  which  both  Hindoos  and  Persians  fought  against 
ihcir  Mussulman  invaders  with,  in  many  cases,  a 
bravery  tliiit  deserved  much  better  success. 

Page  50,  line  108. 
Afric's  liunar  Mountains. 
"Sometimes  called,"  says  .Tnckunn,  "  .libbel  Kiim- 
ne,  or  the  white  or  lunar-coloured  mountains;  so  a 
white  horse  is  called  by  the  Arabians  a  moon-colour- 
ed horse." 

Page  51,  line  56. 
O'lly  Ihe  fierce  hya'ua  .stalks 
'I'll  oushoiit  the  city's  desolate  walks. 
"Gondar  was   full  of  hyxnas,  from   the   time   it 
turned  dark  til!  the  dawn  of  day,  seeking  the  different 


pieces  of  slaughtered  carcases,  which  this  cruel  and 
unclean  people  expose  in  the  streets  without  burial, 
and  who  f  rmly  believe  that  these  animals  are  Falash- 
ta  from  the  neighbouring  mountains,  transformed  by 
magic,  and  come  down  to  edt  human  flesh  in  the  dark 
in  safety." — Bruce. 

Page  51,  line  104 
l?ul  see, — u  ho  yonder  comes. 
This  circumstance  has  been  often  introduced  into 
poetry ; — by  Vincentius   Fabricius,  by  Darwin,  and 
lately,  with  very  powerful  eft'ect,  by  Mr.  Wilson. 

Page  53,  line  13. 

The  wild  bees  of  Palestine. 
"Wild  bees,  frequent  in  Palestine,  in  hollow  trunks 
or  branches  of  trees,  and  the  clefts  of  rocks.     Thus 
it  is  said  (Psalm  81,)  ^^  honey  out  of  the  gtony  rock." — 
Burder's  Oriental  CusUmis. 

Page  53,  line  15. 
And,  .lordan,  thosn  sweet  banks  of  thine. 
And  woods  so  full  of  nigliiinyales. 
"  The  river  Jordan  is  on  both  sides  beset  with  little, 
thick,  and  pleasant  woods,  among  which  thousands 
of  nightingales  warble  all  together." — Thevenot. 

Page  53,  line  50. 

On  the  brink 
Of  a  small  iinaret's  rustic  fount. 
Imaret,  "  hospice  ou  on  loge  et  nourrit,  gratis,  le& 
nelerins  pendant  trois  jours." — Toderini,  trandated 
hi/ the  Ahhede  Cournand. — See  also  Castellan'' s  Mceurs 
des  Olhomans,  torn.  v.  p.  145. 

Page  53,  line  81. 

The  boy  has  started  from  the  bed 

Of  flowers,  where  he  had  lain  his  head, 

And  down  upon  the  fragrant  sod 

Kneels. 
"  Such  Turks  as  at  the  common  hours  of  prayer  are 
on  the  road,  or  so  employed  as  not  to  find  conve-- 
nience  to  attend  the  Mosques,  are  still  obliged  to 
execute  that  duty ;  nor  are  they  ever  known  to  fail, 
whatever  business  they  are  then  about,  but  pray  im- 
mediately when  the  hour  alarms  them,  whatever  they 
are  about,  in  that  very  place  they  chance  to  stand  on  ; 
insomuch  that  when  a  janissary,  whom  you  have  to 
guard  you  up  and  down  the  city,  hears  the  notice 
which  is  given  him,  from  the  steeples,  he  will  turn 
about,  stand  still,  and  beckon  with  his  hand,  to  tell 
his  charge  he  must  have  patience  for  a  while;  when, 
taking  out  his  handkerchief,  he  spreads  it  on  the 
ground,  sits  cross-legged  thereupon,  and  says  his 
prayers,  though  in  the  open  market,  which,  having 
ended,  he  leaps  briskly  up,  salutes  the  person  whom 
he  undertook  to  convey,  and  renews  his  journey  with 
the  mild  expression  of  ff hell  ffhonnum  ghell,  or.  Come, 
dear,  follow  me." — Aaron  HiWs  TraveLi 

Page  54,  line  92. 

The  Banyan  Hospital. 

"This  account  excited  a  desire  of  visiting  the  Ban 

yan  Hospital,  as  I  had  heard  much  of  their  benevo 

leiico  to  all  kinds  of  animals  that  were  either  sick. 

lino,  or  infirm,  through  age  or  accident.     On   mv 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


93 


arriv.il  tliere  were  presented  to  my  view  many  liorsos, 
cows,  and  oxen,  in  one  apartment ;  in  another,  dogs, 
nheep,  ^oats,  and  monkeys,  with  clean  straw  for  thorn 
1(1  repose  on.  Above  stairs  were  depositories  for 
seeds  of  many  sorts,  and  flat,  broad  dishes  for  water, 
lor  the  use  of  birds  and  insects." — Pamojis. 

ft  is  said  that  all  animals  know  the  Banyans,  that 
the  most  timid  approach  them,  and  that  birds  will  fly 
nearer  to  them  tlian  to  other  people. — See  Graiidpre- 

Page  54,  line  97. 
Whose  Hweetnpss  was  not  to  1)0  drawn  forth,  like  tlint  of 

the   fri. grant  grass  neur   the  Oaiigt'S,  by  crushing   and 

trampling  upon  them. 

"  A  very  fragrant  grass  from  the  banks  of  the  Gan- 
ges, near  Ileriuwar,  which  in  some  places  covers 
whole  acres,  and  ilift'uses,  when  crushed,  a  strong 
odour."' — Sir  U'.  Joiie.t  on  the  Spikenard  of  the  An- 
ctfnts. 

Page  55,  line  62. 

.\rii/.aii.s  III  chaiiots. 
Oriental  Tales. 

Page  55,  line  72. 
Waved  [ilatea  of  gold  and  sdver  flowers  over  their  heads. 
"  Or,  rather,"  says  Scott,  upon  the  passage  of 
Fe'>shta,  from  which  this  is  taken,  "small  coin, 
stamped  with  the  figure  of  a  flower.  They  are  still 
used  in  India  to  distribute  in  charity,  and  on  occasion, 
thrown  by  the  purse-bearers  of  the  great  among  the 
populace." 

Page  55,  line  83. 
His  d'leciahie  alley  of  trees. 
This  road  is  2.50  leagues  in  length.  It  has  "  little 
pyramids  or  turrets,"  says  Rernier,  "erected  every 
half  league,  to  mark  the  ways,  and  frequent  wells  to 
iffbrd  drink  to  passengers,  and  to  water  the  young 
trees." 

Page  5G,  line  8. 
On  tlio  clear,  cold  waiers  of  wliicli  fi;ate<l  multitudes  of  the 
beautiful  red  lotus. 
"  Here  is  a  large  pagoda  by  a  tank,  on  the  water 
of  which  float  multitudes  of  the  beautiful  red  lotus  : 
the  flower  is  larger  than  that  of  the  white  water-lily, 
and  is  the  most  lovely  of  the  nyrnphaeas  I  have  seen." 
— Mrs.  Graham's  Journal  of  a  residence  in  India. 

Page  56,  line  38. 

Who  many  hundred  years  since  had  fled  hillier  from  their 
Arab  coixiurror-. 
"  On  les  voit,  persecutes  par  les  Khalifes,  se  reti- 
rcr  dans  les  montagnes  du  Kerman  :  plusicurs  choisi- 
rent  pour  retraite  la  Tartarie  et  la  Chine;  d'autres 
s'arreterent  siii  les  bords  du  Gange,  a  Test  de  Delhi." 
— M.  Ant/iirtil,  Memoires  de  P Academie,  torn,  .\x.xi.  p. 
346. 

Page  56,  line  48. 

\s  a  native  of  r;isliniee,  vvlich  hail  in  the  same  manner 
bi'conic  ihe  prev  of  .•^iranL'Cs. 

"Cashmere  (says  its  historians)  had  its  own  Princes 
tOOO  years  before  its  conquest  by  Akbar  in  1585. 
Akbar  woidd  have  found  some  difficLdty  to  reduce 
nis  Paradise  of  the  Indies,  situated  as  it  is,  within 
snob  a  fortress  of  mountains,  but  its  monarch.  Yusef  i 


k'ahn,  was  basely  betrayed  by  his  Omrahs." — Pen- 
nant. 

Page  56,  lino  79. 

His  story  oi'  llie  l''i;e-\v<irshinper9. 

Voltaire  tells  us,  that  in  his  Tragedy  "Les  Que- 
bres,"  he  was  generally  supposed  to  have  alluded  to 
the  Jansenists  ;  and  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  thin 
story  of  the  Fire-worshippers  were  found  capable  of 
a  similar  doubleness  of  application. 

Page  57,  line  77. 

Who,  billM  III  c.d  kiosk  or  bower. 

"In  the  midst  of  the  garden  is  the  ehiosk,  that  is, 
a  large  room,  commonly  beautified  with  a  fine  foun- 
tain in  the  midst  of  it.  It  is  raised  nine  or  ten  steps, 
and  enclosed  with  gilded  I;ittices,  round  which  vines, 
jessamines,  and  honeysuckles  make  a  sort  of  green 
wall;  large  trees  are  planted  round  this  place,  which 
is  the  scene  of  their  greatest  pleasures." — Lady  M 
W.  Montague. 

Page  57,  line  78. 
Before  their  uiirrors  count  the  time. 
The  women  of  the  east  are  never  without  their 
looking-glasses.  "  In  Barbary,"  says  Shaw,  "  they 
are  so  fond  of  their  looking  glasses,  which  they  hang 
upon  their  breasts,  that  they  will  not  lay  them  aside, 
even  when,  after  the  drudgery  of  the  day,  they  are 
obliged  to  go  two  or  three  miles  with  a  pitcher  or  a 
goat's  skin  to  fetch  water." — Traveh. 

In  other  parts  of  Asia  they  wear  little  looking- 
glasses  on  their  thumbs.  "  Hence  fand  from  the  lo- 
tus being  considered  the  emblem  of  beauty)  is  the 
meaning  of  the  following  mute  intercourse  of  two 
lovers  before  their  parents. 

"  He,  with  salute  of  deference  due, 

A  lotus  to  his  forehead  prest ; 
She  rais'd  her  mirror  to  his  view, 
Then  turn'd  it  inward  to  her  breast." 

Asiatic  Miscellany,  vol.  ii. 

Page  58,  line  17. 
Th'  untrodden  solitude 
Of  Ararat's  tremendous  peak. 
Stray  says,  "  I  can  well  assure  the  reader  that  their 
opinion  is  not  trie,  who  suppose  this  mount  to  be 
inaccessible."  He  adds,  that  "the  lower  part  of  the 
mountain  is  cloudy,  misty,  and  dark,  the  middlemost 
part  very  cold  and  like  clouds  of  snow,  but  the  upper 
regions  perfectly  calm." — It  was  on  this  mountain 
that  the  Ark  w.as  supposed  to  have  rested  after  the 
Deluge,  and  part  of  it,  they  say,  exists  there  still, 
which  Struy  thus  gravely  accounts  for : — "  ^^^lere.as 
none  can  remember  that  the  air  on  the  top  of  the  hill 
did  ever  change  or  was  subject  either  to  wind  or  rain, 
which  is  presumed  to  be  the  reason  that  the  .Ark  has 
endured  so  long  without  being  rotten." — See  Carre- 
n's  Traveh,  where  the  Doctor  laughs  at  this  whole  ac- 
count  of  Mount  Ararat. 

Page  50,  line  85. 

The  nhcher  bel!  th  ■!  'ouml  him  rlun;. 

"  Pour  se  distingner  des  Idolatres  de  I'lnde,  les 
Guebrcs  se  ccignent  tons  d'un  cordon  de  laine,  ou  do 
poll  de  chameau." — F.ntyrJoprdw  Francnise 

D'll'^rbelot  says  this  belt  was  generally  of  le.aihp' 


94 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Page  59,  line  89. 
Who,  nioin  and  even 
Hail  their  Creator's  dwellinj^-place 
Among  the  living  lights  of  Heaven. 
•*  As  to  fire,  the  Ghebers  place  the  spring  head  of  it 
111  tliat  globe  of  fire,  the  Stin,  by  them  called  ]Mithras, 
or  Miliir,  to  which  they  pay  the  highest  reverence,  in 
gratitude  for  the  manifold  benefits  flowing  from  its 
ministerial  omniscience.  But  they  are  so  far  from 
confounding  the  subordination  of  the  Servant  with 
the  majesty  of  its  Creator,  that  they  not  only  attribute 
no  sort  of  sense  or  reasoning  to  the  sun  or  fire,  in  any 
of  its  operations,  but  consider  it  as  a  purely  passive 
blind  instrument,  directed  and  governed  by  the  im- 
mediate impression  on  it  of  the  will  of  God;  but  they 
do  not  even  give  that  luminary,  all  glorious  as  it  is, 
more  than  the  second  rank  amongst  his  works,  re- 
serving the  first  for  that  stupendous  production  of 
divine  power,  the  mind  of  man." — Grose.  The  false 
charges  brought  against  the  religion  of  these  people 
by  their  Mussulman  tyrants  is  but  one  proof  among 
many  of  the  truth  of  this  writer's  remark,  "  that  ca- 
hunny  is  often  added  to  oppression,  if  but  for  the 
sake  of  justifying  it.  ' 

Page  60,  line  72. 

That  enchanted  tree  which  grows  over  the  tomb  of  the  mu- 
si  ian  Tan-."'ciii. 
"Within  the  enclosure  which  surrounds  this  mo- 
nument (at  Gualior)  is  a  small  tomb  to  tlie  memory 
of  Tan-Sein,  a  musician  of  incomparable  skill,  who 
flourished  at  the  court  of  Akbar.  The  tomb  is  over- 
shadowed by  a  tree,  concerning  which  a  superstitious 
notion  prevails  that  the  chewing  of  its  leaves  wilJ 
give  an  extraordinary  melody  to  the  voice." — Narm- 
live  of  a  journeij  from  Agra  to  Ouzdn,  by  W.  Hun- 
ter, Esq. 

Page  60,  line  77. 
The  awful  signal  of  the  hambno  stnff. 
"  It  is  usual  to  place  a  small  white  triangular  flag, 
fixed  to  a  bamboo  staff  of  ten  or  twelve  feet  long,  at 
the  place  where  a  tiger  has  destroyed  a  man.  It  is 
common  for  the  passengers  also  to  throw  each  a  stone 
or  brick  near  the  spot,  so  that  in  the  course  ot  a  little 
time  a  pile  equal  to  a  good  waggon-load  is  collected. 
The  sight  of  these  flags  and  piles  of  stones  imparts  a 
certain  melancholy,  nr»t  perhaps  altogether  void  of 
apprehension." — Oriental  Field  Sports,  vol.  ii. 

Page  60,  line  84. 

B'neat'i  the  shade,  some  pions  hands  had  erectml,  etc. 

"The  Ficus  Indica  is  called  the  Pagod  Tree  and 
Tree  of  Cotmcils;  the  first,  from  the  idols  placed  un- 
der its  shade  ;  the  second,  because  meetings  were  held 
under  its  cool  branches.  In  some  places  it  is  believed 
to  be  the  haunt  of  spectres,  as  the  ancient  spreading 
oaks  of  Wales  have  been  of  fairies:  in  others  are 
erected,  beneath  the  shade,  pillars  of  stone,  or  posts, 
•degantly  carved  and  ornamented  with  the  most  beau- 
'iful  [)oroelain  to  supply  the  use  of  mirrors." — Pen- 
niinl. 

Page  60,  line  108. 

Tlio  nigh  ingale  now  hem)-  her  fli-ht. 

■'T^ie    nightingale  sings    from    the    pomegranate 


groves  in  the  day-time,  and  from  the  loftiest  trees  u 
night." — RusseVs  Aleppo. 

Page  61,  line  88. 
Before  whose  sahie  s  daizling  light,  etc. 
"  When  the  bright  cimeters  make  the  eyes  of  ou' 
heroes  wink.'' — The  Moallakat,  Poem  of  Amru. 

Page  62,  line  18. 

As  Lebanon's  small  mountain  flood 

Is  rendered  holy  by  the  ranks 

Of  sainted  cedars  on  its  banks. 
In  the  Lettres  Edifiantes,  there  is  a  different  cause 
assigned  for  its  name  of  Holy.  "  In  these  are  deep 
caverns,  which  formerly  served  as  so  many  cells  for 
a  great  number  of  recluses,  who  had  chosen  these  re- 
treats as  the  only  witnesses  upon  earth  of  the  severity 
of  their  penance.  The  tears  of  these  pious  penitents 
gave  the  river  of  which  we  have  just  treated  the  name 
of  the  Holy  River.'' — See  ChatfaiJiriund's  E^anties 
of  Cltristianity. 

Page  62,  line  57. 
A  rocky  mount:iin  o'er  the  sea 
Of  Oman  beeiling  awfully. 
This  mountain  is  my  own  creation,  as  the  "  stu- 
pendous chain"  of  which  I  suppose  it  a  link  does  no* 
extend  quite  so  far  as  the  shores  of  the  Persian  Gulf 
"This  long  and  lofly  range  of  mountains  formerlj 
divided  Media  from  Assyria,  and  now  forms  the  boun 
dary  of  the  Persian  and  Turkish  empires.  It  runs 
parallel  with  the  river  Tigris,  and  Persian  Gulf,  and 
almost  disappearing  in  the  vicinity  of  Gombaroon 
(Harmozia)  seems  once  more  to  rise  in  the  southern 
districts  of  Kerman,  and,  following  an  easterly  course 
through  the  centre  of  iMeckraun  and  Balouchistan, 
is  entirely  lost  in  the  deserts  of  Sinde." — Khinier's 
Persian  Empire. 

Page  62,  line  80. 

That  bold  were  MosIcmi,  who  would  dare 

At  twilight  hour  to  steer  his  skiff 

Benealh  the  Gheber's  lonely  cliff. 
"  There  is  an  extraordinary  hill  in  this  neighbour- 
hood, called  Kobe  Gubr,  or  the  Guebre's  mountain. 
It  rises  in  the  form  of  a  lot^y  cupola,  and  on  the  sum- 
mit of  it,  they  say,  are  the  remains  of  an  Atush  Kudu, 
or  Fire  Temple.  It  is  superstitiously  held  to  be  the 
residence  of  Deeves  or  Sprites,  and  many  marvellous 
stories  are  recotmted  of  the  injury  and  witchcraft  suf- 
fered by  those  who  essayed  in  former  days  to  ascend 
or  e.xplore  it." — Pottinger's  Beloochistan 

Page  C2,  line  103. 
St'll  did  the  niighly  flame  burn  on. 
"  At  the  city  of  Ye/.d  in  Persia,  which  is  distin- 
guished by  the  appellation  of  the  Darub  Ahadut,  or 
Seat  of  Religion,  the  Guebres  are  permitted  to  have 
an  Atush  Kudu  or  Fire  temple  (which,  they  assert, 
has  had  the  sacred  fire  in  it  since  the  days  of  Zoro- 
aster) in  their  own  compartment  of  the  city;  but  for 
this  indulgence  they  are  indebted  to  the  avarice,  not 
the  tolerance  of  the  Persian  government,  which  taxes 
them  at  25  rupees  each  man." — Pottinger''s  Beloo- 
chistan. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


95 


I'age  63,  line  60. 
VVIiile  on  tliat  altar's  fires 
They  swort". 
"  Nul  d'entre  eux  n'oserait  se  parjurer,  quand  il  a 
pris  a  temoin  cet  element  terrible  et  vengeur." — En- 
ci/<:lop(idie  Francais. 

Page  63,  line  78. 

The  Persian  lily  shines  and  towers. 
"  A  vivid  verdure  succeeds  the  autumnal  rains,  and 
rhe  ploughed  fields  are  covered  with  the  Persian  lily, 
of  a  resplendent  yellow  colour." — RusseVs  Akjypo. 

Page  65,  line  3. 
Like  llead-Sea  fruits,  thiit  tcni;pt  the  eye, 
But  turn  to  ashes  on  the  li|)S. 

"They  say  that  there  are  apple-trees  upon  the 
sides  of  this  sea,  which  bear  very  lovely  fruit,  but 
within  are  all  fidl  of  ashes.'' — Tkcvenot.  The  same 
is  asserted  of  the  oranges  there. — See  Wiiman^'s  Tra- 
vels in  Asiatic  Turkeij. 

"  The  Asphalt  Lake,  known  by  the  name  of  the 
Dead  Sea,  is  very  lemarkabie  on  account  of  the  con- 
siderable proportion  of  salt  which  it  contains.  In 
this  respect  it  surpasses  every  other  known  water  on 
the  surface  of  the  earth.  This  great  proportion  of 
bitter-tasted  salts  is  the  reason  why  neither  animal 
nor  plant  can  live  in  this  water." — Khtproth's  Chemi- 
cal Analifsis  of  the  Water  of  the  Dead  Sea,  Annals 
of  Philosophy,  JsLiiuiLTy,  1313.  Hassdtiuigt,  however, 
doubts  the  truth  of  this  last  assertion,  as  there  are 
shell-fish  to  be  found  in  the  lake. 

Lord  Byron  has  a  similar  allusion  to  the  fruits  of 
the  Dead  Sea,  in  that  wonderful  display  of  genius, 
his  Third  Canto  of  Childe  Harold, — magnificent  be- 
»ond  any  thing,  perhaps,  that  even  he  has  ever  written. 

Page  65,  line  9. 
While  hikes  that  shone  in  nioekeiy  nigh. 

"  The  Shuhrab  or  Water  of  the  Desert  is  said  to  be 
caused  by  the  rarefaction  of  the  atmosphere  from  ex- 
treme heat ;  and,  which  augments  the  delusion,  it  is 
most  frequent  in  hollows,  where  water  might  be  ex- 
pected to  lodge.  I  have  seen  bushes  and  trees  re- ' 
fleeted  in  it,  with  as  much  accuracy  as  though  it  had  i 
been  the  face  of  a  clear  and  still  lake." — Pottinger.    \ 

"  As  to  the  unbelievers,  their  works  are  like  a  va- ' 
pour  in  a  plain,  which  the  thirsty  traveller  thinkethj 
to  be  water,  until  when  he  cometh  thereto  he  findeth 
it  to  be  nothing." — Koran,  chap.  24. 

Page  65,  line  20.  I 

\  flower  tliat  the  IS.dnmsk  has  jn^t  ()as  ed  over. 
"  A  wind  which  prevails  in  February,  called  Bid- 
tnusk,  from  a  small  and  odoriferous  fiower  of  that 
name.'' — "  The  wind  which  blows  these  tiowers  com- 
monly lasts  till  the  end  of  the  month." — Le  Bruyn. 

Page  65,  line  22. 

Where  the  sea-gipse  .s,  wiio  hvc  lor  ever  on  the  water. 

"  The  Biajus  are  of  two  races  ;  the  one  is  settled  on 
Borneo,  and  are  a  rude  but  warlike  and  industrious 
nation,  who  reckon  themselves  the  original  possessors 
of  the  island  of  Borneo.  The  other  is  a  species  of 
sca-gipsies  or  itinerant  fishermen,  who  live  in  small 
eov°red  boats,  and  enjoy  a  peqjetual  summer  on  the 


eastern  ocean,  shifting  to  leeward  from  island  tn 
island,  with  the  variations  of  the  monsoon.  In  som. 
of  their  customs  this  singular  race  resemble  the  na- 
tives of  the  Maldivia  islands.  The  Maldivians  an- 
nually launch  a  small  bark,  loaded  with  perfumes, 
gums,  flowers,  and  odoriferous  wood,  and  turn  it 
adrift  at  the  mercy  of  winds  and  waves,  as  an  oH'ering 
to  the  Spirit  of  the  Winds;  and  sometimes  similar 
oderings  are  made  to  the  spirit  whom  they  term  the 
^'"g  "f  Ihe  Sea.  In  like  manner  the  Biajus  per- 
form their  offering  to  the  god  of  evil,  launching  a 
small  bark,  loaded  with  all  the  sins  and  misfortunes 
of  the  nation,  which  arc  imagined  to  fall  on  the  un- 
happy crew  that  may  be  so  unlucky  as  first  to  meet 
with  it.  Dr.  Leyden  on  the  Languages  and  Litera- 
ture of  the  Indo-Chinese  Nations. 

Page  65,  line  37. 

The  violel  t-herhet.-i. 

"  The  sweet-scented  violet  is  one  of  the  plants  most 
esteemed,  particularly  for  its  great  use  in  sorbet, 
which  they  make  of  violet  sugar." — Husselqnixt. 

"The  sherbet  they  most  esteem,  and  which  is 
drank  by  the  Grand  Signor  himself,  is  made  of  vio 
lets  and  sugar." — Tavemier. 

Page  65,  line  39. 

The  p.ilheiic  me  usnre  ol   .Vaia. 
"  Last  of  all  she  took  a  guitar,  and  sung  a  pathetic 
air  in  the  measure  called  iS'ava,  which  is  always  used 
to  express  the  lamentations  of  absent  lovers." — Per 
siun  Tales. 

Page  65,  line  107. 

Her  rnhy  rosary. 

"  Le  Tespih,  qui  est  un  chapelet,  compost  de  99 
pctites  boules  d'agathe,  de  jaspe,  d'ambre,  de  corail, 
ou  d'autre  matiere  precieuse.  J'en  ai  vu  un  siiperbe 
an  Seigneur  Jerpos  ;  il  etait  de  belles  et  grosses  per- 
Ics  parfaites  et  egales,  estime  trente  mille  piastres. 
— Toderini, 

Page  69,  line  16. 

A  silk  dyed  with  (he  hlossoms  of  the  sorrowful  tree  .\ilica. 
"  Blossoms  of  the  sorrowful  Nyctanthes  give  a 
durable  colour  to  silk." — Remarks  on  the  Husbandry 
of  Bengal,  p.  200.  Nilica  is  one  of  the  Indian  names 
of  this  flower. — Sir  W.  Jones.  The  Persians  call  it 
Gul. — Carreri. 

Page  71,  line  54. 

When  pitying  heaven  to  lose.-  turn'd 

'l"he  diath-tlanies  iliat  heneath  him  burn'd. 

Of  their  other  Prophet,  Zoroaster,  there  is  a  sturj 
told  in  Dion  Pniseens,  Orat.  36,  that  the  love  of  wis- 
dom and  virtue  leading  him  to  a  solitary  life  upon  ii 
mountain,  he  found  it  one  day  all  in  a  flame,  shimns! 
with  celestial  fire,  out  of  which  he  came  without  any 
harm,  and  instituted  certain  sacrifices  to  God,  who, 
he  declared,  then  appeared  to  him. — See  Patrick  on 
Exodus,  iii.  2. 

Page  76,  line  54. 

Thev  were  n  w  noi  far  fom  ih  il  [wirhidden  River. 
"  Akbar,  on  his  way,  ordered  a  fort  to  be  built  upo* 
the  Nilab,  which  he  called  Attock,  which  means,  il 
the  Indian  language,  Forbidden  ;  for,  by  the  supersti- 
tion of  the  Hindoos,  it  was  held  unlawful  to  cruso 
that  river." — Dow's  Hindo.itan. 


96 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Page  76,  line  77. 
Keserablins,  she  (ji'u;i]  lliouglii,  that  people  of  Ziiige. 

"  I'he  inhabitants  of  this  country  (Zinge)  are  never 
aiBicted  with  sadness  or  melancholy  :  on  this  subject 
the  Sheikh  Abu-al-Kheir-Azhaii  has  the  following 
distich  : 

"  Who  is  the  man  without  care  or  sorrow  (tell)  that 
I  may  rub  my  hand  to  lum. 

"  (Behold)  the  Zingians,  without  care  or  sorrov;, 
frolicksome,  with  tipsiness  and  mirth." 

"  The  philosophers  have  discovered  that  the  cause 
of  this  cheerfulness  proceeds  from  the  influence  of 
he  star  Soheil  or  Canopus,  which  rises  over  them 
every  night." — Extract  frcrni  a  geoi^rtqiliical  Persian 
Manuscrijjt,  called  Heft  Aklin,  or  the  Seven  Climates, 
translated  by  W.  Ousel-ey,  Esq. 

Page  76,  line  92. 

Putting  lo  ileaih  sunn-  !Kiiul;f(ir,o:  lliosr  iHilnr'unale  hzards. 

"The  lizard  Stello.  Thr  Vrubs  call  it  Hardun. 
The  Turks  kill  it,  for  they  uiiiigme  that  by  declining 
the  head,  it  mimics  the.ui  when  they  say  their  prayers." 

Hasselqui.<:t. 

Page  76,  hne  93. 

About  two  miles  from  Hiissii  i  Abdiul  weru  those  Royal 
GarUMi.-;. 
I  am  indebted  for  these  particulars  of  Hussun  Ab- 
daul  to  the  very  interesting  Introduction  of  Mr.  El- 
phinstone's  work  upon  Cauhul. 

Page  76,  line  107. 

.As  tlie  Pro|i!iit  said  ol'  Uaiii.ocus,  ''  It  was  too  <ielicious." 
"  As  you  enter  at  the  Bazar  without  the  gate  of 
Damascus,  you  see  the  Green  Blosque,  so  called  be- 
c-iuse  it  hath  a  steeple  faced  with  green  glazed  bricks, 
which  render  it  very  resplendent ;  it  is  covered  at 
top  with  a  pavilion  of  the  same  stuff.  The  Turks 
say  this  mosque  was  made  in  that  place,  because  Ma- 
homet being  come  so  far,  would  not  enter  the  town, 
saying  it  was  too  delicious." — Thevenot.  This  re- 
minds one  of  the  following  pretty  passage  in  L^aac 
Walton :  "  When  I  sat  last  on  this  primrose  bank, 
and  looked  down  these  meadows,  I  thought  of  them 
as  Charles  the  Emperor  did  of  the  city  of  Florence, 
tnat  they  were  too  pleasant  to  be  looked  on,  but  only 
on  holidays.'  " 

Page  77,  line  9. 

Would  remind  the  I'rince.ss  <ii'  that  dir^erenve,  etc. 
"  Haroun  Al  Raschid,  Cinquieme  Khalife  des  Abas- 
gidese,  s'ctant  un  joiir  brouille  avec  uiie  de  ses  mai- 
tresses  nominee  Maridah,  qu'il  airnait  cependant  jus- 
qu'a  I'exces,  et  cette  meseiitellig<!nce  ayaiit  deja  dure 
quelque  temps,  cominenca  a  s'ennuyer.  (iiafar  Bar- 
rnaki,  son  favori,  (jui  s'en  appercut,  commanda  a  Ab- 
bas ben  Ahnaf,  excellent  poote  dc  cc  temps-la,  de 
composer  quelques  vers  sur  le  sujet  de  cette  brouil- 
ierie,  Ce  poete  executa  rordrede(iiafar,  qui  fit  chan- 
er  ces  vers  par  Moussali,  en  presence  du  Khalife,  et 
re  Prince  fut  tellement  touche  de  la  tcndresse  des 
vers  du  poete  et  de  la  douceur  de  la  voix  du  Musicien 
■ju'il  alia  aussitot  trouver  Maridah,  et  fit  sa  paix  avec 
iWa^'—D'Herhelut. 

Page  78,  line  6. 

Where  ihi:  silki  ii  8«inp. 

'  The  swin^t  is  a  favourite  pastime  in  the  East,  as 


promoting  a  circulation  of  air,  e.xtremely  retreshing 
in  those  sultry  climates." — Richardson. 

"  The  swings  are  adorned  with  festoons.  This  ii<ts 
time  is  accompanied  with  music  of  voices  and  of  in 
struments,  hired  by  the  masters  of  the  swings  "— 
Thevenol. 

Page  78,  line  16. 

as  if  all  I  lie  s-hores, 

liike  those  of  Kathay,  uiierM  music  and  gave 
All  answer  in  song  to  liie  kiss  of  each  wave.  r, 

This  miraculous  quality  has  been  attributed  also  tc 
the  shore  of  Attica.  "  Hujus  httus  ait  CapelJa  con- 
centum  musicum  illisis  terras  undis  reddere,  quod 
propter  tantam  eruditionis  vim  puto  dictum  " 
Liidov.  Vioes  in  Augustine,  de  Civitat.  Dei,  lit} 
xviii.  c.  8. 

Page  80,  line  40. 

The  busil  luf  thai  waies 
Its  fngrant  blossoms  over  graves. 
"  The  women  in  Egypt  go,  at  least  two  days  in 
the  week,  to  pray  and  weep  at  the  sepulchres  of  the 
dead ;  and  the  custom  then  is  to  throw  upon  the 
tombs  a  sort  of  herb,  which  the  Arabs  call  n'Aan, 
and  which  is  our  sweet  basil.'' — Maillet,  Lett.  10. 

Page  80,  line  89. 
The  inounlaiii  hcih  that  dyea 
Tne  loolh  of  the  rawn  like  rjold. 

Nitiuhr  thinks  this  may  be  the  herb  which  the 
Eastern  alchymists  look  to  as  a  means  of  making 
gold.  "  Most  of  those  alchymical  enthusiasts  think 
themselves  sure  of  success,  if  they  could  but  find 
out  the  herb,  which  gilds  the  teeth  and  gives  a  yellow 
colour  to  the  flesh  of  the  sheep  that  eat  it.  Even  tlie 
oil  of  this  plant  must  be  of  a  golden  colour.  It  is 
called  Hdscuhschat  ed  aah." 

Father  .lerom  Dandini,  however,  asserts  that  the 
teeth  of  the  goats  at  Mount  Libanus  are  of  a  silver 
colour ;  and  adds, "  this  confirms  me  in  that  which  I 
observed  in  Candia;  to  wit,  that  the  animals  that 
live  on  mount  Ida  eat  a  certain  herb,  which  renders 
their  teeth  of  a  golden  colour;  which,  according  to 
my  judgment,  cannot  otherwise  proceed  than  from 
the  mines  which  are  under  ground." — Dandini 
Voyage  to  Mount  Libanus. 

Page  81,  line  49. 
"I'is  I  thai  mingle  in  one  sweet  measure, 
The  past,  the  present,  and  fiitue  of  pleasure. 

"  Whenever  our  pleasure  arises  from  a  succession 
of  sounds,  it  is  a  perception  of  complicated  nature, 
made  up  of  a  sensalion  of  the  present  sound  or  note, 
and  an  idea  or  remembrance  of  the  foregoing,  while 
their  mixture  and  concurrence  produce  such  a  niystc- 
ri/)us  delight,  as  neither  could  have  produced  alone 
And  it  is  often  heightened  by  an  anticipation  of  ths 
succeeding  notes.  Thus  Sense,  Memory,  and  Imagi- 
nation are  conjunctively  employed." — Gerrard  or 
Taste. 

This  is  exactly  the  Epicurean  theory  of  Pleasure 
as  explained  by  Cicero  : — "  Quocirca  corpus  gaudere 
tamiliii,  dum  prKsentcm  sentirct  voluptatem  ;  ani- 
muni  ct  praisentem  percipere  pariter  cum  corpore  et 
prospicere  venientem,  nee  pra;teritam  prKterfluerr. 
sinere." 

Madame  de  Stael  accounts  upon  the  same  principle 
for  the  gratification  we  derive  from  rhi/me  ■     "  EJIr 


est  I'iinage  de  I'esperance  et  du  souvenir.  Un  son 
nous  fait  desirer  cclui  qui  doil  lui  repondre,  et  quund 
ie  scfoiid  rcuentit,  ii  nous  rapelle' celui  qui  vient  de 
nous  ecliapper." 

Page  81,  line  69. 
"Pis  (liiwii,  111  luast  that  earlier  dawn, 
WliDse  glimpses  are  again  willidrawn. 

"  The  Persians  have  two  morningrs,  the  Soobhi 
Kazim  and  Soobhi  Sadig,  the  false  and  the  real  day- 
break. They  account  for  this  phenomenon  in  a  most 
whimsical  manner.  They  say  that  as  the  sun  rises 
from  behind  the  Kohi  Qaf  (Mount  Caucasus,)  it 
passes  a  hole  perforated  through  that  mountain,  and 
that  darting  its  rays  tlirough  it,  is  the  cause  of  tlie 
Soobiii  Kazini,  or  tiiis  toniporary  appearance  of  day- 
oreak.  As  it  ascends,  the  eartli  is  again  veiled  in 
darkness,  until  the  sun  rises  above  the  mountain  and 
brings  with  it  the  Soobhi  Sadig,  or  real  morning." — 
Scott  Waring.  He  thinks  3Iilton  may  allude  to  this, 
when  he  says. 

Ere  the  blabbing  Eastern  scout 
The  nice  morn  on  the  Indian  steep 
From  her  cabin'd  loop-hole  peep. 

Page  81,  line  98. 

held  a  feast 

In  his  magniliceiit  Slialimar. 

"  In  the  centre  of  the  plain,  as  it  approaches  the 
Lake,  one  of  the  Delhi  Emperors,  I  believe  Shah 
Jehan,  constructed  a  spacious  garden  called  the  Sha- 
limar,  which  is  abundantly  stored  with  fruit  trees  and 
flowering  shrubs.  Some  of  the  rivulets  which  inter- 
sect the  plam  arc  led  into  a  canal  at  the  back  of  the 
garden,  and,  flowing  through  its  centre,  or  occasion- 
ally thrown  into  a  variety  of  water-works,  compose 
the  chief  beauty  of  the  Shalimar.  To  decorate  this 
spot  the  Mogul  Princes  of  India  have  displayed  an 
equal  magniticence  and  taste ;  especially  Jehan  (iheer, 
who,  with  the  enclianting  Noor  Mahl,  made  Kash- 
mire  his  usual  residence  during  the  summer  months 
On  arches  thrown  over  the  canal  are  erected,  at 
equal  distances,  four  or  five  suits  of  apartments,  each 
consisting  of  a  saloon,  with  four  rooms  at  the  angles, 
where  the  followers  of  the  court  attend,  and  the  ser 
vants  prepare  sherbets,  coffee,  and  the  hookah.  The 
frame  of  the  doors  of  the  prmcipal  saloon  is  com- 
posed of  pieces  of  a  stone  of  a  black  colour,  streaked 
with  yellow  lines,  and  of  a  closer  grain  and  higher 
polish  than  porphyry.  They  were  taken,  it  is  said, 
from  a  Hindoo  temple;  by  one  of  the  Mogul  Princes, 
and  are  esteemed  of  great  value." — Furaler. 

Page  83,  line  20. 
And  oil,  it'  llifre  be,  etc. 

"  Around  the  exterior  of  the  Dewan  KTiass  (a  build- 
ing of  Shah  Allum's)  in  the  cornice  are  the  following 
lines  in  letters  of  gold  upon  a  ground  of  white  mar- 
ble— '//  there  be  a  Paradise  upon  earth,  it  is  ?/ii>v,  it  is 
ihis.'  " — Franhlin. 

Page  84,  line  67. 

Like  Ih::!  !  anilcd  |)(ircelain. 

"  The  Chinese  had  formerly  the  art  of  painting  on 

the  sides  of  porcelain  vessels,  fish  and  other  animals, 

A'hich  were  only  perceptible  when  the  vessel  was 

full  of  some  liquor.     They  call  this  speci«s  Ivai-tsin, 

U 


that  is,  azure  is  put  in  press,  on  account  of  the  nun 
ner  in  which  the  azure  is  laid  on." — "  They  arc  every 
now  and  then  trying  to  recover  the  art  of  this  magical 
painting,  but  to  no  purpose."— ZJu/i/t 

Page  81,  line  100. 
More  perl'eel  than  llii;  du  imsl  iiii;.gi  s  iii  ine  House  of  A/or 

An  eminent  carver  of  idols,  said  m  the  Koran  to  be 
father  to  Abraham.  "  I  have  such  a  lovely  idol  as  is 
not  to  be  met  with  in  the  house  of  Azor." — Hujiz. 

Page  84,  line  112. 

Till-  grotfos,  hermilagcs,  ami  iiinaciiioiis  lounliiins. 

"  The  pardonable  superstition  of  the  sequesteret' 
inhabitants  has  multiplied  the  places  of  worship  o( 
Mahadeo,  of  Beschan,  and  of  Brama.  All  Cashmere 
is  holy  land,  and  miraculous  fountains  abound." — 
Major  Re/inell's  Menwirs  of  a  Map  of  Hindoslttn. 

Jelianguire  mentions  "a  fountain  in  Cashmere 
called  Tirnagh,  which  signifies  a  snake;  probably 
because  some  large  snake  had  formerly  been  seen 
there." — "  During  the  lifetime  of  my  father,  I  went 
twice  to  this  fountain,  which  is  about  twenty  coss 
from  the  city  of  Cashmere.  The  vestiges  of  places 
of  worship  and  sanctity  are  to  be  traced  without 
number  amongst  the  ruins  and  the  caves,  which  are 
interspersed  in  its  neighbourhood." — Toozek  Jehan- 
geery. — See  Asiat.  Mi.tc.  vol.  ii. 

There  is  another  account  of  Cashmere  by  Abui 
Fazil,  the  author  of  the  Ayin-Acbaree,  "  who,"  says 
Major  Renndl,  "  appears  to  have  caught  some  of  tlie 
enthusiasm  of  the  Valley,  by  his  descriptions  of  thi 
holy  places  in  it." 

Page  84,  line  117. 

VVIiose  l)()ii:ies,  rool'd  with  flowers. 

"  On  a  standing  roof  of  wood  is  laid  a  covering 
of  fine  earth,  which  shelters  the  building  from  the 
great  quantity  of  snow  that  falls  in  the  winter  season. 
This  fence  communicates  an  equal  warmth  in  winter, 
as  a  refreshing  coolness  in  the  summer  season,  when 
the  tops  of  the  houses,  which  are  planted  with  a 
variety  of  flowers,  exhibit  at  a  distance  the  spacious 
view  of  a  beautifully  chequered  parterre." — Forster. 

Page  85,  line  12. 

Lnnterns  of  the  triple-coloured  tortoise  shell  of  Pegu 
"Two  hundred  slaves  there  are,  who  have  no  other 
office  than  to  hunt  the  woods  and  marshes  for  triple 
coloured  tortoises  for  the  King's  Viviary.  Of  the 
shells  of  these  also  lanterns  are  made." — Vincent  U 
Blanc's  Traveh. 

Page  85,  line  22. 

The  meteors  o!"  the  north,  as  they  are  seen  by  tliose  hunters 
For  a  description  of  the  Aurora  Borealis,  as  it 
appears  to  these  hunters,  see  EncyclopcBdia. 

Page  85,  line  36 

The  cold,  odoriferous  wind. 

This  wind,  which  is  to  blow  from  Syria  Damas 
cena,  is,  according  to  the  3Iahometans,  one  of  the 
signs  of  the  Last  Day's  approach. 

Another  of  the  signs  is,  "Great  distress  in  the 
world,  so  that  a  man  when  he  passess  by  another's 
grave,  shall  say.  Would  to  (iod  I  were  in  his  place  '" 
— Sale's  Prrliminarv  Discourse. 


98 


MOORE'S  WOUKS. 


Page  85,  line  97. 
The  L-iMiilc-uii  llirimeof  l<oollnirj;a. 
•*  On  IMahommed  Shaw's  return  to  Koolburga  (the 
capital  of  Dekkan)  ne  made  a  great  festival,  and 
mounted  his  throne  with  much  pomp  and  magnifi- 
cence, calling  It  Firozeh  or  Cerulean.  1  have  heard 
soree  old  persons,  wiio  saw  the  throne  Firozeh  in 
ihe  reign  of  Sultan  Maniood  Bhamenee,  describe  it. 
Tbey  say  that  it  was  in  length  nine  feet,  and  three  in 
j^eaddi ;  made  of  ebony,  covered  with  plates  of  pure 


gold,  and  set  with  precious  stoneti  of  immense  value 
Every  prince  of  the  house  of  Bhamenee,  who  pos- 
sessed this  Throne,  made  a  point  of  adding  to  it  some 
rich  stones,  so  that  when,  in  the  reign  of  Sultan  Ma- 
mood,  it  was  taken  to  pieces,  to  remove  some  of  the 
jewels  to  beset  in  vases  and  cups,  the  jewellers  valued 
it  at  one  crore  of  oons,  (nearly  four  millions  sterling.) 
I  learned  also  that  it  was  called  Firozeh  from  being 
partly  enamelled  of  a  sky-blue  colour,  which  was  in 
time  totally  concealed  by  the  number  of  jewels  "-- 
Fensfita. 


EPISTLES,  ODES, 


AND   OTHER 


^©^:^s 


Tanli  non  es,  ais.     Sapis,  Luperce. 

Martial,  IaI>.  i.  F.pig.  118. 
nEPinAETi;Ai  men  noAAAi;  iiOAEii;  kaaon, 

ENOIKHiJAI  AE   TH   KrATIi;TH   XPHi;iMON. 

Plutarch,  ^■.j.l  ^j-x.Joui/  xyaiyy^i. 


TO  FRANCIS,  EARL  OF  MOIRA, 


GENERAL  IN  HIS  MAJESTY  S  FORCES,  MASTER-GENERAL  OF  THE  ORDNANCE, 
CONSTABLE  OF  THE  TOWER,  ETC. 

My  Lord: — It  is  impossible  to  think  of  addressing  a  Dedication  to  your  Lordship  without  calling  to 
mind  the  well-known  reply  of  the  Spartan  to  a  rhetorician,  who  proposed  to  pronounce  an  eulogium  on 
Hercules.  "  On  Hercules  !"  said  the  honest  Spartan,  "  who  ever  thought  of  blaming  Hercules  ?"  In  a 
similar  manner  the  concurrence  of  public  opinion  has  left  to  the  panegyrist  of  your  Lordship  a  fery  super- 
fluous task  I  shall  therefore  be  silent  on  the  subject,  and  merely  entreat  your  indulgence  to  the  very 
humble  tribute  of  gratitude,  which  I  have  here  the  honour  to  present. 

I  am,  MY  lord,  with  every  feeling  of  attachment  and  respect. 

Your  Lordship's  very  devoted  Servant, 
•n,  Bury  Street,  St.  James's,  April  10,  1806.  TH03IAS  3I00RE 


PREFACE. 


The  principal  poems  in  the  following  Collection 
were  written  during  an  absence  of  fourteen  mouths 
from  Europe.  Though  curiosity  was  certainly  not 
the  motive  of  my  voyage  to  America,  yet  it  happened 
that  the  gratification  of  curiosity  was  the  only  advan- 
tage which  I  derived  from  it.  Finding  myself  in  the 
country  of  anew  people,  whose  infancy  had  promised 
50  much,  and  whose  progress  to  maturity  has  been  an 
object  of  such  interesting  speculation,  1  determined  to 
employ  the  short  period  of  time,  which  my  plan  of 
return  to  Europe  afforded  me,  in  travelling  through  a 
few  of  the  States  and  acquiring  some  knowledge  of 
the  inhabitants. 

The  impression  which  my  mind  received  from  the 
character  and  manners  of  these  republicans,  suggest- 
ed the  Epistles  which  are  written  from  the  city  of 
Washington  and  Lake  Erie.'  How  far  1  was  right, 
in  tnus  assuming  the  tone  of  a  satirist  against  a  peo- 
ple whom  I  viewed  but  as  a  stranger  and  a  visitor,  is 
a  doubt  which  my  feelings  did  not  allow  rae  time  to 
investigate.  All  I  presume  to  answer  for,  is  the 
fidelity  of  the  picture  which  I  have  given  ;  and  though 
orudence  migiit  have  dictated  gentler  language,  truth, 
I  think,  would  have  justified  severer. 

I  went  to  America,  with  prepossessions  by  no 
means  unfavourable,  and  indeed  rather  indulged  in 

1  Episiles  VI,  VII,  and  VIII. 


many  of  those  illusive  ideas,  with  respect  to  the  purity 
of  the  government  and  the  primitive  happiness  of  the 
people,  which  I  had  early  imbibed  in  my  native  coun- 
try, where,  unfortunately,  discontent  at  home  enhances 
every  distant  temptation,  and  the  western  world  has 
long  been  looked  to  as  a  retreat  from  real  or  iniagi 
nary  oppression;  as  the  elysian  .\tlantis,  where  pei 
secuted  patriots  might  find  their  visions  realized,  and 
be  welcomed  by  kindred  spirits  to  liberty  and  repose 
I  was  completely  disappointed  in  every  flattering  ex 
pectation  which  I  had  formed,  and  was  inclined  to 
say  to  America,  as  Horace  says  to  his  mistress,  "  in- 
tentata  nites."  Brissot,  in  the  preface  to  his  travels, 
observes,  that  "  freedom  in  that  country  is  carried 
to  so  high  a  degree  as  to  border  upon  a  state  of  na 
ture  ;"  and  there  certainly  is  a  close  approximation  lu 
savage  life,  not  only  in  the  liberty  which  they  eiijoj 
but  in  the  violence  of  party  spirit  and  of  private  ani- 
mosity which  results  from  it.  This  illiberal  zeal  em 
bitters  all  social  intercourse;  and,  though  1  scarcely 
could  hesitate  in  selecting  the  party,  whose  views  ap 
peared  the  more  pure  and  rational,  yot  I  was  sorry  to 
observe  that,  in  asserting  their  opiniens,  they  both 
assume  an  equal  share  of  intolerance  ;  the  Democrats, 
consistently  with  their  principles,  exhibiting  a  vulgari- 
ty of  rancour,  which  the  Federalists  too  often  are  so 
forgetful  of  their  cause  as  to  imitate. 

The  rude  familiarity  of  the  lower  orders,  and  in 
deed  the  unpolished  state  of  society  in  general,  would 
neither  surprise  nor  disgust  if  they  seemed  to  do\» 

99 


100 


JMOORE'S  WORKS. 


from  that  simplicity  of  character,  that  honest  igno- 
rance of  the  gioss  of  refinement,  which  may  be  look- 
ed for  in  a  new  and  inexperienced  people.  But, 
when  we  find  them  arrived  at  maturity  in  m.ost  of  the 
vices,  and  all  the  pride,  of  civilization,  while  they  are 
still  so  remote  from  its  elegant  characteristics,  it  is 
impossible  not  to  feel  that  this  youthful  decay,  this 
crude  anticipation  of  the  natural  period  of  corruption, 
represses  every  sanguine  hope  of  the  future  energy 
and  greatness  of  America. 

I  am  conscious  that,  in  venturing  these  few  re- 
marks, I  have  said  just  enough  to  oifend,  and  by  no 
means  sufficient  to  convince ;  for  the  limits  of  a  pre- 
face will  not  allow  me  to  enter  mto  a  justification  of 
my  opinions,  and  ]  am  committed  on  the  subject  as 
ertectually,  as  if  I  had  written  volumes  in  their  de- 
fence. My  reader,  however,  is  apprized  of  the  very 
cursory  observation  upon  which  these  opinions  are 
founded,  and  can  easily  decide  for  himself  upon  the 
degree  of  attention  or  confidence  which  they  merit. 

With  respect  to  the  poems  in  general,  which  oc- 
cupy the  following  pages,  I  know  not  in  what  manner 
to  apologize  to  the  public  for  intruding  upon  their 
notice  such  a  mass  of  unconnected  trifles,  such  a 
world  of  epicurean  atoms  as  I  have  here  brought  in 
conflict  together.  To  say  that  I  have  been  tempted 
by  the  liberal  offers  of  my  bookseller,  is  an  excuse 
which  can  hope  for  but  little  indulgence  from  the 
critic  i  yet  I  own  that,  without  this  seasonable  induce- 
ment, these  poems  very  possibly  would  never  have 
been  submitted  to  the  world.  The  glare  of  publica- 
tion is  too  strong  for  such  imperfect  productions  : 
they  should  be  shown  but  to  the  eye  of  friendship,  in 
that  dim  light  of  privacy,  which  is  as  favourable  to 
poetical  as  to  female  beauty,  and  serves  as  a  veil  for 
faults,  while  it  enhances  every  charm  which  it  dis- 
plays. Besides,  this  is  not  a  period  for  the  idle  oc- 
cu nations  of  poetry,  and  times  like  the  present  re- 
quire talents  more  active  and  more  useful.  Few  have 
nmv  the  leisure  to  read  such  trifles,  and  I  sincerely 
regret  that  I  have  had  the  leisure  to  write  them. 


EPISTLE   I. 
TO  LORD  VISCOUNT  STRANGFORD. 

ABOARD  THE  PHAETON  FRIGATE  OFF  THE  AZORES 
BY  MOONLIGHT. 

Sweet  ?Joon  !  if  like  Crotona's  sage," 

By  any  spell  my  hand  could  dare 
To  make  thy  disk  its  ample  page, 

And  write  my  thoughts,  my  wishes  there  ; 
IIow  many  a  fiiend,  whose  careless  eye 
Now  wanders  o'er  that  starry  sky. 
Should  smile,  upon  thy  orb  to  meet 
The  recollection,  kind  and  sweet, 
The  reveries  of  fond  regret. 
The  promise,  never  to  forget, 
And  all  my  heart  and  soul  would  send 
To  many  a  dear-lov'd,  distant  friend ! 

I  )h  Strangfori)  !  when  we  parted  last, 
I  little  thought  the  limes  were  past, 


For  ever  past,  when  brilliant  joy 
Was  aft  my  vacant  heart's  employ : 
When,  fresh  from  mirth  to  mirth  again, 

We  thought  the  rapid  hours  too  few, 
Our  only  use  for  knowledge  then 

To  turn  to  rapture  all  we  knew ! 
Delicious  days  of  whim  and  soul ! 

When,  mingling  lore  and  laugh  together 
We  lean'd  the  book  on  pleasure's  bowl, 

And  turn'd  the  leaf  with  folly's  feather ! 
I  little  thought  that  all  were  fled. 
That,  ere  that  summer's  bloom  was  shed, 
My  eye  should  see  the  sail  unfurl'd 
That  wafts  me  to  the  western  world  ! 
And  yet  'twas  time — in  youthful  days. 
To  cool  tlie  season's  burning  rays, 
The  heart  may  let  its  wanton  wing 
Repose  awhile  in  pleasure's  spring, 
But,  if  it  wait  for  winter's  breeze. 
The  spring  will  dry,  the  heart  will  freeze! 
And  then,  that  Hope,  that  fairy  Hope, 

Oh  !  she  awak'd  such  happy  dreams. 
And  gave  my  soul  such  tempting  scope 

For  all  its  dearest,  fondest  schemes, 
That  not  Verona's  child  of  song. 

When  flying  from  the  Phrygian  shore. 
With  lighter  hopes  could  bound  along. 

Or  pant  to  be  a  wanderer  more  !' 

Even  now  delusive  hope  will  steal 
Amid  the  dark  regrets  I  feel. 
Soothing  as  yonder  placid  beam 

Pursues  the  murmureis  of  the  deep, 
And  lights  them  with  consoling  gleam, 

And  smiles  them  into  tranquil  sleep ! 
Oh !  such  a  blessed  night  as  this, 

I  often  think,  if  friends  were  near. 
How  we  should  feel,  and  gaze  with  bliss 

Upon  the  moon-bright  scenery  here! 
The  sea  is  like  a  silvery  lake. 

And,  o'er  its  calm  the  vessel  glides 
Gently,  as  if  itfear'd  to  wake 

The  slumber  of  the  silent  tides  ! 
The  only  envious  cloud  that  lowers, 

Hath  hung  its  shade  on  Pico's  height,' 
Where  dimly,  mid  the  dusk,  he  towers. 

And  scowling  at  this  heav'n  of  light. 
Exults  to  see  the  infant  storm 
Cling  darkly  round  his  giant  form ! 

Now,  could  I  range  those  verdant  isles 

Invisible,  at  this  soft  hour, 
And  see  the  looks,  the  melting  smiles. 

That  brighten  many  an  orange  bower; 
And  could  1  lift  each  ])ious  veil, 

And  see  the  blushing  cheek  it  shades. 
Oh  !  I  should  have  full  many  a  tale, 

To  tell  of  young  Azorian  maids.' 


J  I'ytliiij^oi  iiH ;  wlio  wus  supposed  to  liavo  a  pownr  of 
writinj;  upon  tin;  Mnori,  by  the  iiieuns  of  a  magic  mirror. 
Pwe  liai/lr..  JlrL.  1'j/t/i.ag. 


1  Alliuling  to  these  luiiiniilod  lines  in  the  44th  Carmen  of 
this  Poet : 

.liim  mens  prietrcpidans  avet  vagari, 
.l;im  Ix'ti  studio  pedes  vigescunt ! 

2  Pino  is  n  very  high  mountain  on  one  of  the  Azores,  froir 
which  ihe  Ishiiid  ilerives  its  name.  It  is  said  by  some  to  be 
as  high  lis  the  Peak  of  Tcneritfe. 

3  1  heheve  it  is  Guthrie  vlio  8".y.'!,  that  tkd  inhnhiti-nts  ol 
the  Azores  are  mncli  ndi'ictc'l  ii>  ■^iilLi'^try.  This  is  an  as- 
sertion in  whicn  even  (.iutiirie  niuv  be  credited 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


101 


Unar  StrangfordI  at  this  hour,  perhaps, 

Soirie  faithful  lover  (not  so  blest 
As  they,  who  in  their  ladies'  laps 

May  crudlc  every  wish  to  rest,) 
Warbles,  to  touch  his  dear  one's  soul. 

Those  madrigals,  of  breath  divine, 
Which  Camoen's  harp  from  rapture  stole 

And  gave,  all  glowing  warm,  to  thine !' 
Oh  I  could  the  lover  learn  from  tliee, 

And  breathe  thorn  with  thy  graceful  tone, 
Such  dear,  beguiling  minstrelsy 

Would  make  the  coldest  nymph  his  own! 

But  hark !  the  boatswain's  pipings  tell 
'Tis  time  to  bid  my  dream  farewell : 
Eight  bells : — the  middle  watch  is  set : 
Good  night,  my  Strancford,  ne'er  forget 
Tiiat  far  beyond  the  western  sea^ 
Uone.  wnose  heart  remembers  thee! 


STANZAS. 


9u/40?   5"£   ^Ot'  £.«5>     

/ze  TTfiOa-^utvii  Tx^s* 

riviuo-x£  t'xv5(MV!ix.  fill  a-iSsiv  xyxv. 
JEschijl.  Fragment. 


A  BF.AM  of  tranquillity  smil'd  in  the  v/est, 
The  stems  of  the  morning  pursued  us  no  more. 

And  the  wave,  while  it  welcom'd  the  moment  of  rest. 
Still  heav'd,  as  remembering  ills  that  were  o'er ! 

Serenely  my  heart  took  the  hue  of  the  hour. 

Its  passions  were  sleeping,  were  mute  as  the  dead, 

And  the  spirit  becalm'd  but  remember'd  their  power. 
As  the  billow  the  force  of  the  gale  that  was  Hed  ! 

I  thought  of  the  days,  when  to  pleasure  alone 
My  heart  ever  granted  a  wish  or  a  sigh  ; 

When  the  saddest  emotion  my  bosom  had  known 
Was  pity  for  those  who  were  wiser  than  1 ! 

I  felt  hovi  the  pure,  intellectual  fire 

In  luxury  loses  its  heavenly  ray  ; 
How  soon,  in  the  lavishing  cup  of  desire. 

The  pearl  of  the  soul  may  be  melted  away  ! 

And  1  prayed  of  that  Spirit  who  lighted  the  flame. 
That  pleasure  no  more  might  its  purity  dim  : 

And  that  sullied  but  little,  or  brightly  the  same, 
1  might  give  back  the  gem  1  had  borrow'd  from  him ! 

The  thought  was  ecstatic  I  1  felt  as  if  Heaven 
Had  already  the  wreath  of  eternity  shown; 

As  if,  passion  all  chasten'd  and  error  forgiven. 
My  heart  had  begun  to  be  purely  its  own  I 

I  look'd  to  the  west,  and  the  beautiful  sky 

Which  morning  had  clouded,  was  clouded  no  more  : 

"  Oh  !  thus,"  I  exdaim'd,  "can  a  heavenly  eye 
Shed  light  on  the  soul  that  was  darken'd  before !" 


1  These  islands  liilmi';  l(i  tlie  Porluguesu. 

2  From  (';ipl.  ('ockburii,  «lio  ooiiimanded  llio  Phailoii,  I 
received  such  kind  ulteutlous  iis  I  must  over  renit'iiihcr  with 
gratituile.  As  some  of  the  jiiuriialists  have  gravi-l/  asscrti-d 
that  I  Weill  lo  America  to  speciihile  in  lands,  it  in  ly  not  he 
ini|icrtinenl  to  state,  thai  the  olijecl  of  this  voya«;o  across  the 
Allaiilic  was  niv  a|)|)ointment  lo  the  otlice  of  Registrar  of 

he  V'ico-Admira  ly  Court  of  Bermuda. 


THE  TELL-TALE  LYRE. 

I've  heard,  there  was  in  ancient  days 

A  Lyre  of  most  melodious  spell ; 
'Twas  heav'n  to  hear  its  fairy  lays, 

If  half  be  true  that  legends  tell. 
'Twas  play'd  on  by  the  gentlest  sighs, 

And  to  their  breath  it  brcath'd  again 
In  such  entrancing  melodies 

As  ear  had  never  drunk  till  then  I 

Not  harmony's  serenest  touch 
So  stilly  could  the  notes  prolong; 

They  were  not  heavenly  song  so  much 
As  they  were  dreams  of  heavenly  song! 

If  sad  the  heart,  whose  murmuring  air 

Along  the  chords  in  languor  stole, 
The  soothings  it  awaken'd  there 

Were  eloquence  from  pity's  soul ! 
Or  if  the  sigh,  serene  and  light, 

Was  but  the  breath  of  fancied  woes, 
The  string,  that  felt  its  airy  flight. 

Soon  whisper'd  it  to  kind  repose  ! 
And  oh  !  when  lovers  talk'd  alone. 

If,  mid  their  bliss  the  Lyre  was  near. 
It  made  their  murmurs  all  its  own, 

And  echoed  notes  that  heav'n  might  hear ! 

Therefwas  a  nymph,  who  long  had  lov'd, 
Rut  dar'd  not  tell  the  world  how  well ; 

The  shades,  where  she  at  evening  rov'd, 
Alone  could  know,  alone  could  tell. 

'Twas  there,  at  twilight  time,  she  stole 
So  oft,  to  make  the  dear-one  bless'd. 

Whom  love  had  giv'n  her  virgin  soul. 
And  nature  soon  gave  ail  the  rest  I 

It  chanc'd  that  in  the  fairy  bower 

Where  they  had  found  their  sweetest  shevl. 
This  Lyre,  of  strange  and  magic  power. 

Hung  gently  whispering  o'er  their  head. 

And  while,  with  eyes  of  mingling  fire. 
They  listen'd  to  each  other's  vow. 

The  youth  full  oft  would  make  the  Lyre 
A  pillow  for  his  angel's  brow  ! 

And  while  the  melting  words  she  breath'd 

On  all  its  echoes  wanton'd  round. 
Her  hair,  amid  the  strings  enwreath'd, 

Through  golden  mazes  charm'd  the  sound 
Alas  I  their  hearts  but  little  thought, 

WTiile  thus  entranc'd  they  listening  lay. 
That  every  sound  the  Lyre  was  taught 

Should  linger  long,  and  long  betray  ! 
So  mingled  with  its  tuneful  soul 

Were  all  their  tender  murmurs  grown. 
That  other  sighs  unanswered  stole. 

Nor  chang'd  the  sweet,  the  treasur'd  tone 
Unhappy  nymph  !  thy  name  was  sung 

To  every  passing  lip  that  sigh'o  , 
The  secrets  of  thy  gentle  tongue 

On  every  ear  in  murmurs  died  ! 
The  fatal  Lyre,  by  Envy's  hand 

Hung  high,  amid  the  breezy  groves. 
To  every  wanton  gale  that  fann'd 

Betray'd  the  mystery  of  your  loves  ' 


IJBRAI7Y 


UNTVERPTTY  OF  CAUFORNIA 
SANTA   BARBARA 


102 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Yet,  oh  ! — not  many  a  suffering  hour, 

Thy  cup  ofshame  on  earth  was  giv'n: 
Benignly  came  some  pitying  Power, 

And  took  the  Lyre  and  thee  to  Heaven  ! 
There  as  thy  lover  dries  the  tear 

Yet  warm  from  hfe's  malignant  wrongs, 
Within  his  arms,  thou  lov'st  to  hear 

The  luckless  Lyre's  remember'd  songs  ! 
Still  do  your  happy  souls  attune 

The  notes  it  learn'd,  on  earth,  to  move ; 
Still  breathing  o'er  the  chords,  commune 

In  sympathies  of  angel  love  ! 


TO  THE  FLYING-FISH.' 

When  I  have  seen  thy  snowy  wing 
O'er  the  blue  wave  at  evening  spring, 
And  give  those  scales,  of  silver  white, 
So  gaily  to  the  eye  of  light. 
As  if  thy  frame  were  form'd  to  rise, 
And  live  amid  the  glorious  skies ; 
Oh  !  it  has  made  me  proudly  feel, 
How  like  thy  wing's  impatient  zeal 
Is  the  pure  soul,  that  scorns  to  rest 
Upon  the  world's  ignoble  breast. 
But  takes  the  plume  that  God  has  given, 
And  rises  into  light  and  heaven  ! 

But,  when  I  see  that  wing,  so  bright. 
Grow  languid  with  a  moment's  flight, 
Attempt  the  paths  of  air  in  vain. 
And  sink  into  the  waves  again : 
Alas  I  the  flattering  pride  is  o'er  , 
Like  thee,  awhile,  the  soul  may  soar, 
But  erring  man  must  blush  to  think. 
Like  thee,  again,  the  soul  may  sink  ! 

Oh  Virtue  !  when  thy  clime  I  seek, 
r>et  not  my  spirit's  flight  be  weak  : 
Let  me  not,  like  this  feeble  thing. 
With  brine  still  dropping  from  its  wing. 
Just  sparkle  in  the  solar  glow. 
And  plunge  again  to  depths  below  ; 
But,  when  I  leave  the  grosser  throng 
With  whom  my  soul  hath  dwelt  so  long 
Let  me,  in  that  aspiring  day. 
Cast  every  lingering  stain  away. 
And,  panting  for  thy  purer  air. 
Fly  up  at  once  and  fix  me  there ! 


EPISTLE  II. 
TO  MISS  M E. 

FROM  NORFOLK,  IN  VIRGINIA,  NOV.  1S03. 

In  days,  my  Kate,  when  life  was  new, 
When,  lull'd  with  innocence  and  you, 


I  It  is  Ihe  opinion  of  St.  Austin  ii|inn  Genesis,  and  I  bo- 
lirvo  of  nearly  all  Ihn  Fiitliers,  thai  birds,  like  fish,  were 
0  .giniilly  produced  from  the  waters;  in  defence  of  which 
idea  thf!y  have  collected  every  riin'iful  circumstance  which 
:;aii  lend  to  prove  a  kindred  siinilitudo  between  them; 
Tvyyivi'xv  TOiS  TriTotavoi;  jrpoj  tx  vijxxa.  With  liiis 
tlioiifflit  in  our  miiida  when  we  first  see  the  Flying- I''ish,  we 
couhl  ilmost  fancy,  llml  we  are  present  nt  the  moment  of 
creation,  and  wilne""  the   birth  of  the  first  bird  from  the 


I  heard,  -n  home's  beloved  shade, 
The  din  the  world  at  distance  made ; 
When  every  night  my  weary  head 
Sunk  on  its  own  unthorned  bed. 
And,  mild  as  evening's  matron  hour 
Looks  on  the  faintly  shutting  flower, 
A  mother  saw  our  eyelids  close. 
And  bless'd  them  into  pure  repose ! 
Then,  haply,  if  a  week,  a  day, 
I  linger'd  from  your  arms  away. 
How  long  the  little  absence  seem'd  ! 
How  bright  the  look  of  welcome  beam'd 
As  mute  you  heard,  vvilh  eager  smile, 
My  tales  of  all  that  pass'd  the  while ! 
Yet  now,  my  Kate,  a  gloomy  sea 
Rolls  wide  between  that  home  and  me ; 
The  moon  may  thrice  be  born  and  die. 
Ere  e'en  your  seal  can  reach  mine  eye  ; 
And  oh  !  e'en  then,  that  darling  seal, 
(LTpon  whose  print,  I  us'd  to  feel 
The  breath  of  home,  the  cordial  air 
Of  loved  lips,  still  freshly  there  !) 
IMust  come,  alas  I  through  every  fate 
Of  time  and  distance,  cold  and  late, 
When  the  dear  hand,  whose  touches  fill'd 
The  leaf  with  sweetness,  may  be  chill'd  . 
But  hence,  that  gloomy  thought ! — At  last, 
Beloved  Kate  !  the  waves  are  past : 
I  tread  on  earth  securely  now. 
And  the  green  cedar's  living  bough 
Breathes  more  refreshment  to  my  eyes 
Than  could  a  Claude's  divinest  dies! 

At  length  I  touch  the  happy  sphere 
To  Liberty  and  Virtue  dear, 
WTiere  man  looks  up,  and  proud  to  claim 
His  rank  within  the  social  frame. 
Sees  a  grand  system  round  him  roll. 
Himself  its  centre,  sun,  and  soul ! 
Far  from  the  shocks  of  Europe ;  far 
From  every  wild  elliptic  star 
That,  shooting  with  a  devious  fire. 
Kindled  by  heaven's  avenging  ire. 
So  oft  hath  into  chaos  hurl'd 
The  systems  of  the  ancient  world ! 
The  warrior  here,  in  arms  no  more, 
Thinks  of  the  toil,  the  conflict  o'er, 
And  glorying  in  the  rights  they  won 
For  hearth  and  altar,  sire  and  son, 
Smiles  on  the  dusky  webs  that  hide 
His  sleeping  sword's  remember'd  pride  ! 
While  Peace,  with  sunny  cheeks  of  toil, 
Walks  o'er  the  free,  unlorded  soil. 
Effacing  with  her  splendid  share 
The  drops  that  war  had  sprinkled  there 

Thrice  happy  land  !  where  he  who  flies 
From  the  dark  ills  of  other  skies. 
From  scorn,  or  want's  unnerving  woes 
May  shelter  him  in  proud  repose  ! 
Hope  sings  along  the  yellow  sand 
His  welcome  to  a  patriot  land  ; 
The  mighty  wood,  with  pomp,  receives 
The  stranger  in  its  world  of  leaves. 
Which  soon  their  barren  glory  yield 
To  the  warm  shed  and  cultur'd  fieid  , 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


103 


And  he  who  came,  of  all  bereft, 

To  whom  rntflignanl  fate  h:ul  loft 

Nor  home  nor  I'rioiids  nor  country  dear. 

Finds  home  and  friends  and  country  here ! 

Such  is  tb'  picture,  warmly  such, 

Thr'  'loRg  the  spell  of  fancy's  touch 

Hath  painted  to  my  sanguine  eye 

Of  man's  new  world  of  liberty  ! 

Oh  I  ask  me  not  if  Truth  will  seal 

The  reveries  of  fancy's  zeal — 

If  yet  my  charmed  eyes  behold 

These  features  of  an  age  of  gold — 

No — yet,  alas  !  no  gleaming  trace  !' 

Never  did  youth,  who  lov'd  a  face 

From  portrait's  rosy  flattering  art 

Recoil  with  more  regret  of  heart, 

To  find  an  owlet  eye  of  grey. 

Where  painting  pour'd  the  sapphire's  ray, 

Th;  n  I  have  felt,  indignant  felt, 

To  tiiink  the  glorious  dreams  should  melt, 

Which  oft,  in  boyhood's  witching  time. 

Have  wrapt  me  to  this  wond'rous  clime  ! 

But,  courage  yet,  my  wavering  heart ! 

Blame  not  the  temple's  meanest  part,^ 

Till  you  have  traced  the  fabric  o'er: — 

As  yet,  we  have  beheld  no  more 

Than  just  the  porch  to  freedom's  fane; 

And,  though  a  sable  drop  may  stain 

The  vestibule,  'tis  impious  sin 

To  doubt  there's  holiness  within  ! 

So  here  I  pause — and  now,  my  Kate, 

To  you  (whose  simplest  ringlet's  fate 

Can  claim  more  interest  in  my  sou! 

Than  all  the  Powers  from  pole  to  pole) 

One  word  at  parting ;  in  the  tone 

]\Iost  sweet  to  you,  and  most  my  own. 

The  simple  notes  1  send  you  here,' 

Though  rude  and  wild,  would  still  be  dear, 

If  you  but  knew  the  trance  of  thought. 

In  which  my  mind  their  murmurs  caught. 

'Tvvas  one  of  those  enchanting  dreams, 

That  lull  me  oft,  when  Music  seems 

To  pour  the  soul  in  sound  along. 

And  turn  its  every  sigh  to  song ! 

I  thought  of  home,  the  according  lays 

Respir'd  the  breath  of  happier  days; 

Warmlv  in  every  rising  note 

I  felt  some  dear  remembrance  float 

Till,  led  by  music's  fairy  chain, 

I  wand  ci 'd  back  to  home  again  ! 


1  Pucli  romantic  works  as  "Tlie  American  Farmer's 
Lellers,"  and  the  "Account  uf  Kentucky  l)y  Iinl  ly,"  vvoukl 
seduce  us  into  a  belief,  that  innorence,  pi'iice,  and  tVeedom 
Imd  'ieserled  llie  rest  of  the  world  f(ir  Martha's  Vineyard 
and  the  banks  of  the  Ohio.  The  Fiencli  travellers  too, 
almost  nil  from  revolutionary  motives,  have  contributed 
their  share  to  the  diftusion  of  this  flattering  misconception 
A  visit  to  the  country  is,  however,  quite  siiliicient  to  cor- 
ed >ven  the  most  enthusiastic  prepossession. 

2  Norfolk,  it  must  he  owned,  is  an  unfavourable  specimen 
of  America.  The  characteristics  of  Virjjinia  in  general  are 
not  such  as  can  delight  either  the  politician  or  the  moralist, 
and  ni  Norfolk  '.Key  ire  exhibited  in  their  le.ist  attractive 
{nrm.  .At  the  lime  when  we  arrived,  the  yellow  fever  had 
not  yet  disappeared,  and  every  odour  that  assailed  us  in  the 
streets  very  sltoiijfly  accounted  for  its  visitation. 

3  .'\  trifling  attempt  at  musical  composition  accompanied 
this  epistle. 


Oh  !  love  the  song,  and  let  it  oft 

Live  on  your  lip,  in  warble  soft ! 

Say  that  it  tells  you,  simply  well. 

All  1  have  bid  its  murmurs  tell, 

Of  memory's  glow,  of  dreams  that  shed 

The  tinge  of  joy  when  joy  is  fled, 

And  all  the  heart's  illusive  hoard 

Of  love  renew'd  and  friends  restor'd ! 

Now,  Sweet,  adieu — this  artless  air, 

And  a  few  rhymes,  in  transcript  fair,' 

Are  all  the  gifts  I  yet  can  bo;ist 

To  send  you  from  Columbia's  coast ; 

But  when  the  sun,  with  warmer  smile. 

Shall  light  me  to  my  destin'd  Isle,^ 

You  shall  have  many  a  cowslip-bell 

Where  .Ariel  slept,  and  many  a  shell, 

In  which  the  gentle  spirit  drew 

From  honey  flowers  the  morning  dew  . 


TO  CAR.\, 

AFTER   AN    INTERVAL   OF    ABSENCE 

Co.\ceal'd  within  the  shady  wood 
A  mother  left  her  sleeping  child 

And  flew" to  cull  her  rustic  food. 
The  fruitage  of  the  forest  wild. 

But  .storms  upon  her  path-way  rise. 
The  mother  roams  astray  and  weeping. 

Far  from  the  weak  appealing  cries 
Of  him  she  left  so  sweetly  sleeping. 

She  hopes,  she  fears — a  light  is  seen, 
And  gentler  blows  the  night-wind's  breato 

Yet  no — 'tis  gone — the  storms  are  keen, 
The  baby  may  be  chill'd  to  death  ; 

Perhaps  his  little  eyes  are  shaded 

Dim  by  Death's  eternal  chill — 
And  yet,  perhaps,  they  are  not  faded ; 

Life  and  love  may  light  them  still. 

Thus,  when  my  soul  with  parting  sigh, 
Hung  on  thy  hand's  bewildering  touch, 

And,  timid,  ask'd  that  speaking  eye. 
If  parting  pain'd  thee  half  so  much — 

I  thought,  and,  oh  I  forgive  the  thought. 
For  who,  by  eyes  like  thine  inspir'd. 

Could  ere  resist  the  flattering  fault 
Of  fancying  what  his  soul  desir'd? 

Yes — I  did  think,  in  Cara's  mind, 
Though  yet  to  Cara's  mind  unknown, 

I  left  one  infant  wish  behind. 

One  feeling,  which  I  call'd  my  own  ! 

Oh,  blest !  though  but  in  flincy  blest. 

How  did  I  ask  of  pity's  care. 
To  shield  and  strengthen  in  thy  breast. 

The  nursling  I  had  cradled  there. 

And,  many  an  hour  beguil'd  by  pleasure. 
And  many  an  hour  of  sorrow  numbering, 

I  ne'er  forget  the  new-born  treasure. 
I  left  within  thy  bosom  slumbering. 


1  Th(«»iii'ms  which  immediately  follow 

2  HeriniKla. 


104 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Perhaps,  indifference  has  not  chill'd  it, 
Haply,  it  yet  a  throb  may  give — 

Yet  no — perhaps,  a  doubt  has  kill'd  it ! 
Oh,  Cara  ! — does  the  infant  hve  ? 


TO  CARA, 

ON   THE    DAWNING    OF    A    NEW    YEAR's    PAY 

When  midnight  came  to  close  the  year, 
We  sigh'd  to  think  it  thus  should  take 

The  hours  it  gave  us — hours  as  dear 
As  sympathy  and  love  could  make 

Their  blessed  moments  !  every  sun 

Saw  us,  my  love,  more  closely  one ! 

But,  Cara,  when  the  dawn  was  nigh 
Which  came  another  year  to  shed, 

The  smile  we  caught  from  eye  to  eye 
Told  us  those  moments  were  not  fled  ; 

Oh  no  !  we  felt  some  future  sun 

Should  see  us  still  more  closely  one  ! 

Thus  may  we  ever,  side  by  side. 
From  happy  years  to  happier  glide  ; 
And,  still,  my  Cara,  may  the  sigh 

We  give  to  hours,  that  vanish  o'er  us. 
Be  foUow'd  by  the  smiling  eye, 

That  Hope  shall  shed  on  scenes  before  us ! 


TO  THE  INVISIBLE  GIRL.' 

They  try  to  persuade  me,  my  dear  little  sprite. 
That  you  are  not  a  daughter  of  ether  and  light. 
Nor  have  any  concern  with  those  fanciful  forms 
That  dance  upon  rainbows  and  ride  upon  storms; 
That,  in  short,  your' re  a  woman ;  your  lip  and  your 

breast 
As  mortal  as  ever  were  tasted  or  press'd ! 
But  I  will  not  believe  them — no,  science !  to  you 
I  have  long  bid  a  last  and  a  careless  adieu : 
Still  flying  from  Nature  to  study  her  laws, 
And  dulling  delight  by  exploring  its  cause. 
You  forget  how  superior,  for  mortals  below. 
Is  the  fiction  they  dream  to  the  truth  that  they  know. 
Oh !  who,  that  has  ever  had  rapture  complete. 
Would  ask  how  we  feel  it,  or  why  it  is  sweet ; 
How  rays  are  confused,  or  how  particles  fly 
Througl,  the  medium  reHn'd  of  a  glance  or  a  sigh  ! 
Is  there  one,  who  but  once  would  not  rather  have 

known  it, 
Tiian  written,  with   IIarvev,  whole  volumes  upon 

it? 
No,  no — but  for  you,  my  invisible  love, 
1  will  swear,  you  are  one  of  those  spirits  that  rove 
By  the  bank  where,  at  twilight,  the  poet  reclines, 
VVhen  the  star  of  the  west  on  his  solitude  shines. 
And  the  magical  lingers  of  fancy  have  hung 
Every  breeze  with  a  sigh,  every  leaf  with  a  tongue  ! 
Oh  !  whisper  him  then,  'tis  retiremeni  alone 
Can  hallow  his  harp  or  ennoble  its  tone; 
Like  you,  with  a  veil  of  seclusion  between. 
His  song  to  the  world  let  him  utter  unseen. 


And  like  you,  a  legitimate  child  of  the  spheres, 

Escape  from  the  eye  to  enrapture  the  ears ! 

Sweet  spirit  of  mystery  !  how  I  should  love, 

In  the  wearisome  ways  I  am  fated  to  rove, 

To  have  you  for  ever  invisibly  nigh. 

Inhaling  for  ever  your  song  and  your  sigh  ! 

'Mid  the  crowds  of  the  world  and  the  murmurs  c^ 

care 
I  might  sometimes  converse  with  my  nymph  of  th 

air, 
And  turn  with  disgust  from  the  clamorous  crew. 
To  steal  in  the  pauses  one  wliisper  from  you. 

Oh  !  come  and  be  near  me,  for  ever  be  mine, 
We  shall  hold  in  the  air  a  communion  divine, 
As  sweet  as,  of  old,  was  imagin'd  to  dwell 
In  the  grotto  of  Numa,  or  Socrates'  cell. 
And  ofl,  at  those  lingering  moments  of  night. 
When  the  heart  is  weigh'd  down  and  the  eye'id  ii 

light, 
You  shall  come  to  my  pillow  and  tell  me  of  love, 
Such  as  angel  to  angel  might  whisper  above  ! 
Oh  Spirit! — and  then,  could  you  borrow  the  tone 
Of  that  voice,  to  my  ear  so  bewitchingly  known. 
The  voice  of  the  one  upon  earth,  who  has  tvvin'd 
With  her  essence  for  ever  my  heart  and  my  mind! 
Though  lonely  and  far  from  the  light  of  her  smile, 
And  exile  and  weary  and  hopeless  the  while, 
Could  you  shed  for  a  moment  that  voice  on  mv  ear, 
I  will  think  at  that  moment  my  Cara  is  near 
That  she  comes  with  consoling  enchantment  to  speak 
And  kisses  my  eyelid  and  sighs  on  my  cheek. 
And  tells  me,  the  night  sliall  go  rapidly  by. 
For  the  dawn  of  our  hope,  of  our  heaven  is  nigh  ! 

Sweet  Spirit !  if  such  be  your  magical  power. 
It  will  lighten  the  lapse  of  full  many  an  hour; 
And  let  Fortune's  realities  frown  as  they  will, 
Hope,  Fancy,  and  Cara  may  smile  for  me  Btill. 


I   Till!'  and  ill"  Piili-;;";ii(;nl  poem  \mve  appfnireil    in  llio 
ij'ilic  ,iriii(f 


PEACE  AND  GLORY. 

WRITTEN    AT    THE    COMMENCEMENT    OF    TIIE 
PRESENT    WAR. 

Where  now  is  the  smile  that  lighten'd 

Every  hero's  couch  of  rest  ? 
Where  is  now  the  hope  that  brightened 

Honour's  eye,  and  pity's  breast? 
Have  we  lost  t'le  wreath  we  braided, 

For  our  weary  warrior  men  ? 
Is  the  faithless  olive  faded. 

Must  the  bay  be  pluck'd  again  ? 

Passing  hour  of  sunny  weather, 

Lovely  in  your  light  awhile. 
Peace  and  (Uory,  wed  together, 

Wander'd  through  the  blessed  isle; 
\nd  the  cyos  of  Peace  would  glisten. 

Dewy  as  a  morning  sun. 
When  the  timid  maid  would  listen 

To  the  deeds  her  chief  had  done. 

Is  the  hour  of  dalliance  over  '' 
Must  the  maiden's  trembling  feet 

Waft  her  from  her  warlike  lovei 
To  the  desert's  still  retreat  ? 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


105 


Fare  you  well !  with  sighs  we  banish 
Nymph  so  fair  and  guest  so  briglit ; 

Yet  the  smile,  with  vvhicli  you  vanish, 
Leaves  behind  a  soothing  light ! 

Soothing  light !  that  long  shall  sparkle 

O'er  your  warrior's  sanguine  way, 
Through  the  tield  where  horrors  darkle. 

Shedding  Hope's  consoling  ray  ! 
Long  the  smile  his  heart  will  cherish, 

To  its  absent  idol  true, 
While  around  him  myriads  perish. 

Glory  still  will  sigii  for  you ! 


To ,  180L 

To  be  the  theme  of  every  hour 

The  heart  devotes  to  fancy's  power, 

When  her  soft  magic  fills  the  mind 

With  friends  and  joys  we've  left  behind. 

And  joys  return,  and  friends  are  near. 

And  all  are  welcom'd  with  a  tear — 

In  the  mind's  purest  seat  to  dwell, 

To  be  remcnibcr'd  oft  and  well 

By  one  whose  heart,  though  vain  and  wild. 

By  passion  led,  by  youth  beguii'd, 

Can  proudly  still  aspire  to  know 

The  feeling  soul's  divinest  glow  ! 

If  thus  to  live  in  every  part 

Of  a  lone  weary  wanderer's  heart ; 

Jf  thus  to  be  its  sole  employ 

Can  give  ihee  one  faint  gleam  of  joy. 

Believe  it,  Mary  !  oh  !  believe 

A  tongue  that  never  can  deceive, 

When  passion  doth  not  first  betray 

And  tinge  the  thought  upon  its  way! 

In  pleasure's  dream  or  sorrow's  hour. 

In  crowded  hall  or  lonely  bower, 

The  business  of  my  life  siiall  be. 

For  ever  to  remember  thee  ! 

And  though  that  heart  be  dead  to  mine, 

Since  love  is  lite  and  wakes  not  thine, 

I'll  take  thy  image,  as  the  form 

Of  something  1  should  long  to  warm, 

Which,  though  it  yield  no  answering  thrill, 

Is  not  less  dear,  is  lovely  still ! 

I'll  take  it,  vvheresoe'er  I  stray, 

The  blight,  cold  burthen  of  my  way  ! 

To  keep  this  semblance  fresh  in  bloom. 

My  heart  shall  be  its  glowing  tomb. 

And  love  shall  lend  his  sweetest  care. 

With  memory  to  embalm  it  there! 


SONG. 

Take  back  the  sigh,  tl  y  lips  of  art 

.n  passion's  moment  breath'd  to  me! 
Yel,  no — i.  must  not,  will  not  part, 
Tis  now  the  life-breath  of  my  heart, 
And  has  become  too  pure  for  thee ! 

Take  back  the  kiss,  that  faithless  sigh 

With  all  the  warmth  of  truth  imprest; 
Yei,  no — the  fatal  kiss  may  lie : 
Upon  Ihy  lip  its  sweets  would  die. 
Or  bioom  to  make  a  rival  blest ! 


Take  back  the  vows  tliat,  night  and  daj, 
My  heart  receiv'd,  1  thought,  from  lltine , 

Yet,  no — allow  them  still  to  stay  ; 

They  might  some  other  heart  betray, 
As  sweetly  as  they've  ruin'd  mine  ! 


A   IJ  A  I.LAI). 
THE  LAKE  OF  THE  DISMAL  SWA3IP. 

WRITTEN   AT   NORfOI.K,    IN    VIRGINIA. 

"  They  tell  of  u  young  man  «lio  lost  liig  mind  upon  the 
death  ol  a  girl  he  loved,  and  w  ho,  suddenly  disappearing 
from  his  friends,  was  never  ul'terwards  hoard  of.  As  he  had 
freciuently  said,  in  his  ravings,  that  the  girl  was  not  dead, 
but  gone  to  the  Dismal  Swamp,  il  is  supjiosed  he  had  wan 
dered  into  that  dreary  wildorness,  and  had  died  of  hungor 
or  been  lost  in  some  of  its  dreadful  morasses." — ^non. 

"  La  Pot'sie  a  ses  monstres  comme  la  nature." 

iJ'.fUcmbert 

"  They  made  her  a  grave,  too  cold  and  damp 

For  a  soul  so  warm  and  true ; 
And  she  's  gone  to  the  Lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp,' 
Where,  all  night  long,  by  a  fire-fly  lamp. 

She  paddles  her  white  canoe. 

"  And  her  fire-fly  lamp  I  soon  shall  see. 

And  her  paddle  I  soon  shall  hear; 
Long  and  loving  our  life  shall  be. 
And  I'll  hide  the  maid  in  a  cypress  tree, 

When  the  footstep  of  death  is  near !" 

Away  to  the  Dismal  Swamp  he  speeds — 

His  path  was  rugged  and  sore. 
Through  tangled  juniper,  beds  of  reeds. 
Through  many  a  fen,  where  the  serpent  feeds. 

And  man  never  trod  before  ! 

And  when  on  the  earth  he  sunk  to  sleep, 

If  slumber  his  eyelids  knew, 
He  lay,  where  the  deadly  vine  doth  weep 
Its  venomous  tear,  and  nightly  steep 

The  flesh  with  blistering  dew  ! 

And  near  him  the  she-wolf  stirr'd  the  brake. 
And  the  copper-snake  breath'd  in  his  car. 
Till  he  starting  cried,  from  his  dream  awake, 
"  Oh !  when  shall  I  see  the  dusky  Lake, 
And  the  white  canoe  of  my  dear  ?" 

He  saw  the  Lake,  and  a  meteor  bright 

Quick  over  its  surface  play'd — 
"  Welcome,"  he  said,  "my  dear  one's  light  I" 
And  the  dim  shore  echoed,  for  many  a  night. 

The  name  of  the  death  cold  maid  ! 

Till  he  hollow'd  a  boat  of  the  birchen  birk. 

Which  carried  him  off  from  shore ; 
Far  he  follow'd  the  meteor  spark. 
The  wind  was  liigh  and  the  clouds  were  dark. 

And  the  boat  return'd  no  more. 

But  ofl  from  the  Indian  hunter's  camp 
This  lover  and  maid  so  true 


1  The  GrenI  Dismal  Swamp  is  ten  or  Iwelvi'  miles  dislaoi 
from  Xorfulk,  a'ul  the  hike  m  the  middle  of  it  (about  ne'en 
j  mdes  lung  I  is  called  Drummoiid's  Pnud. 


106 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


Are  seen,  at  the  hour  of  midnight  damp, 
To  cross  the  lake  by  a  fire-fly  lamp, 
And  paddle  their  white  canoe  ! 


EPISTLE  III. 

TO    THE 

MARCHIONESS  DOWAGER  OF  D— LL, 

FROM    BERMUDA,   JANUARY    1804. 

Lady,  where'er  you  roam,  whatever  heam 
Of  bright  creation  warms  your  mimic  dream  ; 
^Miether  you  trace  the  valley's  golden  meads, 
Where  mazy  Linth  his  lingering  current  leads  ;' 
Enamour'd  catch  the  mellow  hues  that  sleep. 
At  eve  on  Meillerie's  immortal  steep ; 
Or  musing  o'er  the  Lake,  at  day's  decline, 
IMark  the  last  shadow  on  the  holy  shrine,^ 
Where,  many  a  night,  the  soul  of  Tell  complains 
Of  Gallia's  triumph  and  Helvetia's  chains ; 
Oh !  lay  the  pencil  for  a  moment  by. 
Turn  from  the  tablet  that  creative  eye. 
And  let  its  splendour,  like  the  morning  ray 
Upon  a  shepherd's  harp,  illume  my  lay  ! 

Yet,  Lady  !  no — for  song  so  rude  as  mine. 
Chase  not  the  wonders  of  your  dream  divine ; 
Still,  radiant  eye  !  upon  the  tablet  dwell ; 
Still,  rosy  finger  !  weave  your  pictur'd  spell ; 
And,  while  I  sing  the  animated  smiles 
Of  fairy  nature  in  these  sun-born  isles, 
Oh  !  might  the  song  awake  some  bright  design. 
Inspire  a  touch,  or  prompt  one  happy  line. 
Proud  were  my  soul,  to  see  its  humble  thought 
On  painting's  mirror  so  divinely  caught. 
And  wondering  Genius,  as  he  learn'd  to  trace 
The  faint  conception  kindling  into  grace, 
3Iight  love  my  numbers  for  the  spark  they  threw, 
And  bless  the  lay  that  lent  a  charm  to  you. 

Have  you  not  oft,  in  nightly  vision,  stray'd 
To  the  pure  isles  of  ever-blooming  shade, 
Which  bards  of  old,  with  kindly  magic,  plac'd 
For  happy  spirits  in  th'  Atlantic  waste  ?' 
There,  as  eternal  gales,  with  fragrance  warm, 
Brcath'd  from  elysium  through  each  shadowy  form 
[n  eloquence  of  eye,  and  dreams  of  song. 
They  charm'd  their  lapse  of  nightless  hours  along ! 
Nor  yet  in  song,  that  mortal  ear  may  suit, 
For  every  spirit  was  itself  a  lute. 
Where  Virtue  wakened  with  elysian  breeze. 
Pure  tones  of  thought  and  mental  harmonies 
Believe  me.  Lady,  when  the  zephyrs  bland 
Floa'.ed  our  bark  to  this  enchanted  land. 
These  leafy  isles  upon  the  ocean  thrown, 
like  studs  of  em'—ald  o'er  a  silver  zone ; 


1  Lariy  D.,  1  supposed,  was  at  this  time  still  in  Switzer- 
.Biiil,  where  thn  powers  of  her  pencil  must  have  been  fre- 
quently awakened. 

2  The  rhnpel  of  Willinm  Tell,  on  the  Lake  of  Lucerne. 
.3  W. Gehelin  says,  in  his  Monde  Priniilif,  "  Lorsqiie  Slrn- 

Don  Cful  tpii!  Ic8  anriens  llii'olopiens  et  Po(!tes  placaient 
les  Cianips  F,lys6c«  dans  "cs  Islos  de  rOn^an  Allantique,  il 
n  entpndii  rien  ;i  leur  douMine."  M.  ncbclin's  supiiosition, 
1  have  no  douhl,  is  the  more  r-orrer.t ;  but  that  of  Sirabo  is, 
1(1  the  presrnl  instance,  rnoBl  to  my  purpose. 


Not  all  the  charm,  that  ethnic  fancy  gave 
To  blessed  arbours  o'er  the  western  wave. 
Could  wake  a  dream,  more  soothing  or  sublime. 
Of  bovvers  etherial  and  the  spirit's  clime  I 

The  morn  was  lovely,  every  wave  was  still, 
When  the  first  perfume  of  a  cedar-hill 
Sweetly  awak'd  us,  and  with  smiling  charms. 
The  fairy  harbour  woo'd  us  to  its  arms  ' 
Gently  we  stole,  before  the  languid  wind. 
Through  plantain  shades,  that  like  an  awning  tw 
And  kiss'd  on  either  side  the  wanton  sails, 
Breathing  our  welcome  to  these  vernal  vales ; 
While,  fiir  reflected  o'er  the  wave  serene, 
Each  wooded  island  sheds  so  soft  a  green, 
That  the  enamour'd  keel,  with  whispering  play, 
Through  liquid  herbage  seem'd  to  steal  its  way ' 
Never  did  weary  bark  more  sweetly  gUde, 
Or  rest  its  anchor  in  a  lovelier  tide  ! 
Along  the  margin,  many  a  brilliant  dome, 
White  as  the  palace  of  a  Lapland  gnome. 
Brightened  the  wave  ;  in  every  myrtle  grove 
Secluded,  bashful,  like  a  shrine  of  love. 
Some  elfin  mansion  sparkled  through  the  shade  • 
And,  while  the  foliage  interposing  play'd, 
Wreathing  the  structure  into  various  graqe, 
Fancy  would  love  in  many  a  form  to  trace 
The  flowery  capital,  tlie  shaft,  the  porch,^ 
And  dream  of  temples,  till  her  kindling  torch 
Lighted  me  back  to  all  the  glorious  days 
Of  Attic  genius  ;  and  I  seem'd  to  gaze 
On  marble,  from  the  rich  Pentalic  mount, 
Gracing  the  umbrage  of  some  Naiad's  fount. 

Sweet  airy  being !'  who,  in  brighter  hours, 
Liv'd  on  the  perfume  of  these  honied  bowers, 
In  velvet  buds,  at  evening,  lov'd  to  lie, 
And  win  with  music  every  rose's  sigh ! 
Though  weak  the  magic  of  my  humble  strain, 
To  charm  your  spirit  from  its  orb  again. 
Yet,  oh  !  for  her,  beneath  whose  smile  I  sing, 
For  her,  (whose  pencil,  if  your  rainbow  wing 
Were  dimm'd  or  ruflled  by  a  wintry  sky. 
Could  smooth  its  feather  and  relume  its  dye,) 
A  moment  wander  from  your  starry  sphere. 
And  if  the  lime-tree  grove  that  once  was  dear, 


1  Nothing  can  be  more  romantic  than  the  little  harbour 
of  St.  George.  The  number  of  beautiful  islets,  the  singular 
clcMrnt'ssof  the  water,  and  the  animated  play  of  the  ^  «'"e- 
ful  little  boats,  gliding  for  ever  bflween  the  islanu's  lui. 
scN'nilng  to  sail  from  one  cedar  gro%'e  in>o  another,  form,  ali 
together,  the  sweetest  miniature  of  nature  that  can  be  im- 
agined. 

2  This  is  an  illnsion  which,  to  the  few  who  are  fanciful 
enongli  to  indulge  in  it,  renders  the  scenery  of  Berinuda 
particularly  intoresiing.  In  the  short  but  beautiful  twilight 
of  their  spring  evenings,  the  while  cottages,  scattered  ovei 
the  isl  uids,  and  but  partially  seen  through  the  trees  that  sur- 
round them,  assume  often  the  appearance  of  little  Grecian 
tem|)les,  and  fancy  may  embellish  the  jmor  fisherman's  hnl 
with  cohunns  which  the  pencil  of  (Naude  might  imitate.  I 
had  one  fiivourito  object  of  this  kind  in  my  w;ilks,  which 
the  hospitality  of  its  owner  robbed  me  o"",  by  asking  me  to 
visit  him.  lie  was  a  plain  good  man,  and  received  ine  well 
and  warmly,  but  I  never  could  turn  his  house  into  a  Grecian 
temple  again. 

3  Ariel.  Amons  the  many  charms  which  Bermuda  lias 
for  a  politic  eve,  wi'  cannot  for  an  in-lnnt  forget  that  it  is 
the  scen(M)f  Shakspear(!'s  Y'fni/HX?,  and  that  here  he  con- 
iured  up  the  "  delicate  .Ariel,"  who  alone  is  worth  the  wholf 
heaven  of  ancient  mvtholoev. 


EPISTLES,  OUES,  ETC 


107 


rtie  sunny  wave,  the  bower,  tlie  breezy  hill, 
The  sparkling  grotto,  can  ^lelight  you  still, 
Oh  !  take  their  fairest  tint    heir  softest  light. 
Weave  all  their  beauty  into  dreams  of  night. 
And,  while  the  lovely  artist  slumbering  lies, 
Slied  the  warm  picture  o'er  her  mental  eyes; 
Borrow  for  sleep  her  own  creative  spells. 
And  brightly  show  what  song  but  faintly  tells  ! 


THE  GENIUS  OF  HAR3I0NY. 

AN    IRREGULAR   ODE. 

All  liannoniani  caiicre  miinduin. 

Ckcru  .te  jYat.  Dear.  Lib.  3. 

There  lies  a  shell  beneath  the  waves. 
In  many  a  hollow  winding  wreatli'd 
Such  as  of  old, 
Echoed  the  breath  that  warbling  sea-maids  breath  d  ; 
This  magic  shell 
From  the  white  bosom  of  a  syren  fell. 
As  once  she  wander'd  by  the  tide  that  laves 
Sicilia's  sand  of  gold. 
It  bears 
Upon  its  shining  side,  the  mystic  notes 

Of  those  entrancing  airs,' 
The  genii  of  the  deep  were  wont  to  swell, 
Wlii'n  heaven's  eternal  orbs  their  midnight  music 
roH'd ! 
Oh  !  seek  it,  wheresoe'er  it  floats  \ 
And,  if  the  power 
Of  thrilling  numbers  to  thy  soul  be  dear. 
Go,  bring  the  bright  shell  to  my  bower. 
And  I  will  fold  thee  in  such  downy  dreams, 
As  lap  the  spirit  of  the  seventh  sphere, 
When  Luna's  distant  tone  falls  faintly  on  his  ear  !* 

And  thou  shalt  own, 
Th-it,  through  the  circle  of  creation's  zone, 


1  111  the  "  Hisiorie  Naturolle  <les  Antilles,"  there  is  an  ac- 
coiint  of  some  curious  shells,  found  atCuracoa,  on  the  hack 
ot"  which  were  lines,  tilled  widi  musical  characters,  so  ilis- 
tiiict  and  perlecl,  that  the  writer  assures  us  a  very  charming 
trio  was  sung  from  one  of  them.  "On  le  nomnie  iiiu-ical, 
[larce  qu'il  porle  sur  le  dos  des  lignes  noiratres  p'eines  de 
noies,  qui  out  nne  especu  de  clt;  pour  les  niettre  oi  chant, 
de  sorte  que  Ton  dirait  qu'il  ne  manque  (|ue  la  letti  a  celle 
lablalure  naturelle.  Ce  curioux  geiitilhoinme  (M.  /u  Mon- 
tel)  rapporte  qu'il  en  a  vu  qui  avaiont  ciiir|  lignes,  une  clii 
et  des  notes,  qui  tbrmaieiil  un  accord  parf'ait.  Quelqu'nn 
y  avail  ajouKi  la  leltre,  que  la  naiure  avail  oubliee,  et  la 
("aisait  chanter  en  forme  de  trio,  dont  I'aire  etail  fort  ajrrea- 
ble."  Chap.  19.  Art.  11.  The  author  a<lds,  a  poet  m  £;ht 
imagine  that  these  shells  were  used  by  the  syrens  at  tlieir 
concerts. 

2  According  to  Cicero,  and  hi.?  commentator,  Macrobius, 
the  lunar  tone  is  the  gravest  and  faintest  on  tlie  planetary 
heptachord.  "  (luam  ob  causam  summus  ille  coili  stellifir 
cursus,  cujus  conversio  est  concitatior,  acuto  et  exciiato 
movetur  soiio  :  gravissimo  iiutem  hie  lun'iris  atqne  infimns." 
— Somn.  Sci/).  Because,  says  Macrobius,  "spirilu  ut  in 
exiremitate  languescente  jam  volvitur,  et  propter  angustias 
quilnis  peimltimns  orbis  arctalur   iinpetu  leniore  converti- 

ur." — In  Somn.  Scip.  lAb.  2.  Cap.  4.  It  is  not  very  easy 
to  understand  the  ancients  in  their  musical  arrangement  of 
the  heavenly  bodies.     See  Ptolcm.  I.ih.  3. 

T.eone  Hebrco,  pursuing  the  id-a  of  Aristotle,  that  the 
heavens  are  animal,  attributes  their  harmony  to  perfect  and 
reciprocal  love.  "  Non  peio  inanca  fra  lore  il  perfetto  e 
reciproco  amore  :  la  causa  principale,  chc  ne  mosira  il  loro 
amore,  e  la  lor  amicizia  harmonia'-a  e  la  concordanza,  che 
perpetnamente  si  trnva  in  loro." — Dialnir.^.  ifi  .rimori',  p. 
58.  .'Phis  "reciproco  amore"  of  Leone  is  the  ^iKOTiti  of 
the  ancient  Empedocles,  who  seems,  in  his  I^ove  and  Kate 
of  the  Elements,  to  have  given  a  glimpse  of  the  principles 


Where  matter  darkles  or  where  spirit  beanu ; 
From  the  pellucid  tides,'  that  whirl 
The  planets  through  their  maze  of  song, 
To  the  small  rill,  that  weeps  along 
Murmuring  o'er  beds  of  pearl ; 
From  the  rich  sigh 
Of  the  sun's  arrow  through  an  evening  sky,' 
To  the  faint  breath  the  tuneful  osier  yields 
On  Afric's  burning  lields;-' 
Oh  !  thou  shall  own  this  universe  divine 
Is  mine  ! 
That  I  respire  in  all,  and  all  in  me. 
One  mighty  mingled  soul  of  boundless  harmony 

Welcome,  welcome  mystic  shell ! 
Many  a  star  has  ceas'd  to  burn* 
Many  a  tear  has  Saturn's  urn 
O'er  the  cold  bosom  of  the  ocean  wept,' 
Since  thy  aerial  spell 
Hath  in  the  waters  slept ! 
I  fly. 
With  the  bright  treasure  to  my  choral  sky. 
Where  she,  who  wak'd  its  early  swell, 
The  syren,  with  a  foot  of  tire, 
Walks  o'er  the  great  string  of  my  Orphic  Lyre,* 
Or  guides  around  the  burning  pole 
The  winged  chariot  of  some  blissful  soul !' 
While  thou  ! 
Oh,  son  of  earth !  what  dreams  shall  rise  for  thee ! 
Beneath  Ilispania's  sun, 
Thou'lt  see  a  streamlet  run. 
Which  I  have  vvann'd  with  dews  of  melody ;' 

Listen  ! — when  the  niglit-wind  dies 
Down  the  still  current,  like  a  liarp  it  sighs ! 


of  attraction  and  lejiulsion.  See  the  fragment  to  which  1 
allude  in  Laertius,  Axxot.-  yusv  5 iXotjiti,  o-uisfx"/""'- "-t 
K.     JJb.  8.  Cap.  V.  12. 

1  Leucippus,  the  atomist,  imagined  a  kind  of  vonices  In 
the  heavens,  which  he  borrowed  from  Anaxagoras,  and 
)iossihly  suggested  to  De-cartes. 

2  Heraclides,  ujion  the  allegories  of  Homer,  conjecture* 
that  the  idea  of  the  harmony  of  the  spheres  originated  wiih 
this  poet,  who  in  representing  the  solar  beams  as  arrows, 
su])poses  tliem  to  emit  a  peculiar  souml  in  the  air. 

3  hi  the  account  of  Al'rica  which  d'  Ablancourt  has  trans- 
lated, there  is  mention  of  a  tree  in  that  country,  whose 
branches  when  shaken  by  the  hand  produce  very  sweet 
sounds.  "  Le  meme  auteur  (Abenzegar)  dit,  qu'il  y  a  un- 
certain arbre,qui  produitdesgaules  coiiime  d'osier,  et  qu'en 
les  prenant  a  la  main  et  les  branlant,  cllcs  font  une  bspece 
d'harmoiiie  fort  agri^able,"  etc.  etc. — L'Jlfrique  de  Mannol. 

4  .Minding  to  the  extinction,  or  at  le.istthe  disappearance 
of  some  of  those  fixed  stars,  wl  -ch  we  are  taught  to  con- 
sider as  suns,  attended  each  by  its  system.  Descartes  thought 
th:it  our  earth  might  formerly  have  been  a  sun,  which  be- 
came obscured  by  a  thick  incrustation  over  its  surface.  This 
probably  suggested  the  idea  of  a  ceniral  fire. 

5  Porphyry  ^ays,  that  Pythagoras  held  the  sea  to  be  afar 
Tiji'  •JxXxTTxw  fisv  ixxKit  sivai  JKxpuov.  Dc  Vit,  Buil  soinc 
one  else,  if  I  mistake  noi,  has  adiled  the  planet  Saturn  asine 

urce  of  it.  Empedocle.s,  with  similar  atfectation,  called 
the  sea  "the  sweat  of  the  earth:"  iJpjira  ry.;  yKi-  Sett 
Iiilter.'!hu.<iius  upon  Porphyry,  JVhtb.  41. 

6  The  system  of  harmonized  orbs  w.os  styled  by  the  an- 
cients, the  Great  Lyre  of  Orpheus,  for  which  Lucian  ac- 
counts, 1   Si   Aupil  ITTTXfilTOi  i»TX  Ti;V  TMV  XtVUfiiVjlV  XFTfjit 

pfzovtxv  c-vvsSxKKsTO.  X.  T.  K.  in  J3ittrolo^. 
7Aisi\s   i'vx^i   i(r-tpi3-,«s{  TOic  ao-Tpoi;,  jvf ijtis  S'' jxair- 
y.v  ?rpo;  £x«(rTOv,  x»i  fi.uiS*o:eo-*f  '12X  EI—  OXH.NIA       /  /a 
ton.  Tiiiiwus. 

S  This  musical  river  is  mentioned  in  the  romance  ol 
Achilles  Tatius.  E-n  itztxmv  *  *  *  xv  Ss  xx„rx,  itK<-^  m 
uJxTo;  KxKt^vT'.;.  The  [.atln  version,  in  supplying  the  hia 
tus,  which  is  in  the  original,  has  placed  the  river  in  Hispa 
"  In  Hispania  quoqne  tluvius  est,  quein  primo  tu 
pectu,"  etc.  etc. 


108 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


A  liquid  chord  in  every  w.ive  tliat  flows, 
An  airy  plectrum  every  breeze  that  blows  !' 
There,  by  that  wondrous  stream, 
Go,  lay  thy  languid  brow, 
And  I  will  send  thee  such  a  godlike  dream, 
Such — mortal !  mortal !  hast  thou  heard  of  him,^ 
Who,  many  a  night  with  his  primordial  lyre,' 
Sat  on  the  chill  Pangagan  mount,* 
And,  looking  to  the  orient  dim, 
Watch'd  the  first  flowing  of  that  sacred  fount, 

From  which  his  soul  had  drunk  its  fire  ! 
Oh  !  think  what  visions,  in  that  lonely  hour, 
Stole  o'er  his  musing  breast ! 
What  pious  ecstasy^ 
Wafted  his  prayer  to  that  eternal  Power, 

Whose  seal  upon  this  world  imprest'^ 
The  various  forms  of  bright  divinity  ! 

Or,  dost  thou  know  what  dreams  I  wove, 
'Mid  the  deep  horror  of  that  silent  bower,' 
\Vhere  the  rapt  Samian  slept  his  holy  slumber? 
When,  free 
From  every  earthly  chain. 
From  wreaths  of  pleasure  and  from  bonds  of  pain, 

His  spirit  flew  through  fields  above. 
Drank  at  the  source  of  nature's  fontal  number,^ 
And  saw,  in  mystic  choir,  around  him  move 
The  stars  of  song.  Heaven's  burning  minstrelsy  ! 
Such  dreams,  so  heavenly  bright, 
I  swear 
By  the  great  diadem  that  twines  my  hair, 
And  by  the  seven  gems  that  sparkle  there,^ 


1  These  two  lines  are  translated  IVoin  the  words  of  Achil- 
les Tatiiis.      Ext  yxp  OKiyoq  xi'S/iO;  £i;  ra;    Jivx;   ifi-nia-vi^ 

TO  fiiV   uJiOp    Lu;  5C°P^>)    XpsSrXI.  TO  St    TTVtVUX  TB  vJatTOf  TTKiH.- 

2  Orpheus. 

3  'J'liey  cilled  his  lyre»pz«'OTpo;rov  jTrTx^opJov  Op^sjo;. 
See  a  curious  work  by  a  professor  of  Greek  at  Venice,  en- 
titled" Hel)domad,;s,  sive  suptein  de  sejiteiiario  libri."  Lib. 
4.  Cap.  :!.  p.  177. 

4  Enito.--lheTies,  telling  the  extrem'j  veneration  of  Orpheus 
for  ApoUi),  says  thai  he  was  accuslomiKi  lo  go  to  the  Pan- 
ga;an  niouniain  at  day-break,  and  there  wait  the  rising  of 
•he  sun,  lliat  he  might  be  the  fiist  to  hail  its  beams.     E^rs- 

yttpOfisVOq    r£    T\q    l'Uy.TOC,   StXTX     TJTV     £«3-*V>Jl'     iTTl    TO    OOOJ    TO 

xxf^yusvov  Hxyy  xtov.^  TTftOTcf/.eve  rxq  xvxro^  xg^  ivx  id^  tov 
HMO.   -rpcuTOi'.      KxTx<rTifH(r/j..   24. 

5  ThiMe  are  some  verses  of  Orpheus  preserved  to  us, 
which  contain  sublime  ideas  of  the  unity  imd  magnificence 
of  the  Deity.     As  those  which  Justin  Murtyr  has  produced  : 

Ovro;  fiiv  %»\x6ioi'  l(  xpavoi/  lirUfiKTxi 

^fiunijt  iVi    JpOVU),  K.  T.  \. 

Jill  (rrsc.  cuhortat. 

it  is  thought  by  some,  that  these  are  lo  be  reckoned 
amongst  the  fabrications  which  were  frequent  in  the  early 
limes  of  (Christianity.  Siill  it  iippears  douhlful  to  whom  we 
should  impute  them  ;  they  are  loj  pious  for  the  Pagans,  and 
too  poetical  for  the  Fathers. 

0  In  ooi'  of  the  F^ynuls  ofOriiheus,  be  attributes  a  figured 
seal  to  Apollo,  with  which  he  imagines  that  deity  to  have 
8l:imped  a  variety  nf  forms  upon  the  universe. 

7  Alluding  lo  the  cave  near  Samos,  where  Pythagoras 
devoted  tln^  grtJiiler  part  of  his  (l.iys  and  nights  to  niediia- 
lion  and  the  invBleries  of  his  philosophy,  .lamhlich.  de  l^it. 
This,  iis  Ilolsti-niiis  remarks,  was  in  Imitation  of  the  Magi. 

8  Th':  lelrictys,  or  sacreil  number  of  the  Pythajroreans, 
in  which  tboy  solemnly  swore,  nnil  which  they  called  Trxyxu 

•tii»H  (juiriij?,  "the  fonn'ain  of  |iBri'nni:il  nature."  Liician 
has  ridiculi;d  ihis  religious  arllhinetic  very  finely  in  his  Sale 
}f  Philiiaorikrrn. 

Si  This  dia  lem  is  intendi'd  lo  rc(>re-ent  the  analogy  be- 
tween the  not'S  of  muse  and  the  prismilic  colours.  We 
hmi  in  Pluiaicli  n  vague  inlinialion  of  this  kindred  harmony 
in  colours  find  KOiinils.  Oyi;  t»  ksi  x-iov^ihtx  <p^v^q  tj 
««<  aurt;  mv  »p/uoi'i»v  ittizxivho-i.    De  JMusica. 


Mingling  their  beams 
In  a  soft  Iris  of  harmonious  light. 

Oh,  mortal !  such  shall  be  thy  radiant  dreams  \ 


EPISTLE  IV. 
TO  GEORGE  MORGAN,  ESQ. 

OF    NORFOLK,    VIRGINIA.' 

FROM  BERINIUDA,  JANUARY  1804. 
KEINH  A'  HNEMOESSA  KAI    ATPOflOS,  OIA  ©'AAIH 

AH=,  AieriHi:  kai  maaaon  ehiapomos  heiiet 

UlJtOIi;,  IIONTi!   ENEiJTHPIKTAI. 

Calliiiiacli,  Hi/inn.  in  Del.  v.  ii. 

Oh  !  what  a  tempest  whirl'd  us  hither  !* 

Winds,  whose  savage  breath  could  wither 

All  the  light  and  languid  flowers 

Tliat  bloom  in  Epicurus'  bowers  ! 

Yet  think  not,  George,  that  Fancy's  charm 

Forsook  me  in  this  rude  alarm. 

When  close  they  rcefd  the  timid  sail. 

When,  every  plank  complaining  loud, 
We  laboiir'd  in  the  midnight  gale. 

And  e'en  our  haughty  main-mast  bow'd! 
The  muse,  in  that  unlovely  hour. 
Benignly  brought  her  soothing  power, 
And,  midst  the  war  of  waves  and  wind. 
In  songs  elysian  lapp'd  my  mind  ! 
She  opcn'd,  with  her  golden  key. 

The  casket  where  my  memory  lays 
Those  little  gems  of  poesy. 

Which  time  has  sav'd  from  ancient  days  ! 
Take  one  of  these,  to  Lais  sung — 
I  wrote  it  while  my  hammock  swung. 
As  one  might  write  a  dissertation 
Upon  "  suspended  animation  !" 


Cassiodorus,  whose  iiss.  I  may  be  supposed  to  have  bor- 
rowed, says,  in  a  letter  upon  music  to  Boclius,  "  Ut  diade- 
ma  oculis,  varia  luce  gemmarum,  sic  cylbura  diversiiale 
soni,  blanditur  auditui."  This  is  indeed  the  on;y  toJerable 
thou;ht  'n  the  letter.     JJb.  2.   I^ariar. 

1  Thin  gentleman  is  attached  to  Iho  British  consulate  at 
Norfolk.  His  talents  are  worthy  of  a  much  higher  sphere, 
but  the  excellent  dispositions  of  the  family  with  whom  he 
resides,  and  the  cordial  repose  he  enjoys  amongst  some  of 
the  kindest  hearts  in  the  world,  should  be  almost  enough  to 
atone  io  him  for  I  he  worst  caprices  of  lortuiie.  Tbe  consul 
himself.  Colonel  Hamilton,  is  one  among  the  very  fev/  in- 
stances of  a  man,  ardently  loyal  lo  bis  king,  and  yet  beloved 
by  the  Americans.  His  house  is  the  v(!ry  temple  of  hospi- 
tality, and  I  sincerely  pity  the  heart  of  Ihat  s:  ranger,  who, 
wurin  from  the  welcome  of  such  a  board,  and  wi:h  ihe  taste 
of  such  MailiMra  still  upon  his  lips,  "col  dolre  in  bocca,' 
eoulil  sit  down  to  write  a  libel  on  his  host,  in  tlio  true  spirit 
of  a  modern  philosophist.  See  the  Travels  of  the  Duke  dt 
la  Knrlufoucault  I.iiincourt,  Vol.  2. 

2  We  were  seven  days  on  our  passage  from  Norfolk  to 
Bermuda,  during  three  of  which  we  wire  forced  to  lay-to 
in  a  gale  of  wind.  The  Driver,  sloop  of  war,  in  which  1 
went,  was  built  at  Bermuda,  of  cedar,  and  is  accounted  an 
excellent  sea-boat.  She  was  then  commanded  by  my  very 
regretted  friend,  Captain  Coiripton,  who  in  July  last  waa 
killed  iiboiinl  the  I>illy,  in  an  action  with  a  Fiencli  pri\a- 
teer.  Poor  Coinpton  1  befell  a  victim  lo  the  strange  im- 
poli.-y  of  allowing  such  a  miserabhj  thing  as  the  Lilly  tn 
remain  in  the  service:  so  small,  so  crank,  and  nninanago- 
s'jli!,  thai  a  well-manned  me-'liantman  was  it  any  liino  n 
match  for  her. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


109 


SwEETLv'  you  kiss,  my  Lais  dear! 
But,  wliile  you  kiss,  1  feel  a  tear, 
Bitter  as  those  when  lovers  part. 
In  mystery  from  your  eye-lid  start ! 
Sadly  you  lean  your  head  to  mine. 
And  round  my  neck  in  silence  twine, 
Your  hair  along  my  bosom  spread. 
All  humid  with  the  tears  you  shed  ! 
Have  1  not  kiss'd  those  lids  of  snow  ? 
Vet  still,  my  love,  like  founts  they  flow. 
Bathing  our  cheeks,  whene'er  they  meet — 
Why  is  it  thus  ?  do,  tell  me.  Sweet ! 
Ah,  Lais  !  are  my  bodings  right? 
Am  I  to  lose  you  ?  is  to-night 
Our  last— go,  false  to  heaven  and  me  ! 
Your  very  tears  arc  treachery. 


Such,  while  in  air  I  floating  hung. 

Such  was  the  strain,  Morgante  mio ! 
The  muse  and  1  together  sung. 

With  Boreas  to  make  out  tJie  trio ; 
But,  bless  the  little  fairy  isle ! 

How  sweetly  after  all  our  ills. 
We  saw  the  dewy  morning  smile 

Serenely  o'er  its  fragrant  hills  ! 
And  felt  the  pure,  elastic  flow 
Of  airs,  that  round  this  Eden  blow, 
Witii  honey  freshness,  caught  by  stealth 
Warm  from  the  very  lijis  of  health ! 
Oh  !  could  you  view  the  scenery  dear 

That  now  beneath  my  window  lies. 
You'd  think,  that  Nature  lavish'd  here 

Her  purest  wave,  her  softest  skies. 
To  make  a  heaven  for  Love  to  sigh  in. 
For  bards  to  live,  and  saints  to  die  in ! 
Close  to  my  wooded  bank  below, 

In  glassy  calm  the  waters  sleep, 
And  to  the  sun-beam  proudly  show 

The  coral  rooks  they  love  to  steep  !^ 
The  fainting  breeze  of  morning  fails. 

The  drowsy  boat  moves  slowly  past. 
And  I  can  almost  touch  its  sails 

That  languish  idly  round  the  mast. 


1  Tliis  L'|ii;jrain  is  liy  Piuilus  Silcntiarius,  and  niaj  le 
found  in  tlie  Aiialecta  of  Bi  uiick,  Vol.  8.  p.  72.  Bin  as  thc! 
reailnig  thero  is  sonievvhat  ditVerent  from  what  I  have  fol- 
lowed in  this  Iraiishition,  1  shall  give  it  as  I  had  it  in  my 
inumory  at  tiio  liino,  and  as  it  is  in  Hifiiisius,  who,  I  beliuve, 
first  produced  the  epigram.     See  his  Poeniata. 

*H5"u  fiev  fiO-T*  i^iKi:/z»  to  AotiJoj*  i)Su  Sb  xvtmv 

H/xsTspx  K&i^xK^v  SiijiOv  epsitrx/xtrvj. 

Mupojusvtfv  5"'e^i\»j(r»*  tx  J*w5  5'poo-fp;ij  cta-o  TT^yyiVy 

^:ey.pu:e  f^tiyvvfjLiVMV  TTiTTTi  xxrx  (Ttz^xtjiv 
Ei^B  S'*  xvitpo/nsv-jj^  rtvog  oursxa  Sx-Apux  K^ti^ng'^ 

^SlStX  fiVl   f-t    \l77Vii'    fCTTE    yxp   OpKXTTXTXt, 

2  The  water  is  so  clear  around  the  island,  that  the  rocks 
are  seen  beneaili  to  a  very  frreal  depth,  and,  as  we  entered 
the  harbour,  tin  y  appeared  to  us  so  near  the  surface,  that  it 
Boemed  impossible  we  should  not  strike  on  them.  There  is 
no  necessity,  of  course,  for  heaving  the  lead,  and  the  negro 
pilot,  looking  down  at  the  rocks  from  the  bow  of  the  shi|) 
lekes  her  through  this  difficult  navigation,  with  a  skill  and 
confidence  which  seem  to  astonish  some  of  the  oldest  sai- 
lors. 


The  sun  has  now  profusely  given 
The  flashes  of  a  noontide  neaven, 
And,  as  the  wave  reflects  his  beams, 
Another  heaven  its  surface  seems  ! 
Blue  light  and  clouds  of  silvery  tears 

So  pictur'd  o'er  the  waters  lie, 
That  every  languid  bark  appears 

To  float  along  a  burning  sky  ! 

Oh  !  for  the  boat  the  angel  gave' 

To  him,  who,  in  his  heaven-ward  flight 
Sail'd  o'er  the  sun's  ethereal  wave. 

To  planet-isles  of  odorous  light ! 
Sweet  Venus,  what  a  clime  he  found 
Within  thy  orb's  ambrosial  round  !^ 
There  spring  the  breezes,  rich  and  warm. 

That  pant  around  thy  twilight  car; 
There  angels  dwell,  so  pure  of  form, 

That  each  appears  a  living  star !' 
Those  are  the  sprites,  oh  radiant  queen ! 

Thou  send'st  so  often  to  the  bed 
Of  her  I  love,  with  spell  unseen. 

Thy  planet's  brightening  balm  tc  shed; 
To  make  the  eye's  enchantment  clearer, 

To  give  the  cneek  one  rose-bud  more. 
And  bid  that  flushing  lip  be  dearer, 

Which  had  been,  oh  !  too  dear  before ! 
But,  whither  means  the  muse  to  roam  ? 
'Tis  time  to  call  the  wanderer  home. 
Who  could  have  ever  thought  to  search  her 
Up  in  the  clouds  with  Father  Kircher? 
So,  healtli  and  love  to  all  your  mansion! 

Long  may  the  howl  that  pleasures  bloom  in, 
The  flow  of  heart,  the  soul's  expansion. 

Mirth,  and  song,  your  board  illumine  ! 

Fare  you  well — remember  too. 

When  cups  are  flowing  to  the  brim. 

That  here  is  one  who  drinks  to  you. 
And,  oh  !  as  warmly  drink  to  him. 


THE  RI^G. 


TO 


180L 


No — Lady  !  Lady  I  keep  the  ring; 

Oh  !  think  how  many  a  future  year, 
Of  phacid  smile  and  downy  wing. 

May  sleep  within  its  holy  sphere  ' 

Do  not  disturb  their  tranquil  dream, 
Though  love  hath  ne'er  the  mystery  warm'd. 


1  In  Kircher's  "  Exiatic  .Toirney  to  Heaven,"  Cosmiel, 
the  genius  of  the  world,  gives  Theodidaitus  a  boat  of  As- 
bestos, with  which  he  embarks  into  the  regions  of  the  sim. 
"  Vides  (says  rosmief)  hanc  asbeslinam  navicniam  commi>- 
diiali  tuae  prajparala.n."  Itinerar.  1.  Dial.  1.  Cap.  5.  There 
are  some  very  sirange  fancies  in  tliis  work  of  Kircher. 

2  When  the  Genius  of  the  world  and  his  feNow-traveller 
arrive  at  the  plane!  Venns,  they  lind  an  island  of  loveliness 
full  of  odours  and  intelligences,  where  angels  preside,  who 
shed  the  cosmetic  influence  of  this  planef  over  ilio  earth' 
such  beins,  according  to  astrologers,  the  "  v^  inMiixiva"  of 
Vi-nus.  When  they  are  in  this  [lart  of  the  heavens,  a  rasi' 
istical  question  occurs  to  Tlieodidactus,  and  he  ask* 
"  Whether  baptism  may  be  performed  with  the  waters  o^ 
Venus'!" — "  An  aquis  giobi  Veneris  baptismus  institui  •-oit 
sif!"  to  which  the  Genius  answers,  "t^ertainly." 

'.i  This  idea  is  father  Kircher's.  "Tot  animato*  Mije* 
di.xisses."     Itinerar.  i.  Dial.  Cap.  5 


110 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Vet  heav'n  will  shed  a  soothing  beam, 
To  bless  the  bond  itself  hath  form'd. 

But  then,  that  eye,  that  binning  eye ! 

Oh !  it  doth  ask,  with  magic  power, 
If  heaven  can  ever  bless  the  tie, 

Where  love  inwreaths  no  genial  flower ! 

Away,  away,  bewildering  look  ! 

Or  all  the  boast  of  Virtue  's  o'er; 
Go — hie  thee  to  the  sage's  book, 

And  learn  from  him  to  fee]  no  more  ! 

I  cannot  warn  thee !  every  touch, 
That  brings  my  pulses  close  to  thine, 

Tells  me  I  want  thy  aid  as  much. 

Oh  !  quite  as  much,  as  thou  dost  mine  ! 

Yet  stay,  dear  love — one  effort  yet — 
A  moment  turn  those  eyes  away, 

And  let  me,  if  I  can,  forget 
The  hght  that  leads  my  soul  astray  ! 

Thou  say'st,  that  we  were  born  to  meet. 
That  our  hearts  bear  one  common  seal, — 

Oh,  Lady  !  think,  how  man's  deceit 
Can  seem  to  sigh  and  feign  to  fee] ! 

When,  o'er  thy  face  some  gleam  of  thoughtj 
Like  day-beams  through  the  mornmg  air, 

Hath  gradual  stole,  and  I  have  caught 
The  feeling  ere  it  kindled  there : 

'Die  sympathy  I  then  betray'd. 
Perhaps  was  but  the  child  of  art ; 

The  guile  of  one,  who  long  liath  play'd 
With  all  these  wily  nets  of  heart. 

Oh  !  thou  hast  not  my  virgin  vow  ! 

Though  few  the  years  I  yet  have  told, 
Canst  thou  believe  I  lived  till  now. 

With  loveless  heart  or  senses  cold  ? 

No — many  a  throb  of  bliss  and  pain. 
For  many  a  maid,  my  soul  hath  prov'd ; 

With  some  I  wanton'd  wild  ami  vain. 
While  some  I  truly,  dearly  lov'd  ! 

The  cheek  to  thine  I  fondly  lay, 
To  theirs  hath  been  as  fondly  laid ; 

The  words  to  thee  I  warmly  say. 
To  them  have  been  as  warmly  said. 

Then,  scorn  at  once  a  languid  heart, 
Which  long  hath  lost  its  early  spring ; 

Think  of  the  pure,  bright  soul  thou  art, 
And — keep  the  ring,  oh  I  keep  the  ring. 

Enough — now,  turn  thine  eyes  again ; 

What,  siill  that  look,  and  still  that  sigh  ! 
Dost  thou  not  feel  my  counsel  then? 

Oh  !  no,  beloved  ! — nor  do  I. 

While  thus  to  mine  thy  bosom  lies. 

While  thus  our  breaths  commingling  glow, 

'Twprc  more  than  woman  to  be  wise, 
'Twere  more  than  man  to  wish  thee  so ! 

Did  we  not  love  so  true,  so  de;ir. 
This  lapse  could  never  he  forgiven; 

Rut  hearts  so  fond  and  lips  so  near — 
•  live  me  the  ring,  and  now — Oh  heaven  ! 


TO 


ON    SEEING   HER   WITH    A   WHITE    VEIL   AND  » 
RICH    GIRDLE. 

AlAPrAPITAl  AHAOTXI  ZiAKPTi^N  POON. 
^ip.  M'iccplwr.  in  Oneirocritico. 

Put  off  the  vestal  veil,  nor,  oh ! 

Let  weeping  angels  view  it ; 
Your  cheeks  belie  its  virgin  snow, 

And  blush  repenting  through  it. 

Put  off  the  fatal  zone  you  wear; 

The  lucid  pearls  around  it 
Are  tears,  that  fell  from  Virtue  there, 

The  hour  that  Love  unbound  it. 


THE  RESEMBLANCE 


-vo  ceicand'  io 


Donna,  quant' e  possibile,  in  altrui 
La  desiata  vostra  forma  vera. 

Petrarc.  Sonelt.  14 

Yes,  if  'twere  any  common  love, 
That  led  my  pliant  heart  astray, 

I  grant,  there  's  not  a  power  above 
Could  wipe  the  faithless  crime  away ! 

But,  'twas  my  doom  to  err  with  one 

In  every  look  so  like  to  thee. 
That,  oh  !  beneath  the  blessed  sun. 

So  fair  there  are  but  thou  and  she ! 

Whate'er  may  be  her  angel  birth, 
She  was  thy  lovely  perfect  twin, 

And  wore  the  only  shape  on  earth. 

That  could  have  charm'd  my  soul  to  sin ' 

Your  eyes ! — the  eyes  of  languid  doves 
Were  never  half  so  like  each  other ! 

The  glances  of  the  baby  loves 

Resemble  less  their  warm-ey'd  mother ! 

Her  lip  ! — oh,  call  me  not  false  hearted, 

When  such  a  lip  I  fondly  prest ; 
'Twas  Love  some  melting  cheri-y  parted, 

Gave  thee  one  half  and  her  the  rest ! 

And  when,  with  all  thy  murmuring  tone, 
They  sued,  half  open,  to  be  kiss'd, 

I  could  as  soon  resist  thine  own — 

And  them,  heaven  knows  !  I  ne'er  resist 

Then,  scorn  me  not,  though  false  I  be, 
'Twas  love  that  wak'd  the  dear  excess; 

My  heart  had  been  more  true  to  thee. 
Had  mine  eye  priz'd  thy  beauty  less  i 


TO- 


When  I  lov'd  you,  I  can't  but  allow 
I  had  many  an  exquisite  minute ; 

But  the  scorn  that  1  f(!el  for  you  now 
Hath  even  more  luxury  in  it  I 


KPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


Ill 


Thus,  whetlier  we're  on  or  we'n.  off, 
Some  witchery  seems  to  await  you ; 

To  love  you  is  pleasuit  eiiouj^li. 
And,  oh  !  'tis  delicious  to  liate  you  ! 


FROM  THE  GREEK  OF  MELEAGER. 

Fill  high  tlie  cup  with  liquid  flame, 
And  speak  my  Hkliodora's  name! 
Repeat  its  magic  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  let  the  sound  my  lips  adore, 
Sweeten  the  breeze,  and  mingling  swim 
On  every  bowl's  volujauous  brim  ! 

Give  me  the  wreath  that  withers  there ; 

It  was  but  last  delicious  night 
It  hung  upon  her  wavy  hair. 

And  caught  her  eyes'  reflected  light ! 
Oh !  haste,  and  twine  it  round  my  brow 
It  breathes  of  Heliodora  now! 

The  loving  rose-bud  drops  a  tear, 
To  see  the  nympli  no  longer  here. 
No  longer,  where  she  used  to  lie. 
Close  to  my  heart's  devoted  sigh  ! 


LINES, 

WRITTEN    IN   A    STORM    AT    SKA 

TiL\T  sky  of  clouds  is  not  the  sky 
To  light  a  lover  to  the  pillow 

Of  her  he  loves — 
The  swell  of  yonder  foaming  billow 
Resembles  not  the  happy  sigh 

That  rapture  moves. 

Vet  do  I  feel  more  tranquil  now 
Amid  the  gloomy  wilds  of  ocean. 

In  this  dark  hour, 
Than  when,  in  transport's  young  emotion, 
I've  stol'n,  beneath  the  evening  star. 

To  Julia's  bower. 

Oh  !  there  's  a  holy  calm  profound 
In  awe  like  this,  that  ne'er  was  given 

To  rapture's  thrill ; 
'Tis  as  a  solemn  voice  from  heaven. 
And  the  soul,  listening  to  the  sound. 

Lies  mute  and  still ! 

'Tis  true,  it  talks  of  danger  nigh, 

Of  slumbering  with  the  dead  to-morrow 

In  the  cold  deep, 
Where  pleasure's  throb  or  tears  of  sorrow 
No  more  shall  wake  the  heart  or  eye. 

But  all  must  sleep  ! 

Well  ! — there  are  some,  thou  stormy  bed, 
To  whom  thy  sleep  would  be  a  treasure ! 
Oh  most  to  him. 


!  Eyx",  x»i  ^xKiv  ti^t,  n-ct>.iv,  77xKiv,  '»KioS 

Ei3-s,  (Tuv  axp^Taj  TO  yKuxv  fii<ry'  avt/tx. 
taj  ftoi  TOf  SpiX^fvTa  ^upo.;  ««<  X^'C'<'  ""« 


Mw 


«;,  : 


*C*TI^£*  o-TECJa 


Whose  lip  hath  drain'd  life's  cup  of  pleasure, 
Nor  left  one  honey  drop  to  shed 
Round  misery's  brim. 

Yes — he  can  smile  serene  at  death  : 

Kind  heaven  !  do  thou  but  chase  the  weeping 

Of  friends  who  love  him; 
Tell  them  that  he  lies  calmly  sleeping 
Where  sorrow's  sting  or  envy's  breath 

No  more  shall  move  him. 


ODE.S  TO  NE.A  ; 

WRITTEN  AT  BERMUDA. 


NEA   TTPANNEI. 

F.iiripid.  Medea,  v.  967 


A«Kpufii  ^iA.epxo-TOv  i^ou  po5"ov,  o\)vtn.»  xtt. 
AWooi  x'ow  xo\;roi5  yjfiiTtpmq  jo-opx. 

ftruHck.  Jlnahct.  t<3ra.  i.  p.  28. 


Nay,  tempt  me  not  to  love  again. 

There  was  a  time  when  love  was  sweet; 
Dear  Nea  !  had  I  known  thee  then. 

Our  souls  had  not  been  slow  to  meet ! 
But,  oh !  this  weary  heart  hath  run. 

So  many  a  time,  the  rounds  of  pain. 
Not  e'en  for  thee,  thou  lovely  one  ! 

Would  I  endure  such  pangs  again. 

If  there  be  climes,  where  never  yet 

The  print  of  Beauty's  foot  was  set. 

Where  man  may  pass  his  lovf^le."--?  nights, 

Unfever'd  by  her  false  delights, 

T.iither  my  wounded  soul  would  fly, 

Where  rosy  cheek  or  radiant  eye 

Should  bring  no  more  their  bliss,  their  pais, 

Or  fetter  me  to  earth  again  ! 

Dear  absent  girl,  whose  eyes  of  light, 

Though  little  priz'd  when  all  my  own. 
Now  float  before  me,  soft  and  bright 

As  when  they  first  enamouring  shone ! 
How  many  hours  of  idle  waste. 
Within  those  witching  arms  embraced, 
Unmindful  of  the  fleeting  day. 
Have  I  dissolv'd  life's  dream  away ! 
O  bloom  of  time  profusely  shed! 
O  moments  !  simply,  vainly  fled. 
Yet  sweetly  too — for  love  perfum'd 
The  flame  which  thus  my  life  eonsum'd; 
And  brilliant  was  the  chain  of  flowers. 
In  which  he  led  my  victim  hours ! 

Say,  Nea,  dear!  could'st  thou,  like  her, 
Wlien  warm  to  feel  and  quick  to  err, 
Of  loving  fond,  of  roving  fonder, 
3Iy  thoughtless  soul  might  wish  to  wander 
Could'st  thou,  like  her,  the  wish  reclaim, 

Endearing  still,  reproaching  never. 
Till  all  my  heart  should  burn  with  shanwi. 

And  be  thine  own,  more  fix'd  than  ever'' 
No,  no — on  earth  there's  only  one 

Could  bind  such  faithless  tolly  fast: 
And  sure  on  earth  'tis  I  alone 

Could  make  such  virtue  false  at  last! 
Nea  !  the  heart  which  she  forsook. 

For  thee  were  but  a  worthless  shrine- 
Go,  lovely  girl,  that  angel  look 

Must  thrill  a  soul  more  pure  than  nufcft 


112 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Oh !  thou  shall  be  ail  else  to  me, 
That  heart  can  feel  or  tongue  can  feign ; 

I'll  praise,  admire,  and  worship  thee, 
But  must  not,  dare  not,  love  again. 


VLE  ITER  OMNE  CAVE. 

Propert.  ]Ab.  iv.  Eleg.  8 


I  PRAY  you,  let  us  roam  no  more 
Along  that  wild  and  lonely  shore. 

Where  late  we  thoughtless  stray'd  ; 
'Twas  not  for  us,  whom  lieaven  intends 
To  be  no  more  than  simple  friends, 

Such  lonely  walks  were  made. 
That  little  bay,  where,  winding  in 
From  ocean's  rude  and  angry  din, 

(As  lovers  steal  to  bliss,) 
The  billows  kiss  the  shore,  and  then 
Flow  calmly  to  the  deep  again, 

As  though  they  did  not  kiss  ! 

Remember,  o'er  its  circling  flood 

In  what  a  dangerous  dream  we  stood — 

The  silent  sea  before  us, 
Around  us,  all  the  gloom  of  grove, 
That  e'er  was  spread  for  guilt  or  love. 

No  eye  but  nature's  o'er  us  ! 

I  saw  you  blush,  you  felt  me  tremble, 
In  vain  would  formal  art  dissemble 

All  that  we  wish'd  and  thought ; — 
'Twas  more  than  tongue  could  dare  reveal, 
'Twas  more  than  virtue  ought  to  feel, 

But  all  that  passion  ou^ht ! 

I  stoop'd  to  cull,  with  faltering  hand, 
A  shell  that  on  the  golden  sand 

Before  us  faintly  gleam'd ; 
I  rais'd  it  to  your  lips  of  dew, 
You  kiss'd  the  shell,  I  kiss'd  it  too — 

Good  heaven,  how  sweet  it  seem'd  ! 
O,  trust  me,  'twas  a  place,  an  hour. 
The  worst  that  e'er  temptation's  povver 

Could  tangle  me  or  you  in  ! 
Sweet  Nea  !  let  us  roam  no  more 
Along  that  wild  and  lonely  shore — 

Such  walks  will  be  our  ruin ! 


You  read  it  in  my  languid  eyes. 

And  there  alone  should  love  be  read; 

You  hear  me  say  it  all  in  sighs, 
And  thus  alone  should  love  be  said. 

Then  dread  no  more ;  I  will  not  speak; 

Altliough  my  heart  to  anguish  thrill, 
I'll  spare  the  burning  of  your  cheek. 

And  look  it  all  in  silence  still ! 

Heard  you  the  wish  I  dar'd  to  name, 
To  murmur  on  that  luckless  night. 

When  passion  broke  the  bonds  of  shame, 
And  love  grew  madness  in  your  sight? 

Divinely  through  the  graceful  dance 
You  seem'd  to  float  in  silent  song, 


Bending  to  earth  that  beamy  glance. 
As  if  to  light  your  steps  along! 

Oh !  how  could  others  dare  to  touch 
That  hallow'd  form  with  hand  so  free, 

When  but  to  look  was  bli«s  too  much. 
Too  rare  for  all  but  heaven  and  vb  ' 

With  smiling  eyes,  that  little  thought 
How  fatal  were  the  beams  they  threw, 

My  trembling  hands  you  lightly  caught. 
And  round  me,  like  a  spirit,  flew. 

Heedless  of  all,  I  wildly  turn'd. 
My  soul  forgot — nor,  oh  !  condemn. 

That  when  such  eyes  before  me  burn'd 
My  soul  forgot  all  eyes  but  them  ! 

I  dar'd  to  speak  in  sobs  of  bliss. 

Rapture  of  every  tliought  bereft;  me, 

I  would  have  clasp'd  you — oh,  even  this  !- 
But,  with  a  bound,  you  blushing  left;  me. 

Forget,  forget  that  night's  oflence. 

Forgive  it,  if,  alas  !  you  can  ; 
'Twas  love,  'twas  passion — soul  and  sens^— 

'Twas  all  the  best  and  worst  of  man  ! 

That  moment,  did  the  mingled  eyes 

Of  heaven  and  earth  my  madness  view, 

I  should  have  seen,  through  earth  and  skiea, 
But  you  alone,  but  only  you ! 

Did  not  a  frown  from  you  reprove, 
Myriads  of  eyes  to  me  were  none ; 

I  should  have — oh,  my  only  love! 
My  hfe!  what  should  1  not  have  done! 


A  DREAM  OF  ANTIQUITY 

I  JUST  had  turn'd  the  classic  page. 

And  trac'd  that  happy  period  over, 
When  love  could  warm  the  proudest  sage. 

And  wisdom  grace  the  tenderest  lover ! 
Before  I  laid  me  down  to  sleep, 

Upon  the  bank  awhile  I  stood. 
And  saw  tl>e  vestal  planet  weep 

Her  tears  of  light  on  Ariel's  flood. 

My  heart  was  full  of  Fancy's  dream, 
And,  as  I  watch'd  the  playful  stream. 
Entangling  in  its  net  of  smiles 
So  fair  a  group  of  elfin  isles, 
I  felt  as  if  the  scenery  there 

Were  lighted  by  a  Grecian  sky — 
As  if  I  brealh'd  the  blissful  air 

That  yet  was  warm  with  Sappho's  sigh  . 

And  now  the  downy  hand  of  rest 
Her  signet  on  my  eyes  imprest, 
And  still  the  bright  and  balmy  spell 
Like  star-dew,  o'er  my  fancy  fell ! 
I  thought  that,  all  onrapt,  I  stray  d 
Through  that  serene  luxurious  shade," 


1  Gussendi  iliinks  ihai  liic gardens,  which  Pausariias  men- 
tions, in  liis  first  llDok,  were  ihosi>  of  Kpiciirus  ;  andHtiiarl 
says,  in  his  Amiquilirs  of  Alliens,  "  Near  this  convent  (the 
convent  of  Ha;:ios  Assciniiitos)  is  the  place  called  at  prcsenC 
Kepoi,  or  the  (J.irdens  ;  and  Ainpolos  Kepos,  or  the  V mo- 
yard  Garden  ;  thes''  \v('re  prohilily  the  gardens  which  Pau 
sanias  visiled."     Chap.  ii.  Vol.  I. 


KPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


11.-; 


Where  Epicurus  taught  the  Ldvcs 
To  pohsh  virtue's  native  brightness, 

Just  as  the  beai\  of  playful  doves 

Can  give  to  pearls  a  smoother  whiteness  !' 

'Twas  one  of  those  delicious  nights 

So  common  in  the  climes  of  Greece, 
When  day  withdraws  hut  half  its  lights, 

And  all  is  moonshine,  balm,  and  peace  ! 
And  thou  wert  there,  my  own  belov'd ! 
Ami  dearly  liy  ihy  side  1  rov'd 
Through  many  a  temple's  reverend  gloom, 
And  many  a  bower's  seductive  bloom, 
U'herc  beau'y  blush'd  and  wisdom  taught, 
Where  lovers  sigli'd  and  sages  thought. 
Where  hearts  might  feel  or  heads  discern, 

And  all  was  form'd  to  sooth  or  move. 
To  make  the  dullest  love  to  learn. 

To  make  the  coldest  learn  to  love  ! 

And  now  the  fairy  pathway  seem'd 

To  lead  us  through  enchanted  ground. 
Where  all  that  bard  has  ever  dream'd 

Of  love  or  luxury  bloom'd  around  ! 
Oh  !  'twas  a  bright  bewildering  scene — 
Along  the  alley's  deepening  green, 
Soft  lamps,  that  hung  like  burning  flowers. 
And  scented  and  illum'd  the  bowers, 
SJeem'd,  as  to  him,  who  darkling  roves 
Amid  the  lone  llercynian  groves, 
Appear  the  countless  birds  of  light. 
That  sparkle  in  the  leaves  at  night. 
And  from  their  wings  dilfuse  a  ray 
Along  the  traveller's  weary  way  !^ 
'J'was  light  of  that  mysterious  kind. 

Through  which  the  soul  is  doom'd  to  roam. 
When  it  has  left  this  world  bcliind. 

And  gone  to  seek  its  heavenly  home ! 
And,  Nea,  thou  didst  look  and  move. 

Like  any  bloommg  soul  of  bliss. 
That  wanders  to  its  home  above 

Through  mild  and  shadowy  light  like  this  ! 

But  now,  methought,  we  stole  along 

Through  halls  of  more  voluptuous  glory 
Than  ever  liv'd  in  Teian  song. 

Or  wanton'd  in  Milesian  story  !' 
And  nymphs  were  there,  whose  very  eyes 
Seem'd  ahnost  to  exhale  in  sighs  ; 
Whose  every  little  ringlet  thrill'd. 
As  if  with  soul  and  passion  fill'd! 
Some  flew,  with  amber  cups,  around. 

Shedding  the  flowery  wines  of  Crete,* 
And,  as  they  pass'd  with  youthful  bound. 

The  onyx  shone  beneath  their  feet  !* 


1  Till'  meilioil  ol'polisliiiig  pearls,  by  leiiving  them  awhile 
to  be  |).uyeil  wiih  by  doves,  is  mentioned  by  the  fanciful 
Cuiilinius,  de  Reai'ii  Vari^iat.     Lib.  vii.  cap.  34. 

2  In  Hercynio  (ieriiiania;  sallu  iinisitata  genera  alitum 
accepiniUd,  qnaruMi  pluina^,  igniuni  modo,  colluceant  iiocti- 
Dus.     Plin.  Lib.  .\.  cap.  47. 

'.1  Tlic  Mil' alais,  or  Milesian  F.,bles,  had  their  origin  in 
Vliliitus,  a  luxu  ions  town  of  Ionia.  .Aristides  was  the  most 
telebrated  aulhor  of  ihese  lieentio'is  fictions.  See  Plutarch 
;in  Cras^o)  who  calls  them  xxoKxa-rx  diS>.i». 

4  Some  of  the  Crclan  wines,  which  .■\thena;us  calls  "'fof 
»v3-oir,m.e;,  from  their  fragrancy  nseinbiing  ihat  of  ihe 
finest  tiovvers.     Barry  on  If'iii'S,  ch:ip.  vii. 

5  V  appears,  that  in  very  splendid  mansions  the  floor  or 
pavemeni  was  freciupntly  of  onyx.  Thus  Martial :  "  Calca- 
iusi|u«  tun  sub  pe<le  lucet  onvx."     Epig.  50.  Lib.  xii. 

H 


While  others,  waving  arms  of  snow 

Eiitwin'd  by  snakes  ol'bui.aish'd  gold,' 
.\nd  showing  limbs,  as  loth  to  show. 

Through  many  a  thin  Tarentian  fold,* 
Glided  along  the  festal  ring 
With  vases,  all  respiring  spring. 
Where  roses  lay,  in  langour  breathing. 
And  the  young  bee-grape,^  round  them  wreathing. 
Hung  on  their  blushes  warm  and  meek. 
Like  curls  upon  a  rosy  cheek  ! 
Oh,  Nka  !  why  did  morning  break 

The  spell  that  so  divinely  bound  me? 
Why  did  I  wake  I  how  coiUd  1  wake 

With  thee  my  own  and  heaven  around  me  ? 


Well — peace  to  thy  heart,  though  another's  it  be. 
And  health  to  thy  cheek,  though  it  bloom  not  for  m<» 
To-morrow,  1  sail  for  those  cinnamon  groves. 
Where  nightly  the  ghost  of  the  Carribee  roves, 
And,  far  from  thine  eye,  oh  !  perhaps,  1  may  yet 
Its  seduction  forgive  and  its  splendour  forget  I 
Farewell  to  Bermuda,''  and  long  may  the  bloom 
Of  the  lemon  and  myrtle  its  vailies  perfume; 
.^lay  spring  to  eternity  hallow  the  shade. 
Where  Ariel  has  warbled  and  Waller^  has  stray'd  ! 
And  thou — when,  at  dawn,  thou  shalt  happen  to  roam 
Through  the  lime-cover'd  alley  that  leads  to  thy  home, 
Where  oil,  when  the  dance  and  the  revel  were  done, 
And  the  stars  were  beginning  to  fade  in  the  sun, 
I  have  led  thee  along,  and  have  told  by  the  way 
What  my  heart  all  the  night  had  been  burning  to  say — 
Oh  !  think  of  the  past — give  a  sigh  to  those  times, 
And  a  blessing  for  me  to  that  alley  of  limes  ! 


If  I  were  yonder  wave,  my  dear. 
And  thou  the  isle  it  clasps  around, 

I  would  not  let  a  foot  come  near 
ftly  land  of  bliss,  my  fairy  ground  ! 


1  Itracelets  of  this  shape  were  a  favourite  ornament  among 
the  women  of  anlii|uily.  Oi  jjrixafjrioi  oeeij  x»i  xi  xfun-xi 
TTsSxi     dztXiSnq     xxi     Af  ((TTay  op:6ff    xxt     AxiSo^     Cxpjuaxx. 

I'liilostrat.  Epist.  xl.  Luciaii  loo  tells  of  the  ifxx"'^'  ^f»' 
xovTsj.  See  his  Amores,  wliere  he  describes  the  dressing- 
room  of  a  Grecian  lady,  and  we  find  the  "  silver  vase,"  Liie 
rongc,  the  tooth-powder,  and  all  the  "  mystic  order"  of  a 
modern  toilet. 

■J  TxpxvTiVi Jiov,  Stx^xvei  fv^vfiX^  wvOjUsec/civOV  xrrc 
r>i;    TxpavTii/xv   >;fif<r!;ui    xxi    Tfu:>:;. —  PolluX. 

'.i  .Apiana,  mentioned  by  Pliny,  Lib.  xiv.  and  "now  called 
the  Miiscatell  (a  muscaruin  telisli")  says  Pancirollns,  Book 
i.  .^eci.  1.  Chap.  17. 

4  The  inhabitants  pronounce  he  name  as  if  it  were  writ- 
ten Bermooda.  See  the  commentators  on  the  words  "  slili 
vex'd  IJirmoothes,"  in  the  Tempest.  1  wonder  it  did  not 
occur  to  some  of  those  all-reading  gentlemen  that,  possibly, 
the  discoverer  of  this  "  i^lnnd  ol'  hogs  and  devils"  niigril 
have  been  no  le.-;s  a  personage  lh;in  the  great  John  Bcr'i.u- 
dez,  who,  about  the  same  period,  (the  beginning  of  the  six 
teeiith  century,)  was  sent  Patriarcli  of  the  Latin  Ciiurcli  to 
Ethiopia,  and  has  left  us  nmst  uundeiful  stories  of  the 
.\m.izons  and  theGritfins,  which  he  encountered.  Travis 
uf  the  Jesuits,  Vol.  I.  I  am  al'rMid,  however,  il  would 
take  the  Patriarch  rather  too  mucli  out  of  his  way. 

5  Johnson  does  not  think  that  Waller  was  ever  at  Berma 
da;  but  the  "Account  of  the  European  SctllemenlH  in 
.■\merica,"  affirms  it  confidenily.  (Vol.11.)  1  mention  tli;i 
work,  however,  less  for  its  authority,  than  for  the  pleasure  1 
feel  in  quoting  an  unacknowlcdg-ii  production  of  bo  grew 
Edmund  Burke. 


lU 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


If  I  were  yonder  couch  of  gold, 
And  thou  the  pearl  within  it  plac'd, 

I  would  not  let  an  eye  behold 

The  sacred  gem  my  arms  embrac  d  ! 

If  I  were  yonder  orange-tree, 

And  thou  the  blossom  blooming  there, 
1  would  no*  yield  a  breath  of  thee. 

To  scent  the  most  imploring  air ! 

Oh !  bend  not  o'er  the  water's  brink, 
Give  not  the  wave  that  rosy  sigh. 

Nor  let  its  burnmg  mirror  drink 
The  soft  reflection  of  thine  eye. 

That  glossy  hair,  that  glowing  cheek, 
Upon  the  billows  pour  their  beam 

So  warmly,  that  my  soul  could  seek 
Its  Nea  in  the  pamted  stream. 

The  painted  stream  my  chilly  grave 
And  nuptial  bed  at  once  may  be, 

I'll  wed  thee  in  that  mimic  wave, 
And  die  upon  the  shade  of  thee  ! 

Behold  the  leafy  mangrove,  bending 
O'er  the  waters  blue  and  bright. 

Like  Nea's  silky  lashes,  lending 
Shadow  to  her  eyes  of  light ' 

Oh,  my  beloved  !  where'er  I  turn, 

Some  trace  of  thee  enchants  mine  eyes, 

In  every  star  thy  glances  burn. 
Thy  blush  on  every  flowret  lies. 

But  then  thy  breath  ! — not  all  the  fire. 
That  lights  the  lone  Semenda's'  death 

In  eastern  cUmes  could  e'er  respire 
An  odour  like  thy  dulcet  breath  ! 

I  pray  thee,  on  those  lips  of  thine 

To  wear  this  rosy  leaf  for  me, 
And  breathe  of  something  not  divine, 

Since  nothing  human  breathes  of  thee  ! 

All  other  charms  of  thine  I  meet 

In  nature,  but  thy  sigh  alone ; 
Then  take,  oh  !  take,  though  not  so  sweet. 

The  breath  of  roses  for  thine  own ! 

5o,  while  I  walk  the  flowery  grove, 
The  bud  that  gives,  through  morning  dew. 

The  lustre  of  the  lips  1  love. 
May  seem  to  give  their  perfume  too  ! 


ON  SEEING  AN  INFANT  IN  NEA'S  ARMS. 

TirE  first  ambrosial  child  of  bliss. 

That  Psyche  to  her  bosom  prcst. 
Was  not  a  brighter  babe  than  this. 

Nor  bhish'd  upon  a  lovelier  breast! 
His  little  siiow-while  fingers,  straying 

Along  h(T  lips'  luxuriant  flower, 
Look'd  like  a  flight  of  ring-doves  playing, 

Silvery  through  a  roseate  bower! 
And  when,  ic  shade  the  playful  boy, 

Her  (lark  hair  fell,  in  mazes  bright. 


I  Ri;riTiiiil  luiiiiMi  i{iililiiiri  in  iiitcriori:  India  avem  esse, 
oomiiU!  Si'incndain,  ric.  Ciiiilan.  10  do  Snlitililat.  Ca'snr 
^(■nliger  seems  to  tliiiik  HiMiicnda  liut  niiotlicr  name  for  tlie 
''hfTiiix.     Errrcilut  UXi. 


Oh  !  'twas  a  type  of  stolen  joy, 

'Twas  love  beneath  the  veil  of  nigllt! 

Soft  as  she  smil'd,  he  smil'd  again ; 

They  seem'd  so  kindred  in  their  charms, 

That  one  might  think,  the  babe  had  then 
Just  budded  in  her  blooming  arms  ! 


THE  SNOW  SPIRIT. 

Tu  potes  insuliias,  C'yntliia,  reirc  nives  1 

Propert    Lil).  i.  Eleg.  8. 

No,  n^'er  did  the  wave  m  its  element  steep 

An  island  of  lovener  cliarms  ; 
It  blooms  in  the  giant  embrace  of  the  deep, 

Like  Ilebe  in  Hercules'  arms  ! 
The  tint  of  your  bowers  is  balm  to  the  eye, 

Their  melody  balm  to  the  ear  ; 
But  the  fiery  planet  of  day  is  too  nigh. 

And  the  Snow-Spirit  never  com';s  here  ! 
The  down  from  his  wing  is  as  white  as  the  pearl 

Thy  lips  for  their  cabinet  stolf, 
And  it  falls  on  the  green  earth  as  melting,  my  girl. 

As  a  murmur  of  thine  on  the  soul  K 
Oh,  fly  to  the  clime,  where  he  pillows  the  death. 

As  he  cradles  the  birth  of  the  year ; 
Bright  are  your  bowers  and  balmy  their  breath. 

But  the  Snow-Spirit  cannot  come  here  ! 

How  sweet  to  behold  him,  when  borne  on  the  gale, 

And  brightening  the  bosom  of  morn. 
He  flings,  like  the  priest  of  Diana,  a  veil 

O'er  the  brow  of  each  virginal  thorn  ! 
Yet  think  not,  the  veil  he  so  chillingly  casts, 

Is  a  veil  of  a  vestal  severe ; 
No,  no, — thou  wdt  see,  what  a  moment  it  lasts, 

Should  the  Snow-Spirit  ever  come  here  ! 

But  fly  to  his  region — lay  open  thy  zone, 

And  he'll  weep  all  his  brilliancy  dim. 
To  think  that  a  bosom,  as  white  as  his  own, 

Should  not  melt  in  the  day-beam  like  him! 
Oh  !  lovely  the  print  of  those  delicate  feet 

O'er  his  luminous  path  will  appear — 
Fly  !  my  beloved  !  this  island  is  sweet. 

But  the  Snow-Spirit  cannot  come  here  ! 


Philostrat.  Icon.  17.  Lit.  2. 

I  STOLE  along  the  flowery  bank. 
While  many  a  bending  sea-grape'  drank 
The  sprinkle  of  the  feathery  oar 
That  wing'd  me  round  this  fairy  shore! 
'Twas  noon  ;  and  every  orange  bud 
Hung  laiigiiid  o'er  the  crystal  flood. 
Faint  as  the  lids  of  maiden  eyes 
Beneath  a  lover's  burning  sighs  ! 
Oh  for  a  naiad's  sparry  bower. 
To  shade  me  in  that  glowing  hour! 

A  little  dove,  of  milky  hue. 
Before  me  from  a  plantain  flew. 


1  Till;  seaside  or  manprovt.  ffrupe,  a  nntivo  of  the  W«»i 
Indies. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


115 


And,  light,  along  the  water's  brim, 

[  steered  my  gentle  hark  by  him; 

For  Fancy  told  me.  Love  hud  sent 

This  snowy  bird  ol'  blandishment, 

To  lead  me  where  my  soul  should  meet — 

T  knew  not  what,  but  something  sweet . 

Blest  be  the  little  pilot  dove  ! 
He  had  indeed  been  sent  by  Love, 
To  guide  me  to  a  scene  so  dear. 
As  Fate  allows  but  seldom  here  : 
One  of  those  rare  and  brilliant  hours. 
Which,  like  the  aloe's'  lingering  flowers, 
3Iay  blossom  to  the  eye  of  man 
But  once  in  all  his  weary  span  ! 

Just  where  the  margin's  opening  shade 

A  vista  from  the  waters  made. 

My  bird  repos'd  his  silver  plume 

Upon  a  rich  banana's  bloom. 

Oh,  vision  bright !  oh,  spirit  fair! 

What  spell,  what  magic  rais'd  her  there  ? 

'Tvvas  Nea  I  slumbering  calm  and  mild, 

And  bloomy  as  the  dimpled  child 

Whose  spirit  in  elysium  keeps 

Its  playful  sabbath,  while  he  sleeps  ! 

The  broad  banana's  green  embrace 
Hung  shadowy  round  each  tranquil  grace; 
One  little  beam  alone  could  win 
The  leaves  to  let  it  wander  in. 
And,  stealing  over  all  her  charms. 
From  lip  to  cheek,  from  neck  to  arms, 
It  glanc'd  around  a  fiery  kiss. 
All  trembling,  as  it  went,  with  bliss! 

Her  eyelid's  black  and  silken  fringe 
Lay  on  her  cheek,  of  vermil  tinge. 
Like  the  first  ebon  cloud,  that  closes 
Dark  on  evening's  heaven  of  roses  ! 
Her  glances,  though  in  slumber  hid, 
Seem'd  glowing  through  their  ivory  lid. 
And  o'er  her  lip's  reflecting  dew 
A  soft  and  liquid  lustre  threw. 
Such  as,  declining  dim  and  faint. 
The  lamp  of  some  beloved  saint 
Doth  shed  upon  a  flowery  wreath. 
Which  pious  hands  have  hung  beneath. 
Was  ever  witchery  half  so  sweet ! 
Think,  think  how  all  my  pulses  beat, 
As  o'er  the  rustling  bank  I  stole — 
Oh  !  you,  that  know  the  lover's  soul, 
It  is  for  you  to  dream  the  bliss. 
The  tremblings  of  an  hour  like  this  ! 


ON  THE  LOSS  OF  A  LETTER  INTENDED 
FOR  NEA. 

Off !  it  was  fill'd  with  words  of  flame. 

With  all  the  wishes  wild  and  dear. 
Which  love  may  write,  but  dares  not  name. 

Which  woman  reads,  but  must  not  hear  ! 


1  The  Agav&  I  know  lh:it  this  is  an  erronemis  idna,  Imt 
II  IS  quite  true  enough  for  poetry.  PImIo,  I  think,  allows  a 
poet  to    l)p  "  thr 'e    removes  from    truth;"  TfiraTo;  a^o 


Of  many  a  nightly  dream  il  told, 

When  all  that  chills  the  heart  by  dav. 
The  worldly  doubt,  the  caution  cold. 

In  Fancy's  hre  dissolve  away  ! 
When  soul  and  soul  divinely  meet. 

Free  from  the  senses'  guilty  shame. 
And  mitigle  in  a  sigh  so  sweet. 

As  virtue's  self  would  blush  to  blame ! 
How  could  he  lose  such  tender  words  ? 

Words !  that  of  themselves  should  spring 
To  Nka's  ear,  like  panting  birds. 

With  heart  and  soul  upon  their  wing' 
Oh  !  fancy  what  they  dar'd  to  speak; 

Think  all  a  virgin's  shame  can  dread, 
Nor  pause  until  thy  conscious  clieek 

Shall  burn  with  thinking  all  they  said! 
And  I  shall  feign,  shall  fancy,  too. 

Some  dear  reply  thou  might'st  have  given 
Shall  make  that  lip  distil  its  dew 

In  promise  bland  and  hopes  of  heaven  I 
Shall  think  it  tells  of  future  days. 

When  the  averted  cheek  will  turn, 
When  eye  with  eye  shall  mingle  rays, 

And  lip  to  lip  shall  closely  burn  I — 

Ah  !  if  this  flattery  is  not  thine. 
If  colder  hope  thy  answer  brings, 

I'll  wish  thy  words  were  lost  like  mine. 
Since  I  can  dream  such  dearer  things 


I  FOUND  her  not — the  chamber  seem'd 
Like  some  divinely  haunted  place. 

Where  fairy  forms  had  lately  bcam'd 
And  left  behind  their  odorous  trace  ! 

It  felt,  as  if  her  lips  had  shed 
A  sigh  around  her,  ere  she  fled. 
Which  hung,  as  on  a  melting  lute. 
When  all  the  silver  chords  are  mute, 
There  lingers  still  a  trembling  breath 
Afler  the  note's  luxurious  death, 
A  shade  of  song,  a  spirit  air 
Of  melodies  which  had  been  there  ! 
I  saw  the  web,  which  all  the  day. 

Had  floated  o'er  her  cheek  of  rose ; 
I  saw  the  couch,  where  late  she  lay- 
In  languor  of  divine  repose  ! 

And  I  could  trace  the  hallow'd  prim 

Her  limbs  had  left,  as  pure  and  warm 
As  if  'twere  done  in  rapture's  mint. 

And  love  himself  had  stamp'd  th.^  form 
Oh,  Nea  !  Nea  !  where  wert  thou  ? 

In  pity  fly  not  thus  from  me ; 
Thou  art  my  life,  my  essence  now. 

And  my  soul  dies  of  wanting  thee 


A  KISS  A   L'ANTIQliE. 

BEitoT.n,  my  love,  the  curious  gem 
Within  this  simple  ring  of  gold  ; 

'Tis  hallow'd  by  the  touch  of  ihem 
Who  liv'd  HI  classic  hours  nf  old 


116 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Some  fair  Athenian  girl,  perhaps, 

Upon  her  hand  this  gern  display'd, 
Nor  thought  that  time's  eternal  lapse 

Shoidd  see  it  grace  a  lovelier  maid  ! 
Look,  darling,  what  a  sweet  design  ! 

Tlie  more  we  gaze,  it  charms  the  more : 
Come, — closer  bring  that  cheek  to  mine, 

And  trace  with  me  its  beauties  o'er. 

Thou  see'st,  it  is  a  simple  youth 

By  some  enamour'd  nymph  embrac'd — 

Look,  Nea,  love  I  and  saj',  in  sooth, 
Is  not  her  hand  most  dearly  plac'd  ! 

Upon  his  curled  head  behind 
It  seems  in  careless  play  to  lie,' 

Yet  presses  gently,  half  inclin'd 
To  bring  his  lip  of  nectar  nigh  ' 

Oh  happy  maid  !  too  happy  boy  ! 

The  one  so  fond  and  faintly  loath, 
The  other  yielding  slow  to  joy — 

Oh,  rare  indeed,  but  blissful  both  ! 

fmagine,  love,  that  J  am  he, 
And  just  as  warm  as  he  is  chilling; 

Imagine,  too,  that  thou  art  she. 
But  q.iite  as  cold  as  she  is  willing : 

So  may  we  try  the  graceful  way 

In  which  their  gentle  arms  are  twin'd, 

And  thus,  like  her,  my  hand  I  lay 
Upon  thy  wreathed  hair  behind : 

And  thus  I  feel  thee  breathing  sweet, 
As  slow  to  mine  thy  head  1  move ; 

And  thus  our  hps  together  meet. 
And — thus  I  kiss  thee — oh,  my  love  ! 


.•jri.Hot.  Klutur.  Lib.  iii.  Cap.  4. 

There's  not  a  look,  a  vvord  of  thine 

My  soul  hath  e'er  forgot ; 
Thou  ne'er  hast  bid  a  ringlet  shine. 
Nor  giv'n  thy  locks  one  graceful  twine, 

Which  I  remember  not ! 
There  never  yet  a  murmur  fell 

From  that  beguiling  tongue. 
Which  did  not,  with  a  lingering  spell, 
Upon  my  channod  senses  dwell. 

Like  something  heaven  had  sung ! 

Ah  I  that  I  could,  at  once,  forgot 

All,  all  that  haunts  me  so — 
And  yet,  thou  witching  girl ! — and  yet, 
To  die  were  sweeter,  than  to  let 

The  lov'd  remembrance  go  ! 
No ;  if  this  slighted  heart  must  see 

Its  faithful  pulse  decay, 
Oh !  let  it  die,  remembering  thee, 
And,  like  the  burnt  aroma,  be 

Consum'd  in  sweets  away  ! 


I  Soini'wiial  lik<:  lli<!  ByiM|)l('Siiia  cpf  ('ii|]iil  and  Psyche 
It  Florence,  fii  wliicli  the  iiosiiioii  of  Psyche's  h;iml  is 
Hnt-ly  PX|)re«Hive  of  iifTertinn.  Siio  the  Museum  riiirenti- 
niim,  Tom.  ii.  Tiih.  43,  44.  I  know  of  verv  few  siil)ji!cls  in 
whi<h  poetry  could  he  more  inloiostiii-'ly  emiiloycd,  than  in 
!^jiiiraliii>!  Homo  rf  the  ancient  ittiituox  »nd  L'cins. 


EPISTLE  V. 
TO  JOSEPH  ATKINSON,  ESQ. 

FRO.M    BER.MUDA.' 

March. 

"The  daylight  is  gone — but,  before  we  depart, 
One  cup  shall  go  round  to  the  friend  of  my  heart, 
To  the  kindest,  the  dearest — oh  !  judge  by  the  tear. 
That  I  shed  while  I  name  him,  how  khid  and  ho* 
dear  I" 

'Twas  thus,  by  the  shade  of  a  calabash-tree, 
With  a  few  who  could  feel  and  remember  like  me, 
The  charm,  that  to  sweeten  my  goblet  I  threw, 
Was  a  tear  to  the  past  and  a  blessing  on  you  ! 

Oh !  say,  do  you  thus,  in  the  luminous  hour 
Of  wine  and  of  wit,  when  the  heart  is  in  flower, 
And  shoots  from  the  lip,  under  Bacchus's  dew, 
In  blossoms  of  thought  ever  springing  and  new ! 
Do  you  sometimes  remember,  and  hallow  the  brim 
Oi"  your  cup  with  a  sigh,  as  you  crown  it  to  him, 
W^ho  is  lonely  and  sad  in  these  vallies  so  fair, 
And  would  pine  in  elysium,  if  friends  were  not  there 


1  Pinkiitun  has  said  lliat  '•  it  good  history  and  descriplioL 
of  the  Bermudas  njigjit  altotd  a  pleasing  addiuon  to  the 
geographical  libiury ;"  hnt  ihere  ceilainiy  are  not  materials 
or  such  a  work.  The  isiand,  since  the  lime  of  its  disco- 
very, has  experienced  so  very  tew  vicissitudes,  the  people 
have  been  so  indolent,  and  their  trade  so  limited,  that  theie 
is  but  lillle  wliich  the  historian  could  ain|)lify  inio  impor- 
tance; and,  with  respect  to  the  natuial  productinns  of  tlie 
country,  the  few  which  the  inhabitants  can  be  induced  to 
caltivate  are  so  common  in  the  West  Indies,  that  they  have 
been  described  by  every  naturalist,  who  lias  written  any 
account  of  those  islands. 

It  is  ofien  asserted  by  the  trans-iitlantic  politicians,  that 
this  little  colony  deserves  more  aitention  from  the  mother 
country  than  it  receives;  iind  it  certainly  possesses  advan- 
tages of  situation,  to  uhicli  we  should  not  be  long  insensible, 
if  it  were  ouce  in  \\w  bands  of  an  enemy.  I  was  t<dd  by  a 
celebrated  friend  of  VVa-bington,  at  New- York,  that  I  hey 
bad  formed  a  plan  for  its  ca|)turf-,  lowards  the  conclusion  ol 
the  American  War;  "  with  the  intention  (as  he  expressed 
himself,)  of  making  it  a  nest  of  hornets  fur  the  annoyance 
of  British  trade  in  lli  it  part  of  the  world."  And  there  is 
no  doubt,  it  lies  so  Oiirly  in  the  track  to  the  West  Indies, 
that  an  enemy  might  with  ease  convert  it  into  a  very  haras- 
sing impediment. 

'I'liB  plan  of  Bisho|)  Berkeley  for  a  college  at  Bermuda, 
where  American  savages  mght  be  converted  and  educated, 
though  concuireil  in  by  the  government  of  the  day,  was  a 
will!  and  useless  spoculalion.  Mr.  Hamilton,  who  was  go- 
vernor of  the  island  some  years  since,  proposed,  if  I  mistake 
not,  the  establishment  of  a  marine  iicademy  for  the  instruc- 
tion of  those  children  of  West  Indians,  wiio  might  be  in- 
tended for  any  nautical  omploymimt.  This  was  a  more 
rational  idea,  and  for  something  of  this  nature  the  island  is 
admirably  calcul  ited.  But  the  pi  in  should  be  much  more 
extitnsive,  and  embrace  a  gener  il  system  of  education, 
which  would  entirely  reinovi'  the  alternative,  in  which  tlio 
colonists  are  involved  at  present,  of  either  sending  Ihi'irsons 
to  EiiL'lMnd  for  instruction,  or  emrusting  them  to  colleges  in 
the  Stati'S  of  America,  where  idetis  by  no  means  'avour- 
able  to  Great  Britain,  are  very  setliiloiisly  inculcated. 

The  women  of  Bermuda,  though  not  generally  liandsomo, 
have  an  affectionate  laiiiruor  in  their  look  and  manner, 
which  is  always  interesting.  What  the  French  impiv  by 
their  epithet  nimantr  seems  very  much  the  character  of  the 
yiinns  Bermudian  girls — that  predisnosiiion  to  loving,  which, 
without  lietns  awnkened  bv  any  parlicnliir  object,  difTiises 
itself  through  the  general  maii'ter  in  a  tone  of  tendciiess 
that  never  fails  to  liiscinati!.  The  mim  of  the  island,  I  eon 
fe-s,  are  not  very  civilized ;  and  the  old  philosopher,  who 
imag'ned  thnt,  after  this  li''e,  iiii'n  would  be  changed  into 
miileR,  and  women  into  turtlc-d<ives,  would  find  the  iiieu 
mofpho^'a  in  some  degree  anticipated  at  Bermuda. 


KPlSTl.liS,  ODES,  ETC. 


117 


i  .1st  night,  when  we  came  from  the  calabash-tree, 
\V  ticn  my  limbs  were  at  rest  and  my  spirit  was  free, 
riie  glow  of  tiie  grape  and  the  dreams  of  the  day, 
Put  tiie  magical  springs  of  my  fancy  in  play  ; 
And  oh  ! — such  a  vision  as  liannt(;d  me  then 
I  could  shinibur  for  ages  to  witness  jigain  ! 
The  many  1  like,  and  the  few  I  adore, 
'J'lie  friends,  who  were  dear  and  beloved  before, 
But  never  till  now  so  beloved  and  dear, 
At  the  call  of  my  fancy  surrounded  me  here ! 
Soon,  soon  did  the  flattering  spell  of  their  smile 
To  a  paradise  biighten  the  blest  liitlf!  isle  ; 
St^^rencr  the  wave,  as  they  look'd  on  it,  tlow'd, 
.And  warmer  the  rose,  as  they  gather'd  it,  glow'd  ! 
Not  the  vallies  Ilersean  (though  water'd  by  rills 
Of  the  pearliest  How,  from  those  pastoral  hills,' 
Where  the  song  of  the  slu.pherd,  priiniuval  and  wild. 
Was  taught  to  the  nymphs  by  their  mystical  child,) 
Could  display  such  a  bloom  of  deliglit,  as  was  given 
By  the  magic  of  love  to  this  miniature  heaven  ! 

Oh,  magic  of  love  !  unembellish'd  by  you, 

U-iis  the  garden  a  blush  or  the  herbage  a  hue? 

Or  blooms  there  a  prospect  in  nature  or  art, 

[<ike  the  vista  that  shines  through  the  eye  to  the  heart  ? 

Alas  !  that  a  vision  so  happy  should  fade  ! 
That,  when  morning  around  me  in  brilliancy  play'd, 
The  rose  and  the  stream  1  had  thought  of  at  night 
Sliould  still  be  before  me,  unfadingly  bright; 
While  the  friends,  who  had  seem'd  to  hang  over  the 

stream, 
And  to  gather  the  roses,  had  fled  with  my  dream  ! 

But  see,  through  the  harbour,  in  floating  array, 
The  bark  that  must  carry  these  pages  away,- 
Impatiently  (hitters  her  wings  to  the  wind, 
And  will  soon  leave  the  bowers  of  Ariel  behind ! 
What  billows,  what  gales  is  she  fated  to  prove, 
Ere  she  sleep  in  the  lee  of  the  land  that  I  love  I 
Vet  ple.isant  the  swell  of  those  billows  would  be. 
And  the  sound  of  those  gales  would  be  music  to  me  I 
Not  the  tranquillesl  air  that  the  winds  ever  blew, 
Not  the  silvery  lapse  of  the  summer-eve  dew, 
vVere  as  sweet  as  the  breeze,  or  as  bright  as  the  foam 
Jf  the  wave,  that  would  carry  your  wanderer  home  1 


LOVE  AND  REASON. 

Quund  riiOMiine  commejice  a  raisojjner,  il  eessc  <ie  sentir. 
J.  ,/.  Ilausscaii.'' 

'TwAS  in  the  summer-time  so  sweet. 

When  hearts  and  flowers  are  both  in  season. 

That — who,  of  all  the  world,  should  meet. 
One  early  dawn,  but  Love  and  Reason  I 

Love  told  his  dream  of  yester-night. 
While  Reason  talk'd  about  the  weather ; 

The  morn,  in  sooth,  was  fair  and  bright, 
And  on  they  look  their  way  together. 


\  Moiuitnins  of  Sicily,  upon  wliicli  Diiplinis,  iho  lirsl  in 
^mtor  ot"  biiCL/lic  |'<)i.;r),  wys  luirsid  liy  llie  nyni|ilis. — Sei 
(I,!  lively  (Isscriplloii  (if  thrse  mountiiiiis  in  Diodoriis  Sicu 
als,  Lib  iv.  rif:tii»  j-xf  0(i\  x.xtx  ryiv  Xtx'.Kixu  £OTiv,  3 
%)tb  i  xx\?.e.  X    -i  .  A.. 

2  A  3hi'>,  'carv  ^  s&l  t^^  l!n?lan<l. 

3  Ctuo.eu  t  >i.ie  A'beii'  is  ^l.  Pierre's  Etudes  de  la  Niitiiro.  i 


The  Ixiy  in  many  a  gambol  flew, 
While  Reason,  like  a  Juno  stalk'd, 

And  from  her  portly  figure  threw 
A  lengthen'd  shadow,  as  she  walk'd. 

No  wonder  Love,  as  on  they  pass'd. 
Should  find  that  sunny  morning  chill, 

For  still  the  shadow  Reason  cast 
Fell  on  the  boy,  and  coolM  him  still. 

In  vain  he  tried  his  wings  to  warm. 
Or  find  a  pathway  not  so  dim, 

For  still  the  maid's  gigantic  form 
Would  pass  between  the  sun  and  him ! 

"  This  must  not  be,"  said  little  Love — 
"  The  sun  was  made  for  more  than  you 

So,  turning  through  a  myrtle  grove, 
He  bid  the  portly  nymph  adieu  ! 

Now  gaily  roves  the  laughing  boy 

O'er  many  a  mead,  by  many  a  stream ; 

In  every  breeze  inhaling  joy. 

And  drinking  bliss  in  every  beam. 

From  all  the  gardens,  all  the  bowers, 
He  cull'd  the  many  sweets  they  shaded, 

And  ate  the  fruits,  and  smelt  the  flowers. 
Till  taste  was  gone  and  odour  faded  ! 

But  now  the  sun,  in  pomp  of  noon, 
Look'd  blazing  o'er  the  parched  plains  ; 

Alas  !  the  boy  grew  languid  soon. 

And  fever  thrill'd  through  all  his  veins  ' 

The  dew  forsook  his  baby  brow. 

No  more  with  vivid  bloom  he  smil'd — 

Oh  !  where  was  tranquil  Reason  now. 
To  cast  her  shadow  o'er  the  child  ? 

Beneath  a  green  and  aged  palm, 

His  foot  at  length  for  shelter  turning. 

He  saw  the  nymph  reclining  calm, 

With  brow  as  cool  a    his  was  burning '. 

"  Oh  !  take  mo  to  that  bosom  cold," 
In  murmurs  at  her  feet  he  said  ; 

And  Reason  op'd  her  garment's  fold. 
And  dung  it  round  his  fever'd  head. 

He  felt  her  bosom's  icy  toncn. 

And  soon  it  luU'd  his  pulse  to  rest; 

For,  ah  !  the  chill  was  quite  too  much, 
And  Love  e.xpir'd  on  Reason's  breast '. 


Nay,  do  not  weep,  my  Faxnv  dea  ! 

While  in  these  arms  yon  lie. 
The  world  hath  not  a  wish,  a  fear. 
That  ought  to  claim  one  precious  tear 

From  that  beloved  eye  ! 

The  world ! — ah,  Faxnv  !  love  must  uh  iii 

The  path  where  many  rove ; 
One  bosom  to  recline  upon, 
One  heart  to  be  his  only  one, 

Are  quite  enough  for  love  ! 

What  can  we  wish,  that  is  not  here 
Between  your  artns  and  mine  7 


118 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Is  there,  on  earth,  a  space  so  dear, 
As  that  within  the  blessed  sphere 
Two  loving  arms  entwine  ! 

For  me  there 's  not  a  lock  of  jet 

Along  your  temples  curl'd, 
Within  whose  glossy,  tangled  net. 
My  soul  doth  not,  at  once,  forget 
AU,  all  the  worthless  world  ! 

'Tis  in  your  eyes,  my  sweetest  love! 

My  only  worlds  I  see  ; 
Let  but  their  orbs  in  sunshine  move, 
And  earth  below  and  skies  above 

3Iay  frown  or  smile  for  me  ! 


ASPASIA. 

'TwAS  in  the  fair  Aspasia's  bower, 
That  Love  and  Learning  many  an  hour, 
in  dalliance  met,  and  Learning  smil'd. 
With  rapture  on  the  playful  child. 
Who  wanton  stole  to  find  his  nest 
Within  a  fold  of  Learning's  vest ! 

There,  as  the  listening  statesman  hung 
In  transport  on  Aspasia's  tongue. 
The  destinies  of  Athens  took 
Their  colour  from  Aspasia's  look. 
Oh  happy  time  I  'when  laws  of  state. 
When  all  that  rul'd  the  country's  fate, 
Its  glory,  quiet,  or  alarms, 
Was  plann'd  between  two  snowy  arms  ! 

Sweet  times  !  you  could  not  always  last- 
And  yet,  oh  I  yet,  you  ure  not  past ; 
Though  we  have  lost  the  sacred  mould. 
In  which  their  men  were  cast  of  old, 
Woman,  dear  woman,  still  the  same. 
While  lips  are  balm,  and  looks  are  flame, 
While  man  possesses  heart  or  eyes. 
Woman's  bright  empire  never  dies  ! 

Fanny,  my  love,  they  ne'er  shall  say. 
That  beauty's  charm  hath  pass'd  away ; 
No — give  the  universe  a  soul 
Attun'd  to  woman's  soft  control. 
And  Fanny  hath  the  charm,  the  skill, 
To  wield  a  universe  at  will ! 


THE  GRECIAN  GIRL'S  DREAM  OF  THE 
BLESSED  ISLANDS.' 

TO  HER    LOVER. 


AttoKKu 


Ct  T6    v.xKo^ 

TTspi   IIX.UT4VK,     Orncid.   Metric, 
a  Juan.  Ojisop.  Cutlecta. 


»V' AS  It  the  moon,  or  was  it  morning's  ray, 

i'hat  call'd  thee,  dearest,  from  these  arms  away  ? 

Iingei'd  still,  in  all  the  murmuring  rest, 
The  languor  of  a  soul  too  richly  blest ! 


I  "It  wim  irnnnjiieil  by  some  of  llii'  ancients  that  iliere  if 
I  rlhorc-i'  urfuii  above  UB,  uiiil  tliul  tlio  sun  und  moon  uri^ 


Upon  my  breath  thy  sigh  yet  faintly  hung ; 
Thy  name  yet  died  in  whispers  o'er  my  tongue , 
I  heard  thy  lyre,  which  thou  hadst  left  behind, 
In  amorous  converse  with  the  breathing  wind ; 
Quick  to  my  heart  1  press'd  the  shell  divine, 
And,  with  a  lip  yet  glowing  warm  from  tiiine, 
I  kiss'd  its  every  chord,  while  every  liiss 
Shed  o'er  the  chord  some  dewy  print  of  bliss. 
Then  soft  to  thee  1  touch'd  the  fervid  lyre. 
Which  told  such  melodies,  such  notes  of  fire 
As  none  but  chords,  that  drank  the  burning  dews 
Of  kisses  dear  as  ours,  could  e'er  diffuse  1 
Oh  love  !  how  blissful  is  the  bland  repose. 
That  sootliing  follows  upon  rapture's  close, 
Like  a  soft  twilight,  o'er  the  mind  to  shed 
Mild  melting  traces  of  the  transport  fled  ! 

While  thus  I  lay,  in  this  voluptuous  calm, 
A  drowsy  languor  steep'd  my  eyes  in  balm. 
Upon  my  lap  the  lyre  in  murmurs  fell, 
W^hile,  faintly  wandering  o'er  its  silver  shell. 
My  fingers  soon  tlieir  own  sweet  requiem  play'd, 
And  slept  in  music  which  tlieinselves  had  made ! 
Then,  then,  my  Theon,  what  a  heavenly  dream  ' 
I  saw  two  spirits,  on  the  lunar  beam, 
Two  winged  boys,  descending  from  above, 
And  gliding  to  my  bower  with  looks  of  love. 
Like  the  young  genii,  who  repose  their  wings 
All  day  in  Amatlia's  luxurious  springs,' 
And  rise  at  midnight,  from  tlie  tepid  rill 
To  cool  their  plumes  upon  some  moon-light  hill ! 

Soft  o'er  my  brow,  which  kindled  with  their  sigha 
Awhile  they  play'd ;  then  gliding  through  my  eyes, 
(Where  the  bright  babies,  tor  a  moinent,  hung, 
Like  those  thy  hp  hath  kiss'd,  thy  lyre  hath  sung,) 
To  that  dim  mansion  of  my  breast  they  stole. 
Where,  wreath'd  in  blisses  lay  my  captive  soul. 
Swift  at  their  touch  dissolv'd  the  ties  that  clung 
So  sweetly  round  her,  and  aloft  she  sprung  ! 
Exulting  guides,  the  little  genii  tlew 
Through  paths  of  light,  refresh'd  with  starry  dew, 
And  fanii'd  by  airs  of  that  arabrosial  breath, 
On  which  the  free  soul  banquets  after  death ! 

Thou  know'st,  my  love,  beyond  our  clouded  skies, 
As  bards  have  dream'd,  the  spirits'  kingdom  lies. 
Through  that  fair  clime  a  sea  of  ether  rolls'"' 
Gcmm'd  with  bright  islands,  where  the  hallow'd  souls, 


two  floHiin;;,  luminous  islands,  hi  wliich  tlie  spiriis  of  llie 
blessed  reside.  Accordingly  we  find  ihat  the  word  iJxexi/ot 
wns  sometimes  synnnyminis  witli  xy.e^  and  rlealli  was  not 
uiitVe(|ueiilly  called -intai'O'o  n-ofOf,  or  "tlie  passage  of  tlie 

OCCil^l." 

I  Kunapius,  in  liis  life  ol'  .lamliliclius,  lells  us  of  two 
beaulit'iil  liitle  spirits  or  loves,  wliicli  .liiiiiljlielius  raised  by 
enclniiiliiKnt  t'roiii  tlie  warm  spri.ijis  at  Gadara;  "dicens 
nstaniibus  (says  iho  author  of  tlie  Dii  Fatidici,  p.  ](>())  illos 
esse  loci  Genios:"  which  words  liow:  vcr  are  not  in  Euna- 
pius. 

1  find  from  Cellarius,  that  Amatlia,  in  the  neiglibourlioou 
ol'Gardara,  was  also  celebralcd  lor  iis  warm  sjiriiigs,  and  I 
have  piefcrrid  it  as  a  more  poe  ieiil  name  than  Gudara. 
Cellarius  ipiotes  Ilieionyniiis.  "  Kst  et  alia  villa  in  vicinia 
Gaclarie  nomine  Amatha,  iibl  calida*  a(|ua!  eruiiipuiil." — 
(Jrnigraph.  Aiitii|.  l/ili.  iii.  cap.  IS. 

'2  'riiis  heliel'oraii  oce.'ui  in  ilii'  heavens,  or"  waters  above 
till'  (irmanieiil,"  was  one  ol'  Ihe  many  physical  errors  In 
which  th.-i'arly  lathers  hi^wildered  th>-Mis<!lves.  !.!■  P  liallus 
in  his  "  Oelense  dcs  .saints  Peres  accuses  de  Plalonisme  ' 
Hiking  it  lor  frranli'd  iliat  the  ancien's  were  more  correct  in 
their  notions,  (whio.'i  bv  no  means  upjieaM  iVom  wnal  I  havr 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


110 


Whom  life  hath  wearied  in  its  race  of  hours 

Repose  for  ever  in  unfading  bowers  ! 

Tiiat  very  orb,  wliose  solitary  light 

So  often  guides  tliec  to  my  arms  at  night, 

Is  no  chill  planet,  but  an  isle  of  love, 

Floating,  in  splendour,  through  those  seas  above  ! 

Thither,  1  thought,  we  wing'd  our  airy  way. 

Mild  o'er  its  valleys  stream'd  a  silvery  day. 

While,  all  around,  on  lily  beds  of  rest, 

lieclin'd  the  spirits  of  the  immortal  Bh'st !' 

Oh  !  there  I  met  those  few  congenial  maids, 

VV'hom  love  bath  warm'd,  in  pliilosoptiic  shades; 

There  stdl  Leontium-  on  her  sage's  breast. 

Found  lore  and  love,  was  tutor'd  and  caress'd ; 

And  there  the  twine  of  Pythias'-^  gentle  arms 

Repaid  the  zeal  which  deilied  her  charms  ! 

The  Attic  Master,'  in  Aspasia's  eyes 

Forgot  the  toil  of  less  endearing  ties  ; 

While  fair  Theano,''  innocently  fair, 

Play'd  with  the  ringlets  of  her  Samian's  hair.° 


ilready  quoted;  adiiucos  lliu  ulistiiiacy  ol'llie  lathers  in  this 
wliimsical  opiniuri,  us  a  imdoI'  of  lliuir  repugnance  to  even 
•ruth  from  tlie  hands  of  the  pliilosopheis.  This  is  a  strange 
way  of  defending  tlie  falliers,and  attributes  much  more  ihan 
ihoy  deserve  to  ihe  philosojjheis.  For  an  abstract  of  tins 
work  of  Ballus,  (llie  opposer  of  Fontenelie,  Van  Dale,  etc. 
in  the  famous  oracle  controversy)  see  "  Uibliullieque  des 
Auleurs  Ecclesiast.  du  Iti.  siecle,"  1  Part.  Tom.  ii. 

1  There  were  various  opinions  among  the  ancients  wiili 
respect  to  their  lunar  establisiunenl;  same  make  it  an  elysi- 
um,  and  others  a  purgatory;  while  some  suppose  it  to  be  a 
kind  of  entrepot  between  lieaven  and  earth,  where  souls 
wliich  had  ieft  tlieir  bodies,  and  those  which  were  on  tlieir 
way  to  join  iheni,  were  deposited  in  the  valleys  of  Hecate, 
and  remained  till  fuither  orders.  Toif  n-s^i  <r£/.)iv>iv  x-f, 
Ki-yiiv  xurxf  KxTOixsif,  x»«  ctjr'  ccuT>]f  xxtji  y^ji^nv  e<j 
THv   3T£^iy£iov  ysviiriv.     Stob.  lib.  1.  Eclog.  Physic. 

2  The  pupil  and  mistress  of  Epicurus,  who  called  her  his 
"dear  little  Ijoontium"  (Asoi/T»f tov)  as  ap|)eai'S  by  a  frag- 
niint  of  one  of  his  letters  in  [jaertius.  This  Leonliiim  was 
a  woman  of  talent;  '•  she  had  the  impudence  (says  Cicero) 
to  write  against  Theophraslus  ;"  and,  at  the  same  time 
Cicero  gives  her  a  name  which  is  neither  polite  nor  trans- 
lateable,  "  Meretricula  etiam  Leontium  contra  Theopiiias- 
tum  scribere  aus.i  est." — De  jVatur.  Dear.  She  lell  a 
daughter  called  Danae,  who  was  just  as  rigid  an  Eidcuiean 
as  her  mother ;  something  like  VVieland's  Danae  in  Agathon. 

It  would  sound  much  better,  I  think,  if  the  name  wore 
Leontia,  as  it  occurs  the  first  time  in  Laertius ;  but  M.  Me- 
nage will  not  hear  ol  this  reading. 

3  Pythias  was  a  woman  whom  Aristotle  loved,  and  to 
whom  after  her  death  he  paid  divine  honours,  solemnizing 
her  memory  by  the  jame  sacrifices  which  tlie  Athenians 
oirerpd  to  the  goildesH  Ceres.  For  this  impious  gallanlry  the 
philosopher  was,  of  course,  censured  ;  it  would  be  well  how- 
ever if  some  of  our  modern  Stagirites  had  a  little  of  this 
superstition  about  the  memory  of  their  mistresses. 

4  Socrates;  who  used  to  console  himself  in  the  society  of 
Aspasia  for  those  "  less  endearing  ties"  which  he  found  a! 
home  with  Xantippe.  For  an  account  of  this  extraordinary 
creature,  .Npasia,  and  her  schi)ol  of  erudile  luxury  at 
Athens,  see  Li'Histoire  de  I'Academie,  eic.  Tom.  .\x.\i.  p. 
69.  Segur  ra'hcr  fails  on  the  subject  of  Aspasia.  "  Les 
Femmes."     Tom.  i.  p.  Vii. 

The  author  of  the  "  Voyage  du  Monde  de  Descartes"  has 
also  placed  these  philosophers  in  the  moon,  and  has  allotted 
Seiffneuries  In  them,  as  well  as  to  ilie  astronomers;  (2  part. 
p.  143.)  but  he  ought  not  to  have  toigotten  their  wives  and 
mistress^''     '  cur^e  nor.  ipsa  in  morte  relintiuunt." 

5  Tht.  J  are  some  sensible  letters  e.x'ant  under  the  name 
of  this  fair  Pythagorean.  They  are  addressed  to  her  female 
friends  upon  the  education  of  children,  llie  Ireatmrni  of  ser- 
vants, etc.  One,  in  particular,  to  Nicosirata,  whose  bus- 
band  had  given  her  reasons  for  jealousy,  contains  su'li  truly 
eonsideraie  and  raiiimal  advice,  that  it  ought  to  be  trans- 

nted  for  the  edification  of  all  married  ladies.  See  Gale's 
Opuscul.  Myth.  Phys.  p.  7-41. 

fi  Pythagoras  was  remarkable  for  fine  hair,  and  Doctor 
Thiers  (m  his  Histoire  des  Perruques)  seems  to  take  it  for 
{ranted  it  was  all  his  own    as  he  has  not  mentioned  him 


Who,  fix'd  by  love,  at  length  was  all  her  own, 
And  pass'd  his  spirit  through  her  lips  alone ! 

Oh  Samian  sage  !  whate'cr  thy  glowing  thought 
Of  mystic  Numbers  hath  divinely  wrought; 
Ihe  One  that 's  form'd  of  Two  who  dearly  love, 
Is  the  best  number  heaven  can  boast  above  ! 
But  think,  my  Theon,  how  this  soul  was  thrill'd. 
When  itear  a  fount,  which  o'er  the  vale  distill'd, 
y\y  fancy's  eye  beheld  a  form  recline, 
Of  lunar  race,  but  so  resembling  thiuc. 
That,  oh  ! — 'twas  but  lideliiy  in  me. 
To  lly,  to  clasp,  and  worship  it  for  thee  ! 
No  aid  of  words  the  unbodied  soul  requires, 
To  waft  a  wish,  or  embassy  desires ; 
But,  by  a  throb  to  spirits  only  given. 
By  a  mute  impulse,  only  felt  in  heaven, 
Swifter  than  meteor  shaft  through  summer  skiea. 
From  soul  to  soul  the  glanc'd  idea  flies  ! 

We  met — like  thee  the  yotithful  vision  smil'd' 
But  not  like  thee,  when  passionately  wild, 
Thou  wak'st  the  slumbering  blushes  of  my  cheek. 
By  looking  things  thyself  would  blush  to  speak  ! 
No  !  'twas  the  tender,  intellectual  smile, 
Flush'd  with  the  past  and  yet  serene  the  while, 
Of  that  delicious  hour  when,  glowing  yet. 
Thou  yield'st  to  nature  with  a  fond  regret, 
And  thy  soul,  waking  from  its  wilder'd  dream. 
Lights  in  thine  eye  a  mellower,  chaster  beam ! 

Oh  my  beloved  !  how  divinely  sweet 
Is  the  pure  joy,  when  kindred  spirits  meet ! 
Th'  Elean  god,'  whose  faithful  waters  flow, 
With  love  their  only  light,  through  caves  below. 
Wafting  in  triumph  all  the  flowery  braids. 
And  festal  rings,  with  which  Olympic  maids 
Have  deck'd  their  billow,  as  an  otferiiig  meet 
To  pour  at  Arethnsa's  crystal  feet ! 
Think,  when  he  mingles  with  his  fountain-bride 
What  perfect  rapture  thrills  the  blended  tide  ! 
Each  melts  in  each,  till  one  pervading  kiss 
Confound  their  current  in  a  sea  of  bliss  ! 
'Twas  thus — 

But,  Theon,  'tis  a  weary  theme, 
And  thou  delight'st  not  in  my  lingering  dream. 
Oh  !  that  our  lips  were,  at  this  moment,  near. 
And  1  would  kiss  thee  into  patience,  dear! 
And  make  thee  smile  at  all  the  magic  tales 
Of  star-light  bowers  and  planetary  vales. 
Which  my  fond  soul,  inspir'd  by  thee  and  love. 
In  slumber's  loom  hath  exquisitely  wove. 
But  no  ;  no  more — soon  as  to-morrow's  ray 
O'er  soft  llissus  shall  dissolve  away, 
I'll  lly,  my  Theon,  to  thy  burning  breast, 
.\nd  there  in  murmurs  tell  thee  all  the  rest : 
Then  if  too  weak,  too  cold  the  vision  seems. 
Thy  lip  shall  teach  me  something  more  than  dreams  ! 


among  those  ancients  who  were  obliged  10  have  reco'jrse  to 
the  "  coma  apposi  itia."     L'Hist.  de#  Perrni|ues,  Chap   I 

1  The  river  .Alpheus;  which  Howed  by  Pisa  or  (llynipia, 
and  into  wliich  it  was  custoniarv  lo  throw  olTerimx  of  Jif 
ferent  kinds,  during  the  cehbration  of  the  Olympic  garnet 
In  the  pretty  romance  of  Clitophon  and  Leucippe,  Ihe  river 
is  supposed  to  carry  these  ollVrinss  as  bridal  gifts  lo  'he 
fountain  Aiethusa.  Kx4  im  Try  Acibxa-xv  kt*  to»  Axji  » 
vu.u?JJitTOX.«i"  OTav  BV  >|  Tuie  OA.UM5r».»v  tojTii,  x.T   X..   Lib   . 


120 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE  SENSES. 

A  DREAM. 


[mbower'd  in  the  vernal  shades, 

And  circled  all  by  rosy  fences, 
I  saw  the  five  luxurious  maids, 

Whom  mortals  love,  and  call  The  Senses. 

Many  and  blissful  were  the  ways. 

In  which  they  seem'd  to  pass  their  hours— 
One  wander'd  through  the  garden's  maze, 

Inlialing  all  the  soul  of  flowers  ; 

Like  those,  who  live  upon  the  smell 
Of  roses,  by  the  Ganges'  stream,' 

With  perfume  from  tiie  tiowret's  bell, 
She  fed  her  life's  ambrosial  dream  ! 

Anotlier  touch'd  tiie  silvery  lute. 
To  chain  a  charmed  sister's  ear, 

Who  hung  beside  her,  still  and  mute. 
Gazing  as  if  her  eyes  could  hear  ! 

The  nymph  who  thrill'd  the  warbling  wire. 

Would  often  raise  her  ruby  lip. 
As  if  it  pouted  witii  desire 

Some  cooling,  nectar'd  draught  to  sip. 

Nor  yet  was  she,  who  heard  the  lute, 
TJjimindful  of  the  minstrel  maid. 

But  press'd  the  sweetest,  richest  fruit 
To  bathe  her  ripe  lip  as  slie  play'd! 

But,  oh !  the  fairest  of  the  group 
Was  one,  who  in  the  sunshine  lay. 

And  op'd  the  cincture's  golden  loop 
That  hid  her  bosom's  panting  play  ! 

And  still  her  gentle  hand  she  stole 
Along  the  snows,  so  smoothly  orb'd. 

And  look'  tlie  while,  as  if  her  soul 

Were  in  that  heavenly  touch  absorb'd  ! 

Another  nymph,  who  linger'd  nigh. 
And  held  a  prism  of  various  light. 

Now  put  the  rainbow  wonder  by, 
To  look  upon  this  lovelier  sight. 

And  still  as  one's  enamour'd  touch 

Adown  the  lapsing  ivory  fell. 
The  other's  eye,  cntranc'd  as  much. 

Hung  giddy  o'er  its  radiant  swell ! 

Too  wildly  charm'd,  1  would  have  fled — 
But  she,  who  in  the  sunshine  lay, 

Replac'd  her  golden  loop,  and  said, 
"  We  pray  thee  for  a  moment  stay. 

"  If  true  my  counting  pulses  beat. 
It  must  be  now  almost  the  hour, 

When  Love,  with  visitation  sweet. 
Descends  upon  our  bloomy  bower. 

"  And  with  him  from  the  sky  he  brings 
Our  sister-nymph  who  dwells  above — 

Oh  !  never  may  she  haunt  tluise  springs, 
With  any  other  god  but  Love  ! 


"  When  he  illumes  her  magic  urn. 

And  sheds  his  own  enchantments  m  il, 

Though  but  a  minute's  space  it  burn, 
'Tis  heaven  to  breathe  it  but  a  minute' 


"  Not  all  the  purest  power  we  boast, 
Not  silken  touch,  nor  vernal  dye. 

Nor  music,  when  it  thrills  the  most. 
Nor  balmy  cup,  nor  perfume's  sigh, 

"  Such  transport  to  the  soul  can  give. 
Though  ielt  till  time  itself  shall  wither. 

As  in  that  one  dear  moment  live. 

When  Love  conducts  our  sister  hither  !' 

She  ceas'd — the  air  respir'd  of  bliss — 
A  languor  slept  in  every  eye  ; 

And  now  the  scent  of  Cupid's  kiss 
Declar'd  the  melting  power  was  nigh ! 

I  saw  them  come — the  nymph  and  boy, 

In  twisted  wreaths  of  rapture  bound  ; 
I  saw  her  light  the  urn  of  joy, 

While  all  her  sisters  languish'd  round  ! 
A  sigh  from  every  bosom  broke — 

I  felt  the  flames  around  me  glide. 
Till  with  the  glow  I  trembling  woke. 

And  found  myself  by  Fanny's  side  ! 


•  Circa  funlem  OariglH  Atilonioruin  i;rnliiin 

.£ntum    viveiiUim   ut  odoro   quoin   rmrlbus  truliaiil. 
•Il  vii.  cap  2 


THE  STEERSMAN'S  SONG. 

WRITTEN  ABOARD  THE   BOSTON  FRIGATE  28th  APBI'' 

When  freshly  blows  the  northern  gale, 

And  under  coursers  snug  we  fly  ; 
When  lighter  breezes  swell  the  sail. 

And  royals  proudly  sweep  the  sky ; 
'Longside  the  wheel,  unwearied  still 

I  stand,  and  as  my  watchful  eye 
Doth  mark  the  needle's  faithful  thrill, 

I  think  of  her  I  love,  and  cry. 

Port,  my  boy  !  port. 

When  calms  delay,  or  breezes  blow 

Right  from  the  point  we  wish  to  steer; 
When  by  the  wind  close-haul'd  we  go, 

And  strive  in  vain  the  port  to  near  ; 
I  think  'tis  thus  the  Fates  defer 

My  bliss  with  one  that's  far  away. 
And  whde  remembrance  springs  to  her, 

1  watch  the  sails  and  sighing  say. 

Thus,  my  boy  !  thus. 

But  see !  the  wind  draws  kindly  aft. 

All  huuds  are  up  the  yards  to  square, 
And  now  the  floating  stu'n-sails  waft 

Our  stately  ship  through  waves  and  air. 
Oh  !  then  1  think  that  yet  for  me 

Some  breeze  of  Fortune  thus  may  spring, 
Some  breeze  to  waft  me,  love,  to  thee  ! 

And  in  that  hope  1  smiling  sing. 

Steady,  boy  !  so. 


1  I  left  Hcmmila  in  the  Bosioii,  abcml  the  middle  of  A,i:i. 

1   coinpiiny  wiih  Iho  Cunihrian  and  Lennder,  ahounl  tin 

hitler  of  whicli  was  the  Adniinil,  Sir  Andrew  Mitehell  vvlio 

divides  his  year  between  Ilalil'ax  and  Bermuda,  and  U  the 

I  very  soul  (if  society  and  good-i'ellowsliip  to  both.  Wo 
separated  in  a  few  days,  and  the  Beaton  ai'ier  a  short  cruise 
jiroceedcd  to  New-York. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


121 


TO  CLOE. 

IMITATED    I'ROM    MARTIAL. 

I  cotJLi)  resign  tli;it  eye.  of  blue, 

Ildwe'er  it  burn,  howe'er  it  thrill  me; 

And,  thougii  your  lip  be  rich  with  dew, 
To  lose  it,  Cloe,  scarce  would  kill  me. 

That  snowy  neck  I  ne'er  should  miss. 
However  warm  I've  twiii'd  about  it! 

And  though  your  bosom  beat  with  bliss, 
I  think  my  soul  could  live  without  it. 

In  short,  I've  learn'd  so  well  to  fast, 
That,  sooth  my  love,  I  know  not  whether 

I  might  not  bring  myself  at  last, 
T.  J — do  without  you  altogether ! 


TO  THE  FIRE-FLY.' 

This  morning,  when  the  earth  and  sky 
Were  burning  with  the  blush  of  spring, 

I  saw  thee  not,  thou  humble  lly  ! 
Nor  thought  upon  thy  gleaming  wing. 

But  now  the  skies  have  lost  their  hue, 
And  sunny  lights  no  longer  play, 

I  see  thee,  and  I  bless  thee  too 
For  sparkling  o'er  the  dreary  way. 

Oh  !  let  me  hope  that  thus  for  me, 

Wlien  life  and  love  shall  lose  their  bloom, 

Some  milder  joys  may  come,  like  thee. 
To  light,  if  not  to  warm,  the  gloom ! 


THE  VASE. 
There  was  a  vase  of  odour  lay 

For  many  an  hour  on  Beauty's  shrine, 
So  sweet  that  Love  went  every  day 

To  banquet  on  its  breath  divine. 

And  not  an  eye  had  ever  seen 

The  fragrant  charm  the  vase  conceal'd — 
Oh  Love  !  how  happy  'twould  have  been. 

If  thou  hadst  ne'er  that  charm  reveal'd ! 

But  Love,  like  every  other  boy. 

Would  know  the  spell  that  lurks  within; 
He  wish'd  to  break  the  crystal  toy. 

But  Beauty  murmur'd  "  'twas  a  sin  !" 

He  swore,  with  many  a  tender  plea. 
That  neither  heaven  or  earth  forbad  it ; 

She  told  him.  Virtue  kept  the  key. 

And  look'd  as  if — she  wish'd  he  had  it ! 

He  stole  the  key  when  Virtue  slept, 

(E'en  she  can  sleep,  if  Love  but  ask  it !) 

And  Beauty  sigh'd,  and  Beauty  wept, 
While  silly  Love  unlock'd  the  casket. 


1  The  lively  ond  v:iryiiii;  illuniiii.iiions,  with  which  tlu-sc 
fire-Hios  light  up  the  woods  at  night,  gives  quite  an  idia  o! 
enchautmenl.  "  Puis  ces  mouidies  se  dtvulopiiant  de  I'ob- 
icuriti.  de  ft,»  arbres  et  s'approcliant  de  nous,  nous  Ics 
voyions  sur  les  oranwers  voisins,  qu'ils  inet!a:eiii  lout  en 
feu,  nous  rendant  la  vue  de  leiiis  he:ui.\  fruits  dona's  que  hi 
nuit  avail  ravie,"  elo.  etc. — Soe  V Hisloire  des  .Antilles, 
Jtru  a.  Chap.  4.  Liv.  1. 


Oh  dulcet  air  that  vanish'd  then  I 
Can  Beauty's  sigh  recall  thee  ever! 

Can  Love,  himself,  inhale  again 

A  breath  so  precious  ?  never!  ne\er! 

Go,  maiden,  weep — the  tears  of  woe 
By  Beauty  to  repentance  given. 

Though  bitterly  on  earth  they  flow. 
Shall  turn  to  fragrant  balm  in  heaven  I 


THE  WREATH  AND  THE  CHAIN 
I  liRiNG  thee.  Love,  a  golden  Chain, 

I  bring  thee  too  a  flowery  Wreath ; 
The  gold  shall  never  wear  a  stain. 

The  llow'rcts  long  shall  sweetly  breathe 
Come,  tell  me  which  the  tie  shall  be 
To  bind  thy  gentle  heart  to  me. 

The  Chain  is  of  a  splendid  thread, 

Stol'n  from  IMinerva's  yellow  hair, 
Just  when  the  setting  sun  had  shed 

The  sober  beam  of  evening  there. 
The  Wreath  's  of  brightest  myrtle  wove, 

With  brilliant  tears  of  bliss  among  it, 
And  many  a  ro.se-leaf,  cull'd  by  Love, 

To  heal  his  lip  when  bees  have  stung  it! 
Come,  tell  me  which  the  tie  shall  be, 
To  bind  thy  gentle  heart  to  me. 

Yes,  yes,  I  read  that  ready  eye. 

Which  answers  when  the  tongue  is  loatn, 
Thou  lik'st  the  form  of  either  tie. 

And  hold'st  thy  playful  hands  for  both. 
Ah  ! — if  there  were  not  something  wrong. 

The  world  would  see  them  blended  oft . 
The  Chain  would  make  the  Wreath  so  stronjj 

The  Wreath  would  make  the  Chain  so  softi 
Then  might  the  gold,  the  flow'rets  be 
Sweet  fetters  for  my  Iqve  and  me  ! 

But,  Fanny,  so  unblest  they  twine, 

That  (heaven  alone  can  tell  the  reason) 
When  mingled  thus  they  cease  to  shine, 

Or  shine  but  for  a  transient  season  ! 
Whether  the  Chain  may  press  too  much, 

Or  that  the  Wreath  is  slightly  braided, 
Let  but  the  gold  the  flow'rets  touch. 

And  all  their  glow,  their  tints,  are  faded ! 
Sweet  Fanny,  what  would  Rapture  do. 

When  all  her  blooms  had  lost  their  grace  ' 
Might  she  not  steal  a  rose  or  two, 

From  other  wreaths,  to  till  their  place  ? — 
Oh  !  better  to  be  always  free. 
Than  thus  to  bind  my  love  to  thee 

The  timid  girl  now  hung  her  head. 

And,  as  she  turn'd  an  upward  g'>nce, 
I  saw  a  doubt  its  twilight  spread 

Along  her  brow's  divine  expanse 
Just  then,  the  garland's  dearest  rose 

Gave  one  of  its  seducing  sighs — 
Oh  !  who  can  ask  how  Fanny  chose. 

That  ever  look'd  in  Fa.nny's  eyes ! 
"  The  Wreath,  my  life,  the  Wreath  shall  bn 
The  tie  to  bind  mv  soul  to  thee  !" 


122 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


TO 


And  iiust  thou  mark'd  the  pensive  shade, 
That  many  a  time  obscures  my  brow, 

Midst  all  the  blisses,  darling  maid, 
Which  thou  canst  give,  and  only  thou  ? 

Oh  !  'tis  not  that  I  then  forget 

The  endearing  charms  that  round  me  twine- 
There  never  throbb'd  a  bosom  yet 

Could  feel  their  witchery,  like  mine  ! 

When  bashful  on  my  bosom  hid. 
And  blushing  to  have  felt  so  blest, 

Thou  dost  but  lift  thy  languid  lid, 
Again  to  close  it  on  my  breast ! 

Oh  !  these  are  minutes  all  thine  own, 
Thine  own  to  give,  and  mine  to  feel; 

Yet  e'en  in  them,  my  heart  has  known 
The  sigh  to  rise,  the  tear  to  steal. 

For  I  have  thought  of  former  hours. 
When  he  who  first  thy  soul  possess'd, 

Like  me  awak'd  its  witching  powers. 
Like  me  was  lov'd,  hke  me  was  blest ! 

Upon  Jiis  name  thy  murmuring  tongue 
Perhaps  hath  all  as  sweetly  dwelt ; 

For  him  lliat  snowy  lid  hath  hung 
In  ecstasy,  as  purely  felt ! 

For  him — yet  why  the  past  recall 
To  wither  blooms  of  present  bliss  ! 

Thou'rt  now  my  own,  I  clasp  thee  all, 
And  Heaven  can  grant  no  more  than  this ! 

Forgive  me,  dearest,  oh  !  forgive  ; 

I  would  be  first,  be  sole  to  thee ; 
Thou  should'st  but  have  begun  to  live. 

The  hour  that  gave  thy  heart  to  me. 

Thy  book  of  life  till  then  effac'd. 

Love  should  have  kept  that  leaf  alone. 

On  wliich  he  first  so  dearly  trac'd 
That  thou  wert,  soul  and  all,  my  own ! 


EPISTLE  VI. 
TO  LORD  VISCOUNT  FORBES. 

FROM    THE   CITY    OF    WASHINGTON. 

k.AI    MH    0ATMAi;HI>:    MHT'    EI    MAKPOTEPAN   IE. 
rPA<t'A   THN    EiniJTOAHX,   MHA'  EI  TI   lIEPIEPrO- 
TEPONH  iipe>;bttik:2Tepon  EIPHKAMEN  EAYTH. 
Jsucrat.  Epist.  4. 

If  former  times  had  never  left  a  trace, 
Of  human  frailty  in  their  shadowy  race, 
Nor  o'er  their  pathway  written,  as  tliey  ran. 
One  dark  memorial  of  the  crimes  of  man  ; 
If  every  age,  in  new  unconscious  prime. 
Rose,  like  a  pliojnix,  from  the  fires  of  time, 
To  Wing  its  way  unguided  and  alone, 
The  future  smiling,  and  the  past  unknown — 
rh'^n  ardent  man  would  to  himself  be  new, 
Earth  at  lii^  foot,  and  heaven  within  his  view, 


Well  might  the  novice  hope — the  sanguine  scheme 
Of  full  perfection  prompt  his  daring  dream. 
Ere  cold  experience,  with  her  veteran  lore, 
Could  tell  him,  fools  had  dream'd  as  much  before ' 
But  tracing,  as  we  do,  through  age  and  clime 
Tiie  plans  of  virtue  'midst  the  deeds  of  crime, 
The  thinking  follies,  and  the  reasoning  rage 
Of  man,  at  once  the  idiot  and  the  sage ; 
Wlien  still  we  see,  through  every  varying  frame 
Of  arts  and  polity,  his  course  the  same, 
And  know  that  ancient  fools  but  died  to  make 
A  space  on  earth  for  modern  fools  to  take ; 
'Tis  strange,  how  quickly  we  the  past  forget ; 
That  wisdom's  self  should  not  be  tutor'd  yei. 
Nor  tire  of  watching  for  the  monstrous  birth 
Of  pure  perfection  'midst  the  sons  of  earth! 

Oh  !  nothing  but  that  soul  which  God  has  given, 
Could  lead  us  thus  to  look  on  earth  for  heaven ; 
O'er  dross  without  to  shed  the  flame  within, 
And  dream  of  virtue  while  we  gaze  on  sin ! 

Even  here,  beside  the  proud  Potomac's  stream. 

Might  sages  still  pursue  the  flattering  theme 

Of  days  to  come,  when  man  shall  conquer  fate. 

Rise  o'er  the  level  of  this  mortal  state. 

Belie  the  monuments  of  frailty  past, 

And  stamp  perfection  on  this  world  at  last ! 

"  Here,"  miglit  they  say,  "  shall  power's  divided  reign 

Evince  that  patriots  have  not  bled  in  vain. 

Here  godlike  liberty's  herculean  youth, 

Cradled  in  peace,  and  nurlur'd  up  by  truth 

To  full  maturity  of  nerve  and  mind. 

Shall  crush  the  giants  that  bestride  mankind!' 

Here  shall  religion's  pure  and  balmy  draught, 

In  form,  no  more  from  cups  of  state  be  quaff'd  , 

But  flow  for  all,  through  nation,  rank,  and  sect, 

Free  as  that  heaven  its  tranquil  waves  reflect. 

Around  the  columns  of  the  public  shrine 

Shall  growing  arts  their  gradual  wreath  entwine. 

Nor  breathe  corruption  from  their  flowering  braid, 

Nor  mine  that  fabric  which  they  bloom  to  shade. 

No  longer  here  shall  justice  bound  her  view, 

Or  wrong  the  many,  while  she  rights  the  few; 

But  take  her  range  through  all  the  social  frri».>ve. 

Pure  and  pervading  as  that  vital  flame, 

Which  warms  at  once  our  best  and  meanest  part, 

And  thrills  a  hair  while  it  expands  a  heart !" 

Oh  golden  dream  !  what  soul  that  loves  to  scan 
The  brightness  rather  than  the  shades  of  man, 
That  own  the  good,  while  smarting  with  the  ill 
And  loves  the  world  with  all  its  frailty  still — 
What  ardent  bosom  does  not  spring  to  meet 
The  generous,  hope  with  all  that  heavenly  heat, 
Which  makes  the  soul  unwilling  to  resign 
The  thoughts  of  growing,  even  on  earth,  divine. 
Yes,  dearest  FoiiuEs,  I  see  thee  glow  to  think 
The  chain  of  ages  yet  may  boast  a  link 


1  Thus  Morse: — "  Here  the  sciences  and  the  arts  of  ci- 
vilized life  arc  to  receive  llieir  hifiliest  inipiovements  :  here 
civil  nnd  religious  liberty  :ire  to  flourish,  umhcckcd  \>y  the 
cruel  ha  nd  of  civil  or  ecclcsiiislical  lyrnniiy;  here  ffcni  us,  aided 
b_v  111!  the  impvovrments  of  foriner  a^es,  is  to  hi'  excrtrd  in 
hiimnniziii!;  inankiml,  in  expaniling  and  enricliinpf  thoiT 
minds  with  religious  and  philosophiciil  knowledge,"  etc 
etc.  p.  5G9 


EPISTLES,  OrES,  ETC. 


123 


Of  purer  texture  than  the  world  has  known, 
And  fit  to  bind  us  to  a  (iodhead's  throne ! 

But,  is  it  thus?  doth  even  the  glorious  dream 
Borrow  from  trutli  tliat  dim  uncertain  gleam, 
Which  bills  us  give  such  dear  delusion  scope, 
As  kills  not  reason,  while  it  nurses  hope? 
No,  no,  believe  me,  'tis  not  so — e'en  now, 
VS  hilc  yet  upon  Columbia's  rising  brow 
The  showy  smile  of  young  presumption  plays, 
Ilcr  bloom  is  poison'd  and  her  heart  decays ! 
Even  now,  in  dawn  of  lite,  her  sickly  breath 
Burns  with  'he  taint  of  empires  near  their  death. 
And,  like  the  nymphs  of  her  own  withering  clime, 
She's  old  in  youth,  she's  blasted  in  her  prime!' 

Already  has  the  child  of  Gallia's  school. 
The  foul  Philosopliy  tliat  sins  by  rule, 
With  all  her  train  of  reasoning,  damning  arts 
Begot  by  brilliant  heads  or  worthless  hearts, 
Like  things  that  quicken  allcr  Nilus'  Hood, 
1'he  venom'd  birth  of  sunshine  and  of  mud ! 
Already  has  she  pour'd  her  poison  here 
O'er  every  charm  that  makes  existsnce  dear — 
Already  bfghted,  with  her  black'ning  trace. 
The  opening  bloom  of  every  social  grace. 
And  all  those  courtesies,  that  love  to  shoot 
Round  Virtue's  stem,  the  flow' rets  of  her  fruit ! 

Oh  !  were  these  errors  but  the  wanton  tide 

Of  young  luxuriance  or  unchaslen'd  pride  ; 

The  fervid  follies  and  the  faults  of  such 

As  wrongly  feel,  because  they  feel  too  much  ; 

Then  might  experience  make  the  fever  less. 

Nay,  grail  a  virtue  on  each  warm  excess : 

But  no;  'tis  heartless,  speculative  ill — 

All  youth's  transgression  with  all  age's  chill — 

The  apathy  of  wrong,  the  bosom's  loe, 

A  slow  and  cold  stagnation  into  vice ! 

Long  has  the  love  of  gold,  that  meanest  rage, 
And  latest  folly  of  man's  sinking  age, 
Which,  rarely  venturing  in  the  van  of  life, 
VMiile  nobler  passions  wage  their  heated  strife. 
Comes  skulking  last,  witli  selfishness  and  fear, 
And  dies,  collecting  lumber  in  the  rear ! 
Long  has  it  palsied  every  grasping  hand 
And  greedy  spirit  through  this  bartering  land ; 
Turn'd  lile  to  tratiic,  set  the  demon  gold 
So  loose  abroad,  that  Virtue's  self  is  sold. 
And  conscience,  truth,  and  honesty,  are  made 
To  rise  and  fall,  like  other  wares  of  trade  !^ 

Already  in  this  free,  tliis  virtuous  state, 

WTiich,  Frenchmen  tell  us,  was  ordain'd  by  fate, 


1  "  What  will  be  the  olil  age  of  ihis  goveinnient,  If  it  is 
fh.js  early  (lR(;n'|)it  1"  Such  wns  the  remark  of  Fauchet, 
the  French  miiiist-T  at  I'hiliulelphia,  in  tliiit  famous  Hesimtch 
to  his  government  "vhich  was  intercepied  by  one  of  our 
cruisers  in  Ih-  year  1794.  Tiiis  curious  memorial  may  be 
fonnil  in  Pircnpine  s  Works,  vol.  i.  p.  279.  It  remains  a 
striking  nioimmenl  of  republican  intrisne  on  one  side,  ami 
repnblican  profligacir  on  the  iilher:  and  I  would  recommend 
the  |)eru<al  of  it  to  every  hon9st  politician,  who  may  labour 
under  a  moment's  delusion  with  respect  to, the  purily  of 
American  palriotism. 

0  "  Nous  voyons  tpie  dans  les  pays  oil  I'on  n'i'St  affect<^ 
(jue  de  I'esprit  de  commerce,  on  trafique  de  tontes  les  actions 
himiaines  et  de  toutes  le.-;  verlus  morales  "  Monlesquieu,  de 
'"Esprit  des  Lois,  Liv.  20.  Chap.  2 


To  show  the  world,  what  high  perfection  springs 
From  rabble  senators,  and  merchant  kings — 
Even  here  already  patriots  learn  to  steal 
Their  privati;  perquisites  from  public  weal, 
And,  guardians  of  the  country's  sacred  (ire, 
Like  Afric's  priests,  they  let  the  (lame  for  hire! 
Those  vaunted  demrigogues,  who  nobly  rose 
From  England's  debtors  to  be  England's  foes,' 
Who  could  their  monarch  in  their  purse  forget, 
.Vnd  break  allegiance,  but  to  cancel  debt,* 
Have  prov'd,  at  length,  the  mineral's  tempting  hue 
Which  makes  a  patriot,  can  unmake  him  loo  ^ 
Oh  !  freedom,  freedom,  how  I  hate  thy  cant ! 
Not  eastern  bombast,  nor  the  savage  rant 
Of  purpled  madmen,  were  they  number'd  all 
From  Roman  Nero  down  to  Russian  Paul, 
Could  grate  upon  my  ear  so  mean,  so  base, 
.\s  the  rank  jargon  of  that  factious  race, 
Who,  poor  of  heart,  and  prodigal  of  words. 
Born  to  be  slaves  and  struggling  to  be  lords. 
But  pant  for  licence  wliile  they  spurn  control, 
And  shout  for  rights  with  rapine  in  their  soul. 
Who  can,  with  patience,  for  a  moment  see 
The  medley  mass  of  pride  and  misery. 
Of  whips  and  charters,  manacles  and  right*. 
Of  slaving  blacks  and  democratic  whitefa,* 
And  all  the  pye-bald  polity  that  reigns 
In  free  confusion  o'er  Columbia's  plains  ? 
To  think  that  man,  thou  just  and  gentle  God 
Should  stand  before  thee,  with  a  lyiant's  rod 
O'er  creatures  like  himselL  ivilh  soul  from  tho» 
Yet  dare  to  boast  of  perfect  liberty : 
Away,  away — I'd  rather  hold  my  neck 
By  doubtful  tenure  from  a  sultan's  beck. 
In  climes,  where  liberty  has  scarce  been  nam  ^ 
Nor  any  right  but  that  of  ruling  claim'd, 
Than  thus  to  live,  where  bastard  freedom  waver 
Her  fustian  flag  in  mockery  over  slaves  ; 
Where  (motley  laws  admitting  no  degree 
Betwixt  the  vilely  slav'J  and  madly  free) 


1  I  irnst  I  shall  not  be  suspected  of  a  wish  to  justify  thot 
arbitrary  steps  of  the  En^lirb  goveriimint  which  the  (,'iilv> 
nies  found  it  .so  necessary  to  resist;  my  only  object  here  la 
lo  e.vpose  the  selfish  motives  of  some  of  the  leading  Amen 
can  demagogues. 

2  The  most  pe'severing  enemy  to  the  interests  of  this 
country,  among  the  pol.ticians  of  the  western  world,  has 
been  a  Virginian  merchant,  who,  finding  it  ca.sier  to  settle 
lii.s  consci(mce  than  his  debts,  was  one  of  the  first  lo  raise 
the  standard  against  Groat  HritMin,  and  has  ever  since  en- 
ileavourcd  tn  revenge  upon  the  whole  country  the  obliga- 
tiiins  which  he  lies  under  to  a  few  of  its  merchants. 

3  See  Porcupine's  account  of  the  Penn'^ylvania  Insurrec- 
tiim  in  1794.  In  sliort,  see  Porcujtine's  Works  throiigbouf 
for  am|ilo  corroboration  of  every  sentiment  which  I  have 
ventured  to  express.  In  saying  Ibis,  I  refer  less  lo  the  com 
ntenis  of  that  writer,  than  to  the  occurrences  wiiich  he  has 
related,  and  the  documents  which  he  has  preserved.  Oni 
nion  may  be  suspected  of  bias,  but  facts  speak  for  tnein 
selves. 

4  In  Virginia  the  effects  of  this  system  begin  to  be  felt 
rather  seriously.  W!iile  the  master  rave^  of  lifjerty,  the 
slave  cannot  but  catch  the  contagion,  and  accordinglv  there 
seldom  el.ipses  a  month  witboul  some  alarm  of  insurrection 
amongst  the  negroes.  The  accession  of  Louisiana,  it  is 
feared,  will  increase  this  embarrassinenl  ;  as  the  numerous 
emigrations  which  are  expected  to  lake  place  from  tiie 
siuiiliorn  states  to  this  newly  acipiired  territory,  wil  -oi>- 
siderably  diminish  the  while  population,  and  thus  siienpihea 
the  proportion  of  negroes  to  a  degree  which  must  u!t>in«teU 
be  ruinous. 


124 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Alike  the  bondage  and  th?  licence  suit, 

The  brute  made  riiler  and  the  man  made  brute  ! 

But,  oh  my  Fori;ksI  while  thus,  in  fiovverlcss  song, 

I  feebly  paint,  what  yet  I  feel  so  strong. 

The  ills,  the  vices  of  the  land,  where  first 

Those  rebel  fiends,  that  rack  the  world,  were  nurst ! 

VV'here  treason's  arm  by  royalty  was  nerv'd. 

And    Frenchmen   Icarn'd  to  crush  the  throne  they 

serv'd — 
Thou,  gently  luH'd  in  dreams  of  classic  thought. 
By  bards  illumin'd  and  by  sages  taught, 
Pant'si  to  be  all,  upon  this  mortal  scene, 
That  bard  hath  fancied  or  that  sage  hath  been  ! 
Why  should  1  wake  thee  ?  why  severely  chace 
T}»'  lovely  forms  of  virtue  and  of  grace, 
That  dwell  bt^fore  thee,  like  the  pictures  spread 
By  Spartan  matrons  round  the  genial  bed, 
Moulding  thy  fancy,  and  with  gradual  art 
Brightening  the  young  conceptions  of  thy  heart ! 

Forgive  me,  Forbes — and  should  the  song  destroy 

One  generous  hope,  one  throb  of  social  joy. 

One  higli  pulsation  of  the  zeal  for  man, 

Wliich  few  can  feel,  and  bless'd  that  few  who  can ! 

Oh  I  turn  to  him,  beneath  whose  kindred  eyes 

Thy  talents  open  and  thy  virtues  rise. 

Forget  where  nature  has  been  dark  or  dim, 

And  proudly  study  all  her  lights  in  him! 

Ves,  yes,  in  him  tlie  erring  world  forget. 

And  feel  that  man  may  reach  perfection  yet ! 


SONG. 
The  wreath  you  wove,  the  wreath  you  wove 

Is  fair — but  oh  !  how  fair. 
If  Pity's  hand  had  stolen  from  Love 

One  leaf  to  mingle  there  ! 

If  every  rose  with  gold  were  tied, 

Dim  gems  for  dew-drops  fall. 
One  faded  leaf  where  love  had  sigh'd 

Were  sweetly  worth  them  all ! 

The  wreath  you  wove,  the  wreath  you  wove 

Our  emblem  well  may  be  ; 
Its  bloom  is  yours.,  but  hopeless  love 

Must  keep  its  tears  for  me ! 


LYING. 


riie  Cciii  Ii!  lor  Uiijiu  pajdu  divini. 

Mauro  (CJlrcane 

1  DO  confess,  in  m;iny  a  sigh, 

My  lips  have  breath'd  you  many  a  lie, 

And  who,  with  such  delights  in  view, 

Would  lose  them  for  a  lie  or  two? 

Nay — look  not  thus,  with  brow  reproving ; 

Lies  are,  my  dear,  the  soul  of  loving  ! 

(f  half  we  tell  the  girls  were  true, 

[f  half  we  swear  to  think  and  do. 

Were  aught  but  lying's  bright  illusion, 

The  vvori<l  would  be  in  strange  confusion ! 

•f  ladies'  eyes  were,  every  one, 

As  lovers  swear,  a  radiant  uun 


Astronomy  should  leave  the  skies, 
To  learn  her  lore  in  ladies'  eyes! 
Oh  no  1 — believe  me,  lovely  girl. 
When  nature  turns  your  teeth  to  pearl, 
Your  neck  to  snow,  your  eyes  to  fire, 
Your  yellow  locks  to  golden  wire, 
Then,  only  then,  can  heaven  decree, 
That  you  should  live  for  only  me. 
Or  I  for  you,  as  night  and  morn. 
We've  swearing  kiss'd,  and  kissing  sworn 

And  now,  my  gentle  hints  to  clear. 
For  once,  I'll  tell  you  truth,  my  dear  ! 
Whenever  you  may  chance  to  meet 
A  loving  youth,  whose  love  is  sweet. 
Long  as  you're  false  and  he  believes  you 
Long  as  you  trust  and  he  deceives  you, 
So  long  the  blissful  bond  endures; 
And  while  he  lies,  his  heart  is  yours: 
But,  oh  !  you've  wholly  lost  the  youth 
The  instant  that  he  tells  you  truth ! 


ANACREONTIC. 
I  fii.l'd  to  thee,  to  thee  I  drank, 

I  nothing  did  but  drink  and  fill ; 
The  bowl  by  turns  was  bright  and  blank, 

'Twas  drinking,  filhng,  drinking  still ! 
At  length  I  bid  an  artist  paint 

Thy  image  in  this  ample  cup. 
That  I  might  see  the  dimpled  saint 

To  whom  I  quaft"'d  my  nectar  up. 
Behold  how  bright  that  purple  lip 

Is  blushing  through  the  wave  at  me  ! 
Every  roseat  drop  I  sip 

Is  just  like  kissing  wine  from  thee! 
But,  oh  !  I  drink  the  more  for  this  ; 

For,  ever  when  the  draught  I  drain. 
Thy  lip  invites  another  kiss. 

And  in  the  nectar  flows  again  ! 

So,  here's  to  thee,  my  gentle  dear ! 

And  may  that  eye  for  ever  shine 
Beneath  as  soft  and  sweet  a  tear 

As  oathes  it  in  this  bowl  of  mine! 


TO 


-'S  PICTURE. 


Go  then,  if  she  whose  shade  thou  art 

No  more  will  let  thee  soothe  my  pain — 
Yet  tell  her,  it  has  cost  this  heart 

Some  pangs,  to  give  thee  back  again  ! 
Tell  her  the  smile  was  not  so  dear, 

With  which  she  made  thy  semblance  miua, 
As  bitter  is  tli(!  burning  tear. 

With  which  I  now  the  gift  resign  ! 
Yet  go — and  coidd  she  still  restore. 

As  some  exchange  for  taking  thee, 
The  tranquil  look  wiiich  first  I  wore. 

When  her  eyes  found  me  wild  and  free; 
(Jould  she  give  back  the  careless  flow. 

The  spirit  which  my  fiincy  knew — 
Yet,  ah  !  'tis  vain — go,  picture,  go — 

Smile  at  me  once,  and  then — adieu  ! 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC 


125 


fr\«;ment  of  a  mythological  hymn 

TO  LOVE.' 

BhEST  inHint  ofeternity ! 

Before  the  day-star  learn'd  to  move, 
In  pomp  of  fire,  along  his  grand  career, 

Glancing  the  beamy  sliafl«  of  hght 
From  his  rich  quiver  to  the  farthest  sphere. 
Thou  wert  alone,  oli  Love  ! 

Nesthiig  beneath  the  wings  of  ancient  night 
Whose  horrors  seein'd  to  smile  in  shadowing  thee  I 
No  form  of  beauty  sooth'd  thine  eye. 

As  through  tlie  dim  expanse  it  wander'd  wide; 
No  iiiiidred  spirit  caught  thy  sigh, 

As  o'er  the  watery  waste  it  lingering  died. 
Ihifelt  the  pulse,  unknown  the  power. 

That  latent  in  his  heart  was  sleeping ; 
Oh  Sympathy  I  that  lonely  hour 

Saw  Love  himself  thy  absence  weeping  ! 

But  look  what  glory  through  the  darkness  beams  ! 
Celestial  airs  along  the  water  glide: 
What  spirit  art  tliou,  moving  o'er  the  tide 
So  lovelv  ?  .\rt  thou  but  the  child 
Of  the  young  godhead's  dreams. 
That  mock  his  hope  with  fancies  strange  and  wild  ? 
Or  were  his  tears,  as  quick  they  fell, 
Collected  in  so  bright  a  form, 
Till,  kindled  by  the  ardent  spell 

Of  his  desiring  eyes. 
And  all  impregnate  with  his  sighs, 
Thej'  spring  to  Lfe  in  shape  so  fair  and  warm ! 

•Tis  she ! 

Psyche,  the  frst  born  spirit  of  the  air  ! 

To  thee,  oh  Love  !  she  turns. 

On  thee  her  eye-beam  burns  : 

Blest  hour  of  nuptial  ecstacy  ! 

They  meet — 
The  blooming  god — the  spirit  fair — 

Oh  !  sweet,  oh  heavenly  sweet  ! 
Now,  Sympathy,  the  hour  is  thine; 
All  nature  I'eels  the  thrill  divine. 
The  veil  of  Chaos  is  withdrawn, 
\nd  their  first  kiss  is  great  Creation's  dawn ! 


TO  HIS  SERENE  HIGHNESS 

THE  DUKE  OF  MONTPENSIER, 

ON  HIS  PORTRAIT  OF  THE  LADY  ADELAIDE  F-RB-S. 

Doninglon  Park,  1802. 

To  catch  the  thought,  by  painting's  spell, 

Howe'er  remote,  howe'er  reiin'd. 
And  o'er  the  magic  tablet  tell 

The  silent  story  of  the  mind  ; 


1  Love  ami  Psvi-he  are  here  coiisiilerfil  as  the  active  aiu] 
passive  princijiles  of  creation,  ami  the  universe  is  siip|>i'Si  il 
lo  liave  received  its  first  harniouizing  impulse  from  the 
iui|>tiHl  sympathy  hctween  these  two  powers.  A  marriage 
is  generally  the  tiist  atep  in  cosmogony.  'PimiEus  hchi  Korm 
lo  he  the  father,  and  Matier  ihe  mother  of  ihe  world;  Elion 
and  Beroiitl),  I  thmk,  are  Sanchoniatho's  first  spiritual 
lovers,  and  Rianoo  capac  and  his  wife  introduced  cre:ition 
amongst  the  Peruvians.  In  short,  Harlequin  seems  to  have 
sti.iied  cosmogonies,  when  he  said  "lutto  il  mondo  e  fallo 
rome  la  nostra  faniiglia." 


O'er  Nature's  form  to  glance  the  eye, 
And  fix,  by  miniic  light  and  shade, 

Her  morning  tinges,  ere  they  (ly, 
Her  evening  blushes,  ere  they  fade  ! 

These  are  the  pencil's  grandest  theme, 

Divinest  of  the  powers  divine 
That  light  the  Mu.-:e's  llowery  dream. 

And  these,  oh  Prince  I  are  richly  thine  ! 

Yet,  yet,  when  Friendship  sees  thee  trace, 

In  emanating  soul  express'd. 
The  sweet  memorial  of  a  face 

On  which  her  eye  delights  to  rest ; 

While  o'er  the  lovely  look  serene. 
The  smile  of  Peace,  the  bloom  of  youth. 

The  cheek,  that  blushes  to  be  seen. 
The  eye,  that  tells  the  bosom's  truth ; 

While  o'er  each  line,  so  brightly  true, 
Her  soul  with  fond  attention  roves. 

Blessing  the  hand,  whose  various  hue 
Could  imitate  the  form  it  loves; 

She  feels  the  value  of  thy  art. 
And  owns  it  W'ith  a  purer  zeal, 

A  rapture,  nearer  to  her  heart. 
Than  critic  taste  can  ever  feel ! 


THE  PHILOSOPHER  ARISTIPPUS' 

TO  A  L.\.MP  WHICH  WAS  GIVEN  HIM  BY  LAIS. 

Dulcis  conscia  lectiiji  lucerna. 

M.irtiat,  Lib.  .\iv.  Eplg.  39 

"  Oil  !  love  the  Lamp  (my  mistress  said) 
The  faithful  Lamp  that,  many  a  night. 

Beside  thy  Lais'  lonely  bed 

Has  kept  its  httle  watch  of  light 

"  Full  often  has  it  seen  her  weep. 

And  fix  her  eyes  upon  its  tlaiiie. 
Till,  weary,  she  has  sunk  to  sleep. 

Repeating  her  beloved's  name  ! 

"  Oil  has  it  known  her  check  to  burn 

With  recollections,  fondly  free. 
And  seen  her  turn,  irnpassion'd  turn, 

To  kiss  the  pillow,  Jove  !  for  thee, 


1  It  Wiis  not  very  dillicult  to  become  a  philosopher 
amongst  Ihe  ancients.  A  moderale  store  of  learning,  will 
a  coiisidemble  portion  of  confidence,  and  wit  enough  to  pro 
dnce  ;iii  occasional  apophthegm,  were  all  the  necessary 
(pialifications  for  the  purjMise.  The  piinriples  of  moral 
science  were  so  very  imperfectly  understood,  ihat  the  foun- 
der of  a  new  sect,  in  forming  his  ethical  code,  might  ronsiill 
elihi  r  fancy  or  temperaincnt,  and  adapt  it  lo  his  osvn  pas- 
sions and  propensities;  so  that  .Mahomet,  with  a  little  more 
learning  might  have  flourished  as  a  philosopher  In  those 
days,  and  would  have  reqnired  hut  the  polish  of  the  schools 
to  hecoiMu  the  rival  of  Aristippus  in  morality.  Jii  the  science 
of  nature  loo,  ihough  they  discovered  some  valuable  truths, 
yet  ihey  seemed  not  to  know  ibey  were  trulhs,  or  at  least 
were  as  well  sarisfied  with  errors  ;  and  Xcnophanes,  who  as- 
serted that  ihe  stars  were  igneous  clouds,  lighted  up  every 
nighi  and  extinguished  again  in  Ihe  morning,  was  thought 
and  stvhd  a  philosopher,  as  generally  as  he  who  antiripated 
.N'ewlon  in  deve.opmg  the  arringenient  of  the  universe 

For  this  o;"ni""  "*'  Xenophanes,  sen  Plutarch  do  Placi: 
Philisoph.  lib.  ii.  c:ip.  1.3.  It  is  impossible  lo  read  thi  trrntiss 
of  Plirarch,  n  ithout  alternately  iidmiring  and  smiling  ai  ih» 
genius,  the  absurdities  of  the  philosophern 


126 


3IOORES  WORKS. 


And,  in  a  murmur,  wish  thee  there, 
That  kiss  to  feel,  that  thought  to  share  ! 

"Then  love  tlie  Lamp — 'twill  often  lead 
Thy  step  througli  learning's  sacred  way; 
And,  lighted  by  its  happy  ray, 
Whene'er  those  darling  eyes  shall  read 
Of  things  sublime,  of  Nature's  birth 
Of  all  that  's  bright  in  heaven  or  earth, 
Oh!  think  that  she,  by  whom  'twas  given, 
Adores  thee  more  than  earth  or  heaven  !" 

Yes — dearest  Lamp  !  by  every  charm 
On  which  thy  midnight  beam  has  hung ;' 

The  neck  reclin'd,  the  graceful  arm 
Across  the  brow  of  ivory  flung ; 

The  heavmg  bosom,  partly  hid. 
The  sever'd  hp's  delicious  sighs, 

The  fringe,  th  it  from  the  snowy  lid 
Along  the  cheek  of  roses  lies : 

By  these,  by  all  that  bloom  untold. 
And  long  as  all  shall  charm  my  heart, 

I'll  love  my  little  Lamp  of  gold. 
My  Lamp  and  I  shall  never  part ! 

And  often,  as  she  smiling  said, 

In  fancy's  hour,  thy  gentle  rays 
Shall  guide  rny  visionary  tread 

Through  poesy's  enchanting  maze  ! 

Thy  flame  shall  light  the  page  refin'd. 
Where  still  we  catch  the  Cliian's  breath, 
Where  still  the  bard,  though  cold  in  death. 
Has  left  his  burning  soul  behind  I 
Or,  o'er  thy  humbler  legend  shine. 

Oh  man  of  Ascra's  dreary  glades  !^ 
To  whom  the  nightly-warbling  Nine' 

A  wand  of  inspiration  gave," 
Pluck'd  from  the  greenest  tree  that  shades 

The  crystal  of  Castalia's  wave. 
Then,  turning  to  a  purer  loie. 
We'll  cull  the  sages'  heavenly  store, 
From  Science  steal  her  golden  clue. 
And  dfcry  mystic  path  pursue. 
Where  Nature,  far  from  vulgar  eyes 
Through  labyrinths  of  wonder  flies  ! 

'Tis  thus  my  heart  sIkiII  learn  to  know 
The  passing  world's  precarious  flight. 

Where  all,  that  meets  the  morning  glow, 
Is  chang'd  before  the  fall  of  night  !^ 


1  Tlifi  ancients  hiid  their  liiceriKe  cubicularioe,  or  bcd- 
.ihamber  lamps,  wliicli,  us  the  Ein]ihror  Galietm.s  said,  "  nil 
eras  incininere,  nnd  with  llie  Siime  coinrnrndiition  ol' 
Brctecy,  ['raxagorii  addri;tise»  her  hiinp,  in  Arislo|iiiane.s, 
£-:/./.>i{.  We  niayjndge  how  fancMl'iil  tlicy  were,  in  the  use 
and  einbellishnieiit  of  their  iiinips,  (Vom  the  famous  symbolic 
Liii-ertia  which  we  find  in  the  llomanuMi  Museum,  Micli. 
Ang.  Causei,  p.  127. 

2  rii^siod,  who  tells  lis  in  ineliinrholy  terms  of  his  fiilher's 
liirltt  to  the  wretched  village  of  Aacra.  Efy.  «»'  H,</..'(. 
»,  ■,')1. 

3  Evvu%ia-<  a-TH%ov,  jTifiyi.st\Ks»  ixrirxv  iii(ra<. — Theog 
r    10. 

4  Kzi  /KOI  (TJtiijrTpov  iJoi-,  J»«>v>i5  ipi^>i>.s»  nZ.'i'.  Id.  v.  30 
,5  I'.-.'v  T«  iK-x  woTxfiou  iixiiv,  as  expressed   among  tin 

itrsmas  of  Ueraelitiis  the  I'/phesiiin,  and  with  the  sami 
ma^e  ')y  Seneca,  in  whom  we  find  a  b  luitifnl  difl'iisioii  ol 
lie  ihou:;h'      "  S'eniy  ent  mane,  i|ui  tail  pridio.     C'oipor.-; 


I'll  tell  thee,  as  I  trim  thy  (ire, 

"  Swift  the  tide  of  being  runs, 
And  Time,  who  bids  thy  flame  e.tpire, 

Will  also  quench  yon  heaven  of  suns!' 

Oh  !  then  if  earth's  united  power 
Can  never  chain  one  feathery  hour; 
If  every  print  we  leave  to-day 
To-morrow's  wave  shall  steal  away  ; 
Who  pauses,  to  inquire  of  Heaven 
Why  were  the  fleeting  treasures  givfen, 
The  sunny  days,  the  shady  nights. 
And  all  their  brief  but  dear  delights, 
Whicli  Heaven  has  made  for  man  to  use, 
And  man  should  think  it  guilt  to  lose? 
Who,  that  has  cull'd  a  weeping  rose, 
Will  ask  it  why  it  breathes  and  glows, 
Unmindful  of  the  blushing  ray, 
In  which  it  shines  its  soul  away ; 
Unmindful  of  the  scented  sigh, 
On  which  it  dies  and  loves  to  die  ? 

Pleasure  !  thou  only  good  on  earth  !' 
One  l.ttle  hour  resign'd  to  thee — 

Oh  !  by  ray  Lais'  lip,  'tis  worth, 
The  sage's  immortality  ! 

Then  fai  be  all  the  wisdom  hence, 
And  all  the  lore,  whose  tame  control 

Would  wither  joy  with  chill  delays  ! 

Alas  !  the  fertile  fount  of  sense. 

At  which  the  young,  the  panting  soul 

Drinks  life  and  love,  too  soon  decays  ! 

Sweet  Lam.p !  thou  wert  not  form'd  to  shed 
Thy  splendour  on  a  lifeless  page — 

Wliate'er  my  blushing  L.\is  said 
Of  thoughtful  lore  and  studies  sage 

'Twas  mockery  all — her  glance  of  joy 

Told  me  thy  dearest,  best  employ  !^ 

And,  soon  as  night  shall  close  the  eye 

Of  Heaven's  young  wanderer  in  the  west, 

When  seers  are  gazing  on  the  sky. 
To  find  their  future  orbs  of  rest; 

Then  shall  I  take  my  trembling  way, 
Unseen,  but  to  those  worlds  above, 


nostra  rapiuntur  lliiminum  more  ;  qnicquid  vidi's  rurrit  cii'n 
tempore.  Niiiil  ex  liisipia' videmiis  manel.  Ego  ipse, diim 
loipior  miitari  ipsa,  mutatus  sum,"  etc. 

1  Aiislippus  Considered  motion  as  the  princi|)le  of  happi- 
iie-s,  in  which  idea  lie  d;ll'.rid  IVom  the  Epicureans,  who 
lookerl  to  a  siate  uf  n-posi'  as  the  only  true  volnpliiousness 
and  avoidi'd  even  the  too  lively  agitations  of  pleasure,  as  u 
violent  anil  ungrMceful  derangement  of  the  senses. 

2  Maiifierluis  lias  been  still  more  explicit  than  this  phi 
losoplier,  in  ranking  the  jileasiires  of  sense  above  the  eubli- 
inest  pursuits  oi'  wisdom.  S|ieukiiig  of  the  infant  man,  in' 
his  [irodiiction,  he  calls  him,  "  uiie  nouvelle  cr6ature,  qui 
poiirra  comprendre  les  choses  les  plus  sublimes,  et  ce  qui 
est  bii-n  iiu-dessus,  qui  pourra  gouler  les  nifmes  plaisirs." 
See  his  f^hiiis  I'liiixiqiiP-,  Tiiis  appears  to  be  one  of  tha 
cli'irts  al  Fonteneile's  gallantry  ol"mannl^r,  foi  which  the 
learned  President  is  so  well  ridiculed  in  the  .Ikakia  of 
Vi  llaire. 

IMiiupertuis  may  be  thoimht  to  have  borrowed  from  the 
ancient  ,^rislillplls  thai  indisiTiniinate  theory  of  pleasures 
^^  hich  lie  lias  s't  forth  in  his  EsDni  ilc  Pliilosnphir  Aforalr, 
and  fiir\vhi'-li  bo  was  so  very  justly  condemned.  .Aris.ipi.us, 
record  ns  lo  I/aiTtiiis,  held  ft>]  'Sixcspsiv  t.  n^oi'iii'  )iJov>)f, 
wliii-li  irr  'tional  sentiniiMit  h  is  been  adopted  by  Maiip'rtiiis; 
"  Taiil  ipi' in  11"  con-iileie  que  I'l'nat  pnisent.  lous  la» 
iilaisirs  !N)iit  dii  mriiv  i:.,Mire  "  ect.  ei-.t. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


127 


And,  led  by  thy  mysterious  ray. 
Glide  to  the  pillow  of  my  love. 

Calm  be  her  sleep,  the  gentle  dear  ! 
Nor  let  her  dream  of  bliss  so  near, 
Till  o'er  her  cheek  she  thrilling  feel 
My  sighs  of  lire-  jn  murmurs  steal. 
And  1  shall  lift  the  locks,  that  flow 
Unbraided  o'er  her  lids  of  snow, 
And  softly  kiss  those  sealed  eyes, 
And  wake  her  into  sweet  surprise  ! 

Or  if  she  dream,  oh  !  let  her  dream 

Of  tliose  delights  we  both  have  known 
And  felt  so  truly,  that  they  seem 

Form'd  to  be  felt  by  us  alone  ! 
And  I  shall  mark  her  kindling  cheek. 

Shall  see  her  bosom  warmly  move, 
And  hear  her  faintly,  lowly  speak 

The  murmur'd  sounds  so  dear  tc  love  ! 
Oh  !  I  shall  gaze,  tdl  even  the  sigh. 
That  wafts  her  very  soul,  be  nigli. 
And  when  the  nymph  is  all  but  blest, 
Sink  in  her  arms  and  share  the  rest ! 
Sweet  Lais  !  what  an  age  of  bliss 

In  that  one  moment  waits  for  me ! 
Oh  sages!  think  on  joy  like  this. 

And  where's  your  boast  of  apathy  ! 


TO  MRS.  BI^H— D. 

WRITTEN  IN  HER  ALBJM. 


T»TO  Si 


fOTI    TO    TTOTQV  J   7rA.«|'»),   6^»f, 

Cebetis  Tabula. 


They  say  that  Love  had  once  a  book, 
(The  urchin  likes  to  copy  you,) 

Where,  all  who  came  tiie  pencil  took. 
And  wrote,  like  us,  a  line  or  two. 

'Twas  Innocence,  the  maid  divine. 
Who  kept  this  volume  bright  and  fair. 

And  saw  that  no  unhallow'd  line. 

Or.  thought  profane  should  enter  there 

And  sweetly  did  the  pages  fill 
With  fond  device  and  loving  lore. 

And  every  leaf  she  turn'd  was  still 
More  bright  than  that  she  turn'd  before . 

Beneath  the  touch  of  Hope,  how  soft, 
How  light  the  magic  pencil  ran  ! 

Till  Fear  would  come,  alas !  as  oft, 
And  trembling  close  what  Hope  began 

A  tear  or  two  had  dropp'd  from  Grief, 
And  Jealousy  would,  now  and  then. 

Ruffle  in  haste  seme  snowy  leaf. 
Which  Love  had  still  to  smooth  again  ! 

But,  oh !  there  was  a  blooming  boy, 
Who  often  turn'd  the  pages  o'er, 

\nd  wrote  therein  such  words  of  joy, 
As  all  who  read  still  sigh'd  for  more. 

And  Pleasure  was  this  spirit's  name, 
And  though  so  soft  his  voice  and  look. 


Yet  Innocence,  whene'er  he  came. 
Would  tremble  for  her  spotless  book  ! 

For  still  she  saw  his  playful  fingers 
Fill'd  with  sweets  and  wanton  toys; 

And  well  she  knew  the  stain  that  lingen 
After  sweets  from  wanton  boys  ! 

And  so  it  chanc'd,  one  luckless  night 

He  let  his  honey  goblet  fall 
O'er  the  dear  book,  so  pure,  so  white, 

And  sullied  lines  and  marge  and  all ! 

In  vain  he  sought,  with  eager  lip. 
The  honey  from  the  leaf  to  drink, 

For  still  the  more  the  boy  would  sip, 
The  deeper  still  the  blot  would  sink  ! 

Oh  !  it  would  make  you  weep  to  see 

The  traces  of  this  honey  flood 
Steal  o'er  a  page  where  Modesty 

Had  freshly  drawn  a  rose's  bud! 

And  Fancy's  emblems  lost  their  glow. 
And  Hope's  sweet  lines  were  all  defac'd, 

And  Love  himself  could  scarcely  know 
What  Love  himself  had  lately  trac'd  ! 

At  length  the  urchin  Pleasure  fled, 
(?'or  how,  alas  !  could  pleasure  stay  ?) 

And  l/ove,  wliile  many  a  tear  he  shed, 
In  blushes  flung  the  book  away ! 

The  index  now  alone  remains. 

Of  all  the  pages  spoil'd  by  Pleasure, 

And  though  it  bears  some  honey  stains. 
Yet  Memory  counts  the  leaf  a  treasure ! 

And  ofl,  they  say,  she  scans  it  o'er. 
And  oft,  by  this  memorial  aided. 

Brings  back  the  pages  now  no  more. 

And  thinks  of  lines  that  long  have  faded' 

I  know  not  if  this  tale  be  true. 

But  thus  the  simple  facts  are  stated  ; 

And  1  refer  their  truth  to  you. 
Since  Love  and  you  are  near  related ! 


EPISTLE  Vn. 
TO  THOMAS  HUME,  ESQ.  M.  D. 

FRO.M  TIIE  CITY  OF  WASHINGTON. 

AlHrHrO.VfAl  AIHIHMATA  11:!^:  AniSTA,  KOINilNA 
iiNHEUONwA  OTK  EXi;N. 

Xenop/iont.  F.p/irs.  Ejihcsiac.  lib   ». 

'Tis  evening  now ;  the  heats  and  cares  of  daj 
In  twilight  dews  are  calmly  wept  away 
The  lover  now,  beneath  the  western  star, 
.Sighs  tliroiigh  the  medium  of  his  sweet  segHr, 
And  fills  the  ears  of  some  consenting  she 
With  putfs  and  vows,  with  smoke  and  conslanc> 
The  weary  statesman  for  repose  hath  fled 
Frona  halls  of  council  to  his  negro's  shed. 


128 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


Where  blest  he  woos  some  black  Aspasia's  grace, 
And  dreams  of  freedom  m  his  slave's  embrace !' 

In  fancy  now,  beneath  the  twilight  gloom, 
Come,  let  me  lead  thee  o'er  this  modern  Rome  I^ 
Where  iribujies  rule,  where  dusky  Davi  bow. 
And  what  was  Goose-Creek  once  is  Tiber  now !' — 
This  fani'd  metropolis,  where  fancy  sees 
Squares  in  morasses,  obelisks  in  trees; 
Which  travelling  fools  and  gazetteers  adorn 
With  shrines  unbuilt,  and  heroes  yet  unborn. 
Though  nought  but  wood"  and  ********  they  sec. 
Where  streets  should  run,  and  sages  ought  to  be  ! 

And  look,  how  soft  in  yonder  radiant  wave, 

The  dying  sun  prepares  his  golden  grave  ! — 

Oh  great  Potomac !  oh  you  banks  of  shade  ! 

You  mighty  scenes,  in  nature's  morning  made. 

While  still,  in  rich  magnificence  of  prime, 

She  pour'd  her  wonders,  lavishly  sublime. 

Nor  yet  had  learn'd  to  stoop  with  humbler  care, 

From  grand  to  soft,  from  wonderful  to  fair ! 

Say,  were  your  towering  hills,  your  boundless  floods, 

Your  rich  savannas,  and  majestic  woods. 

Where  bards  should  meditate,  and  heroes  rove. 

And  woman  charm,  and  man  deserve  her  love  ! 

Oh !  was  a  world  so  bright  but  born  to  grace 

Its  own  half-organiz'd,  half-minded  race^ 


1  The  "black  Aspasia"  of  the  i)rusfiit  *-»«*►***  ol  the 
United  States,  "  inter  Avern-des  haud  igiioti»siiii;i  nyin|ihas" 
has  given  rise  to  much  pleasantry  among  liie  anli  democrat 
wits  in  Ame-ica. 

2  "On  ihe  original  location  of  the  ground  now  allotted 
for  the  seal  of  tiie  Federal  City  (says  Mr.  Weld,)  the  idiii- 
ii,-,al  spot  on  v/liich  the  capltol  now  stands  was  called  Koine. 
This  anecdote  is  rehited  by  many  as  a  certain  prognostic  of 
the  future  magnificence  of  this  city,  which  is  to  be,  as  it 
were,  a  second  Uoiiie." — IVeld^s  TravnU,  Letter  iv. 

3  A  little  streiini  that  runs  through  the  city,  which  with 
intolerable  alfeclation,  they  have  styled  the  Tiber.  It  was 
originally  called  Goose-Oeck. 

4  "To  be  under  the  necessity  of  going  through  a  deeji 
wood  for  one  or  two  miles,  perhaps,  in  order  lo  see  a  next 
iloor  neighbour,  and  in  the  same  city,  is  a  curious,  and  1  be- 
lieve a  novel  circumstance." — IVclil,  Letter  iv. 

The  Federal  City  (if  it  must  be  called  a  city,)  has  not 
been  much  increased  since  Mr.  Weld  visited  it.  Most  of  the 
public  buildings,  which  were  then  in  some  degree  of  forward- 
ness, have  been  since  utterly  suspended.  The  Hoiel  is  al- 
ready a  ruin ;  a  great  |)art  of  its  roof  has  fallen  in,  and  the 
rooms  are  left  to  be  occu|iieil  gratuitously  by  the  miserable 
Scotch  and  Irish  emigrants.  'I'he  Pnsident's  House,  a  very 
noble  strnciure,  is  by  no  means  sailed  lo  the  phili.sophicai 
hiiniility  of  its  present  possessor,  who  inbabi:s  but  a  corner  ol 
the  mansion  himself,  and  abandons  the  rest  to  a  state  of  un- 
cleanly desolaiion,  which  tho-e  who  are  not  philosophers 
cannot  look  at  williuui  regri^t.  This  grand  editice  is  en- 
circled by  a  very  nide  jiale,  through  which  a  coiniiion  rustic 
Blile  intrndnces  the  visitors  of  the  first  man  in  America. 
Willi  re.-pei-t  to  all  thit  is  in  the  house,  I  shall  imitate  the 
|iriiilent  forbearance  of  Ileroiioius,  and  say,  t»  Ss  iv  xyrof- 

Tho  private  buildings  e.xhibit  the  same  characteristic  dis- 
play of  arrogant  speculatinn  and  premature  ruin,  and  the 
fc;w  ranges  of  houses  which  weie  begun  -onie  years  ago, 
have  remained  so  long  waste  and  unfinished  that  they  are 
now  for  Ihe  most  pan  dilapidated. 

•")  Th.!  picture  which  Riitfon  and  De  Paiiw  have  drawn 
of  the  American  Indian,  though  very  humiliating,  is,  as  (ar 
as  1  can  judge,  much  more  correct  than  the  fl  itteiing  tepre- 
HenlatioriB  which  Mr.  Jelferson  has  given  us.  See  the  A''utcs 
on  f^irfrinia.  where  this  gentleman  endeavours  lo  disprove 
in  general,  Ihe  opinion  mainiained  so  strongly  by  some  phi- 
ioso|iherB,  that  nature  (as  Mr.  .Icffirson  e.\  presses  it,)  helit- 
llr.t  her  productions  in  the  western  world.  M.  de  I'aiiw 
aitril.ules  Ihe  imp'-rfection  of  nniiiial  lil'e  in  America  to  the 
ravngPB  of  a  verv  recent  deluge,  from  who^e  efTecls  iijicm  its 
Boil  and  atmosphere  it  has  not  yet  siillicii  ritly  recovered. 
See  his  Rechcrchm  sur  Ics  ^mericaivs.  Part  i.  torn.  i.  p.  102. 


Of  weak  barbarians,  swarming  o'er  its  breasi, 
Like  vermin,  gender'd  on  the  lion's  crest '! 
Were  none  but  brutes  to  call  that  soil  their  hiMiiP., 
Where  none  but  demi-gods  should  dare  to  roam  "> 
Or  worse,  thou  mighty  world  1   oh  !  doubly  worae, 
Did  Heaven  design  thy  lordly  land  to  nurse 
The  motly  dregs  of  every  distant  clime. 
Each  blast  of  anarchy  and  taint  of  crime 
Whicli  Europe  shakes  from  her  perturbed  spheri!. 
In  full  malignity  to  rankle  here  ? 

But  hush  ! — observe  that  little  mount  of  pines. 
Where  the  breeze  murmurs,  and  tlie  fire-fiy  shines 
There  let  thy  fancy  raise,  in  bold  relief. 
The  sculptur'd  image  of  that  veteran  chief,' 
Who  lost  the  rebel's  in  the  hero's  name, 
And  slept  o'er  prostrate  loyalty  to  fame ; 
Beneath  whose  sword  Columbia's  patriot  train 
Cast  off  Iheir  monarch,  that  the  mob  might  reign 
How  shall  we  raidv  thee  upon  glory's  page  ? 
Thou  more  than  soldier,  and  just  less  than  sage  ! 
Too  form'd  for  peace  lo  act  a  conqueror's  part, 
Too  train'd  in  cam|is  to  learn  a  statesman's  art — 
Nature  design'd  thee  for  a  hero's  mould, 
Btit  ere  she  cast  thee,  let  the  stuffgrow  cold  ! 
While  warmer  souls  command,  nay,  make  their  fate 
Thy  fate  maile  thee,  and  forc'd  Ihee  to  be  great. 
Yet  Fortune,  who  so  oft,  so  blindly  sheds 
Her  brightest  halo  round  the  weakest  heads. 
Found  Ihw  nndazzled,  tranquil  as  before, 
Proud  to  be  useful,  scorning  to  be  more; 
Less  priinipl  at  glory's  than  at  duty's  claim, 
Renown  the  meed,  but  self-applniise  the  aim; 
All  thou  hast  been  reflects  less  irime  on  thee, 
Far  less,  tha..  all  thou  hast  forborne  lo  be  ! 

Now  turn  thine  eye  where  faint  the  moonlight  fal.s, 
On  yonder  dome — and  in  those  princely  halls. 
If  thou  canst  hate,  as,  oh !  that  soul  must  hate, 
Which  loves  the  virtuous,  and  reveres  the  great, 
If  thou  canst  loathe  and  execrate  with  me 
That  Gallic  garbage  of  philosophy. 
That  nauseous  slaver  of  these  frantic  times, 
\Vith  which  false  liberty  dilutes  her  crimes! 
If  thou  hast  got  within  thy  free-born  breast, 
One  pulse  that  beats  more  proudly  than  the  rest, 
With  honest  scorn  for  that  inglorious  soul, 
Which  creeps  and  winds  beneatli  a  mob's  control. 
Which  courts  the  rabble's  smile,  the  rabble's  nod, 
And  makes,  like  Egypt,  every  beast  its  god  ! 
There,  in  these  walls — but,  burning  tongue,  forbeai 
Rank  must  be  reverenc'd,  even  the  rank  that's  there 
So  here  1  pause — and  now,  my  Hujie  !  we  part; 
But  oh  !  full  oft,  in  magic  dreams  of  heart. 
Thus  lot  us  meet,  and  mingle  converse  dear 
By  Thames  at  home,  or  by  Potomac  here ! 
O'er  lake  and  marsh,  through  fevers  and  through  fogs, 
Midst  bears  and  yankees,  democrats  and  frogs. 
Thy  foot  shall  follow  me,  thy  heart  and  eyes 
With  me  shall  wonder,  and  with  me  despise  !^ 


1  On  a  email  hill  near  the  capilcd,  there  is  to  be  an  eques 
triiin  statue  of  General  Washington. 

2  In  ihe  ferment  which  Ihe  French  revolution  excited 
among  the  ilemnciats  of  America,  and  Ihe  licentious  sym- 
pilhy  with  vvhiih  lliey  shared  in  the  wildest  excesses  ol 
jncobinism,  we  may  find  one  source  of  thai  viilaarity  of 
vice,  that  hoslililv  'o  all  the  graces  of  life,  which  di'tir 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


129 


While  I,  as  oft,  in  witching  thought  shall  rove 
To  thee,  to  frieiulsliip,  and  that  land  I  love, 
Where,  like  the  air  that  tans  her  liuids  of  green, 
Her  freedom  spreads,  unfevcr'd  and  serene  ; 
Wliere  sovereign  man  can  condescend  to  see 
The  throne  and  laws  more  sovereign  still  than  he  ! 


THE  SNAKE. 

1801. 

My  love  and  1,  the  other  day. 
Within  a  myrtle  arl)oiir  lay. 
When  near  us  from  a  rosy  bed, 
A  little  Snake  pu*  forth  its  head. 

"  See,"  said  the  maid,  with  laughing  eyes — 
"  Vonder  the  fatal  emblem  lies  ! 
Who  could  expcnsurh  hidden  harm 
Beneath  the  rose's  velvet  charm  ? 

Never  did  mortal  thought  occur 

In  more  unlucky  hour  than  this  ; 
For  oh  !  I  just  was  leading  her 

To  talk  of  love  and  think  of  bliss. 

I  rose  to  kill  the  snake,  but  she 
In  pity  pray'd,  it  migiit  not  be. 

"  No,"  said  the  girl — and  many  a  spark 

Flash'd  from  her  eyelid,  as  she  said  it — 
"  Under  the  rose,  or  in  the  dark, 

One  might,  perhaps,  have  cause  to  dread  it ; 
But  when  its  wicked  eyes  appear. 

And  when  wc  know  for  what  they  wink  so, 
One  must  bo  very  simple,  dear. 

To  let  it  sting  one — don't  you  think  so  ?" 


LINES, 

WRITTEN   ON    LEAVING    PHILADELPHIA. 


■/■,v  n-oX.iv  (fiK'ji; 


Siijlind.  iKdip.  Colon   v.  758. 

Alone  by  the  Schnyikill  a  wanderer  rov'd. 
And  bright  were  its  llowery  banks  to  his  eye ; 

But  far,  very  far  were  the  friends  that  he  lov'd. 
And  he  gaz'd  on  its  flowery  banks  with  a  sigh ! 

Oh,  nature  !  though  blessed  and  bright  are  thy  rays. 
O'er  the  brow  of  creation  enchantingly  thrown, 

Vet  t'aint  are  they  all  to  the  lustre  that  ])lays 
In  a  smile  from  the  heart  that  is  dearly  our  own  ! 


Nor  long  did  the  soul  of  the  stranger  remain 

Unbless'd  by  the  smile  he  had  languish'd  to  meet : 
Though  scarce  did  he  hope  it  would   soothe  hiin 
again. 
Till  the  threshold  of  home  had  been  k.ss'd  by  hia 
feet! 

But  the  lays  of  his  boy-hood  had  stol'n  o  their  ear. 
And  they  lov'd  what  they  knew  of  so  humble  a 
name. 
And  they  told  him,  with  flattery  welcome  ani^  dear. 
That  they  found  in  his  heart  something  sweeter 
than  fame ! 

Nor  did  woman — oh,  womm  I  whose  form  and  whos^ 
soul 

Are  the  spell  and  the  light  of  each  path  we  pursue' 
Whether  sunn'd  in  the  tropics  or  chill'd  at  the  pole. 

If  woman  be  there,  there  is  happiness  too  ! 

Nor  did  she  her  enamouring  magic  deny. 

That  magic  his  heart  had  relinquisli'd  so  long, 

Like  eyes  he  had  loved  was  her  eloquent  eye. 
Like  them  did  it  soften  and  weep  at  his  song. 

Oh !  blt^s'd  be  the  tear,  and  in  memory  oft 

May  its  sparkle  be  shed  o'er  his  wandering  dream 

Oh  !  blest  be  that  eye,  and  may  passion  as  sol't. 
As  free  from  a  pang,  ever  mellow  its  beam ! 

The  stranger  is  gone — but  he  will  not  forget, 

W^hen  at  home  he  shall  talk  of  the  tc  il  fie  has 
known. 

To  tell,  with  a  sigh,  what  endearments  he  met. 
As  he  stray'd  by  the  wave  of  the  Schuylkill  alone! 


THE  FALL  OF  HEBE. 

A   DITHYRAMCIC    ODE.' 

'Twas  on  a  day 
When  the  immortals  at  their  banquet  lay; 
The  bowl 
Sparkled  with  starry  dew. 
The  weeping  of  those  myriad  urns  of  light, 
Within  whose  orbs,  the  almighty  Power, 
At  Nature's  dawning  hour. 


»iiisli03  llie  present  di'magngues  of  ine  United  Slates,  anil 
has  lieroine  indi;eil  too  generally  the  cliariicte  istic  of  their 
countrynien.  But  there  is  iinotlier  causC  of  tlie  coriu[ilion 
of  private  morals,  which,  eno.onraged  as  it  is  by  the  govern- 
ment, and  identifieil  with  the  iiiterei.:s  ol'  the  Community, 
joems  to  tliretiton  the  di'cay  of  all  honest  principle  in  Ame- 
rica. I  allude  to  those  fraudulent  violations  of  neutrality 
to  which  they  are  indebted  for  the  most  lucrative  part  of 
Iheii  conunerce,  and  by  which  they  h'lve  so  long  infringed 
and  counteracted  the  maritim'^  rights  and  advantages  of 
this  co\uitry  This  unwarrarilihle  trade  is  necessarily  ahet- 
li'il  bv  SMcfi  a  syslfni  of  coihision,  iminiBtiire,  and  perjury, 
■Ls  cannot  fail  li<  s|>ri>ail  rapi  I  contamination  around  it. 
I 


1  Though  I  call  this  a  Di:hyraiiibic  Ode,  I  cannot  prefuiiii 
to  say  that  it  possesses,  ui  any  degree,  the  characteristics  of 
thril  species  of  poetry.  The  nauire  of  the  ancient  Dilliy- 
rambic  is  very  imperfectly  known.  According  to  M.  Bii- 
rulie.  a  licentious  irregularity  of  metre,  an  e.\lravag.ini 
res.arch  of  thought  and  expression,  and  a  rude  enibarias,-ed 
cim-tiuction,  are  among  its  most  distinguishing  features. 
He  adds,  "Ces  caracteres  des  dityiambes  se  Ibnt  sentir  a 
ceii.\  qui  liseiit  aitentivement  los  odes  de  Pindare."  J\!e- 
muirex  de  VJicad.  vol.  x.  p.  306.  .And  the  same  opinion  may 
be  collected  from  Schmid;'s  dissertaiion  upon  the  Bubj..<t 
But  I  Ihiiik  if  the  Dithyrambics  ol'  Pindar  were  in  i>ur  pos- 
session, we  should  tind,  that,  however  wild  and  fanciful, 
they  were  by  no  means  the  tasteless  jargon  they  are  rep  e- 
sented,  and  that  even  their  irregidarily  was  what  Boileau 
calls  "  un  beau  dSsordre."  ("hiabre:a,  who  has  been  styled 
the  Pindar  of  Italy,  and  from  whom  all  its  poetry  upon  the 
Greek  model  was  called  Chiabreresco  (as  Crescimbcni  in- 
forms us,  Lib.  i.  cap.  1'2.)  has  given  amongst  his  Vcndem 
mie,  a  Ditliyrambic,  "all'  uso  de'  Grcci:"  it  is  full  of  those 
fcompound  epithets  which,  wc  are  told,  were  a  chief  charac- 
ter of  the  style  (o-ji-JSTOuv- Js  Xtjfijf-oiouv.  SuiD  Aijupx^- 
SoJiJ;)  such  as 

Briglindorato  Pegaso 

Nnbicalpestator. 
But  I  cannot  suppose  that  Pindar,  even  amidst  all  tlie  li 


130 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Stor'd  the  rich  fluid  of  ethereal  soul !' 

Around, 
Soft  odirous  clouds,  that  upward  wing  their  flight 

From  eastern  isles 
AVhere  they  have  bathed  them  in  the  orient  ray, 
And  with  t;no  fragrance  all  their  bosoms  lill'd,) 
hi  circles  flew,  and,  melting  as  they  flew, 
A  liquid  day-break  o'er  the  board  distill'd  ! 

All,  all  was  luxury 

All  rmist  be  luxury,  where  Lyaeus  smiles ! 
His  locks  divine 
Were  crown'd 
With  a  bright  meteor-braid, 
V\liich,  like  an  ever-springing  wreath  of  vine, 

Shot  into  brilliant  leafy  shapes. 
And  o'er  his  brow  in  lambent  tendrils  play'd  ! 
While  'mid  the  foliage  hung. 
Like  lucid  grapes, 
A  thousand  clustering  blooms  of  light, 
Cull'd  from  the  gardens  of  the  galaxy ! 
I'pon  his  bosom  Cytherea's  head 
I^ay  lovely,  as  vvnen  first  the  Syrens  sung 

Her  beauty's  dawn. 
And  all  the  curtains  of  the  deep,  undrawn, 
Reveal'd  her  sleeping  in  its  aAire  bed. 
The  captive  deity 
Languish'd  upon  her  eyes  and  lip, 
In  chains  of  ecstacy  ! 

Now  in  his  arm, 
In  blushes  she  reposed, 
And,  while  her  /.one  resign'd  its  every  charm. 
To  shade  his  burning  eyes  her  hand  in  dalliance  stole; 
And  now  she  raised  her  rosy  mouth  to  sip 
The  nectar'd  wave 
Lya;us  gave. 
And  from  her  eyelids,  gently  closed, 
Shed  a  dissolving  gleam, 
Wliich  fell,  like  sun-dew,  in  the  bowl ! 
While  her  bright  hair,  in  mazy  flow 

Of  gold  descending 
Along  her  cheek's  luxurious  glow. 
Waved  o'er  the  goblet's  side. 
And  was  reflected  by  its  crystal  tide, 

Like  a  sweet  crocus  flower. 
Whose  sunny  leaves,  at  evening  hour, 
With  roses  of  Cyrene  blending,^ 


cense  of  (iilliVramhics,  would  ever  li;ive  descended  to  ballad- 
I«[iguagi3  like  the  following; 

Bella  Filli,  e  b.-llri  ('lori 

Non  pill  dar  |irei'io  a.  tue  bollezze  e  taci, 

Che  se  Hacco  fa  vezzi  alle  mie  labbra 

Fo  le  fiche  a'  vostri  baci. 

essiT  vorrei  Coppier, 

C  se  »roppo  desiro 

Deh  tossi  in  HoUiclier. 

liimc  del  Chiabrcra,  part  ii.  p.  3r>2. 

1  This  is  a  Pliitonlc  fancy;  the  philosopher  sufipnaes,  in 
his  Timseus,  that,  when  the  Deity  had  forniod  the  soul  of  the 
world,  he  procpoded  to  the  composition  of  other  soids;  in 
which  process,  snys  Plato,  he  made  use  of  the  same  cup, 
thouKh  the  inpredient-'  he  tnin^iled  were  not  quite  so  pure  as 
for  the  former;  and  having  refined  the  mixture  with  a  little 
of  his  own  essence,  he  distrihnied  it  amcHigst  the  stars  which 
•ervcd  ds  reservoirs  of  the  fluid.  Txut'  nwi  x»i  vxKtv 
l/ri  TOV  Trp'iTipiv  y.fXTnfx  iv  <-u  t--iv  tou  irxv-rtf  ^'"SSf''  "«- 
lAvfruc  tuiiryt^  X.  T,  h,. 

2  We  learn  from  Theofihra'ftus,  that  the  roses  of  Cyrene 
were  pariicniarlv  fragrant.     EucirjuoTKTse  t»  Jj  t»  iv   K-j- 


The  Olympian  cup 
Burn'd  in  the  hands 
Of  dimpled  Hebe,  as  she  wing'cJ  her  feet 
Up 
The  empyreal  mount, 
To  drain  the  soul-drops  at  their  stellar  fount;' 
And  still. 
As  the  resplendent  rill 
Flamed  o'er  the  goblet  with  a  mantling  heal. 
Her  graceful  care 
Would  cool  its  heavenly  fire 
In  gelid  waves  of  snovvy-feather'd  air. 
Such  as  the  children  of  the  pole  respire, 
In  those  enchanted  lands^ 
Where  life  is  all  a  spring  and  north  winds  never  blo\ 
But  oh ! 
Sweet  Hebe,  what  a  tear 
And  what  a  blusli  were  thine, 
When,  as  the  breath  of  every  Grace 
Wafted  thy  fleet  career 
Along  the  studded  sphere. 
With  a  rich  cup  for  Jove  himself  to  dnnk 
Some  star,  that  glitter'd  in  the  way, 
Raising  its  amorous  head 
To  kiss  so  exquisite  a  tread, 
Check'd  thy  impatient  pace  ! 
And  all  Heaven's  host  of  eyes 
Saw  those  luxuriant  beauties  sink 
In  lapse  of  loveliness,  along  the  azure  skies  l' 

Upon  whose  starry  plain  they  lay, 
Like  a  young  blossom  on  our  meads  of  gold, 

Shed  from  a  vernal  thorn 
Amid  the  liquid  sparkles  of  the  morn ! 
Or,  as  in  temples  of  the  Paphian  shade. 
The  inyrtled  votaries  of  the  queen  behold 
An  image  of  their  rosy  idol,  laid 
Upon  a  diamond  shrine  ! 
The  wanton  wind, 
Which  had  pursued  the  flying  fair. 

And  sweetly  twin'd 
Its  spirit  with  the  breatliing  rings 
Of  her  ambrosial  hair, 


1  Heraelitus  (Phvsicus)  held  the  soul  to  be  a  spark  of  thfl 
stellar  essence.  "  Sciiilllla  stellaris  esseiitiie." — Macrobius, 
in  Sciuri.  Scip.  Lib.  i.  cap.  14. 

2  The  country  of  the  Hyperboreans;  they  were  supposed 
to  be  placed  so  far  iiorlh,  that  the  north  wind  could  not  uf 
I'cct  them  ;  they  lived  longer  than  any  other  mortals  ;  passed 
their  whole  time  in  music  and  dancing,  etc.  etc.  But  the 
most  extravagant  fiction  related  oftliejn  is  that  to  which  the 
two  lines  preceding  allude.  It  was  imagined,  that  instead 
of  our  vtilgir  atmosphere,  the  Hyperboreans  breailied 
nothing  but  feathers!  According  to  Herodotus  and  Pliny, 
this  idea  was  suggested  by  the  quanti'y  of  snow  whiih  wag 
observed  to  fall  in  those  regions ;  thus  the  former :  Tx  t«iv 
n-T£p«  eixa^ovT«5  TJ1V  %*ovs6  T0U5  XKv-^xg  n  k«*  tou?  rst- 
pioixou;  Johsjo  Ki-yitv. — Hrrodut.  lib.  iv.  cap.  31.  Ovid  lellg 
the  fable  otherwise.     See  MHamorpk.  lib.  xv. 

Mr.  O'Halloran,  and  some  other  Irish  Anticiuarinns,  have 
been  at  great  expense  of  learning  to  prove  that  the  strange 
country,  where  they  took  snow  for  feathers,  was  Ireland, 
and  that  the  famous  Abaris  was  an  Irish  Druid.  Mr.  Row- 
land, however,  will  have  it  that  Abaris  was  a  Welshman, 
and  that  his  name  is  only  a  corruption  of  Ap  Reen! 

3  I  believe  it  is  Servius  wdio  mentiims  this  unlucky  trip 
which  Hebe  made  in  her  occupation  of  cup  bearer;  and 
Holfman  tells  it  after  him;  "Cum  Hebe  (locnla  .lovi  admi- 
nistrans,  perqne  liihricum  minns  canl«^  incedens,  cccidisset 
revolntisqne  vestibiis" — in  short,  she  fell  in  a  very  awkward 
manner,  and  though  (as  the  F.ncyclop6distes  think)  it  would 
have  amused  ,IovK  at  any  other  time,  yet,  as  ho  liRppenod 
to  be  out  oftomperon  that  day,  the  poor  girl  was  dismisse)? 
from  her  nmplovment 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


l:n 


Soar'd  as  she  foil,  and  on  i's  ruffling  wings, 

(Oh  wanton  wind  I) 
Wafted  the  robf,  whose  sacred  flow, 
Shadow'd  her  l<iMfihiig  charms  of  snow, 
Pure,  as  an  Eir-usinian  veil 

Hancs  o'er  the  mysteries  !' 

*  *  *  * 

•  the  brow  of  Juno  flushed — 
Love  hiess'd  the  breeze ! 
The  Muses  blusii'd, 
And  every  chi-ek  was  hid  behind  a  lyre, 
V\'hiie  every  eye  was  glancing  through  the  strings. 
Drops  of  ethereal  dew, 
'J'hat  burning  gush'd. 
As  tlie  great  goblet  flow 
From  Hebe's  nearly  lingers  through  the  sky ! 
Wlio  was  the  spirit  that  remember'd  3Ian 
In  that  voluptuous  hour? 

And  with  a  wing  of  Love 
Brusli'd  off  your  scatter'd  tears, 
As  o'er  the  spangled  heaven  they  ran, 
.^n'^  sent  them  floating  to  our  orb  below  !^ 
Essence  of  immortality ! 

The  sthower 
Fell  glowing  through  the  spheres 
While  ill  around  new  tints  of  bliss, 
New  perfumes  of  delight, 
Enrich'd  its  radiant  flow ! 

Now,  with  a  humid  kiss, 
It  thrill'd  along  the  beamy  wire 
Of  Heaven's  illumin'd  lyre,-^ 
Stealing  the  soul  of  music  in  its  flight ! 
And  now,  amid  the  breezes  bland, 
That  whisper  from  the  planets  as  they  roll. 
The  bright  libation,  softly  fann'd 
By  all  their  sighs,  meandering  stole! 
They  who,  from  Atlas'  height, 

Beheld  the  hill  of  flame 
Descending  through  the  waste  of  night. 
Thought  'twas  a  planet,  whose  stupendous  frame 

Had  kindled,  as  it  rapidly  revolv'd 
Around  its  fervid  axle,  and  dissolv'd 
Into  a  flood  so  bright! 
The  child  of  day. 
Within  his  twilight  bower, 
Lay  sweetly  sleeping 
On  the  flush'd  bosom  of  a  lotos-flower;* 


1  The  arf-ane  symbols  of  tliis  cereinoiiy  were  deiiosited  ii' 
■-lie  cisUi,  where  they  lay  religious  y  conceale<l  from  ihe  eyes 
of  the  profane.  Tliey  wi^re  generally  carried  in  the  proccs 
(iion  by  an  ass;  and  hence  the  |iioverb,  which  one  may  so 
often  apply  in  the  world,  "asinus  portat  mysteria."  Sei- 
the  Divine  I^'gatinn,  Book  ii.  sect.  4. 

2  In  the  Geopoiiica,  Lib.  ii.  cap.  17,  there  is  a  fable  some 
what  like  this  desecnt  of  the  nectar  to  earth.     Ev  o-jfxi-jj 

Tuiv  ^ituv  eux'%oujw;i''.wv,  x»*  TOu  vfXTxpo?  sroWou  ~xpxx.itfiti- 
vov,   avxcit.tpTt^a'xt    xopttx    tov    Ep*>Ta    xxi    (rucrsto-ai    rto 

TTTip'j}   TOV    Xp:fiTl*pO$     Tt[V     CXTtV^    XX*      WipiTpSvXI     /iSV     XUTOV 

TO  Jf  i/sXT»p  £i;  Till,  yriv    txxuicv,  x.  t.  >..     See  Jiuctor.  de 
Rf  Rust,  edit.  Covt.ah.  1704. 

3  The  constellation  Lyra.  The  astrologers  attribute 
ereat  virtues  to  this  sign  in  ascendent!,  which  are  enume- 
rated by  Pontano,  in  his  Urnnia: 

Ecce  novpm  cimi  pectine  chordas 

Fmodulans,  miilcet  que  novo  vnga  sidera  cantu, 
Quo  ciiptte  nascentuiii  animse  Concordia  ducunt 
Pectora,  etc. 

4  The  Egyptians  represented  the  dawn  of  day  by  a  young 
6oy  iieated  upon  a  lotos.     Eits    AiyuTTTs;  soopxxa';  xp%>!v 

*\'XVO\y.(  TTXl^i^V  VtCytOV  VpXjCVTX?  iTTl    KwTM  KX7l^0,UiV0V. 


VVlien  round  him,  in  profusion  wecp-ng, 
Dropp'd  the  celestial  shower, 

Steeping 
The  rosy  clouds,  that  curl'd 
About  his  infant  head, 
Like  myrrh  upon  the  locks  of  Cupid  shed  ! 

But,  when  the  waking  boy 
Waved  his  exhaling  tresses  through  the  sky, 
O  morn  of  joy  ! 
The  tide  divine, 
All  glittering  with  the  vermeil  dye 
It  drank  beneath  his  orient  eye, 
Distill'd  in  dews  upon  the  world. 
And  every  drop  was  wine,  was  heavenly  wine 

niess'd  be  the  sod,  the  flow'ret  blest, 
That  caught,  upon  their  hallow'd  breast, 
The  nectar'd  spray  of  .love's  perennial  springs ! 
Less  sweet  the  flow'ret,  and  less  sweet  the  sod 
O'er  which  the  Spirit  of  the  rainbow  flings 
The  magic  mantle  of  her  solar  god  !' 


TO 


That  wrinkle,  when  first  I  espied  it. 
At  once  put  my  heart  out  of  pain, 

Till  the  eye  that  was  glowing  beside  it 
Disturb'd  my  ideas  again  ! 

Thou  art  just  in  the  twilight  at  present 
When  woman's  declension  begins. 

When,  fading  from  all  that  is  pleasant 
She  bids  a  good  night  to  her  sins  ! 

Yet  thou  still  art  so  lovely  to  me, 

I  would  sooner,  my  exquisite  mother! 

Repose  in  the  sunset  of  thee 
Than  bask  in  the  noon  of  another! 


ANACREONTIC. 
"  She  never  look'd  so  kind  before — 

Yet  why  the  wanton's  smile  recall  I 
I've  seen  this  witchery  o'er  and  o'er, 

'Tis  hollow,  vain,  and  heartless  all !" 

Thus  I  said,  and,  sighing,  sipp'd 
The  wine  %vhich  she  had  lately  tasted; 

The  cup,  where  she  had  lately  dipp'd 
Brc.'itli,  so  long  in  falsehood  wasted. 

I  took  the  harp,  and  would  have  sung 
As  if  'twere  not  of  her  I  sang; 


Plutarch,  -sp'  r«  iiy[  xfxv  ififttrf.  See  also  Ins  trealist 
fsid.  ct  Osir  Ob-erving  that  the  lotos  showed  i:s  liem' 
above  wa!<r  at  sun-rise,  and  s^nk  again  at  bis  selling,  ihoy 
conceived  the  idea  of  consecraling  it  to  Osiris,  or  Iho  sun. 

Tliis  symbol  of  a  youih  silting  upon  a  loios,  is  very  fre 
(jiient  on  the  .AbrM.xases,  or  Basilidian  stones.  See  Slcvt 
fnucon,  Tom.  ii.  planche  158,  and  the  SuppUment.  etc. 
Tom.  ii.  lib.  vii.  iliap.  5. 

1  The  anciiMiis  esteemed  those  flowers  anu  trees  the 
sweetest  upon  which  the  rainbow  had  appeared  to  rest,  ani* 
the  wood  they  eh  i-Mv  burned  in  sacrifices,  was  that  which 
the  smile  of  Ins  hail  consecrated. — Plutarch  Sympox.  Lib 
iv.  cap.  2,  where  (as  Vossius  remarks)  xxikti,  Instead  of 
xxA.s!ri,  IS  undoiihiedly  the  genuine  reading.  Sep  l^o.istttt 
for  some  curious  i  arlieularities  of  the  rainbow,  De  Urijr^< 
it  Pniirrrxg.  Idaltiliil.  Lib.  lii.  cap.  13. 


132 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Rut  still  the  notes  on  Lamia  hung — 
On  whom  out  Lamia  could  they  hang! 

That  kiss,  for  vvhicn,  if  worlds  were  mine, 
A  world  for  every  kiss  I'd  give  her; 

Those  floating  eyes,  that  floating  shine 
Like  diamonds  in  an  eastern  river  ! 

That  mould  so  tine,  so  pearly  bright, 

Of  which  luxurious  Heaven  hath  cast  her, 
Through  which  her  soul  doth  beam  as  while 

As  flame  through  lamps  of  alabaster! 
Of  these  I  sung,  and  notes  and  words 

Were  sweet  as  if  'twas  Lamia's  hair 
That  lay  upon  my  lute  for  chords, 

And  Lamia's  lip  that  warbled  there! 

But  when,  alas  !  I  turn'd  the  theme. 
And  when  of  vows  and  oaths  1  spoke, 

Of  truth,  and  hope's  beguiling  dream— 
The  chord  beneath  my  finger  broke ! 

False  harp  !  fdse  woman  ! — such,  oh  !  such 
Are  lutes  too  frail  and  maids  too  willing; 

Every  hand's  licentious  touch 
Can  learn  to  w^ke  their  wildest  thrilling  ! 

And  when  that  thrill  is  most  awake. 

And  when  you  think  heaven's  joys  await  you. 

The  nymph  will  change,  the  chord  will  break — 
Oh  Love  !  oh  Music  !  how  I  hate  you  !  • 


TO  MRS. 


ON  SOME  CALUMNIES  AGAINST  HER  CHARACTER. 

Is  not  thy  mind  a  gentle  mind  ? 

Is  not  thy  heart  a  heart  lefin'd  ? 

Ilast  thou  not  every  blameless  grace. 

That  man  should  love,  or  Heaven  can  trace  ? 

And  oh !  art  Ihou  a  shrine  for  Sin 

To  hold  her  hateful  worship  in  ? 

No,  no,  be  happy — dry  that  tear — 

Though  some  thy  heart  hath  harbour'd  near 

May  now  repay  its  love  with  blame ! 

Though  man,  who  oiigiit  to  shield  thy  fame. 

Ungenerous  man,  be  first  to  wound  thee! 

Though  the  whole  world  may  freeze  around  thee. 

Oil !  thou'lt  be  like  that  lucid  tear,' 

Which,  bright,  within  the  crystal's  sphere 

In  liquid  purity  was  found, 

Tliough  all  had  grown  oongcai'd  around; 

Floating  in  frost,  it  mock'd  the  chill, 

tVas  pure,  was  soft,  was  brilliant  still. 


HYMN  OF  A  VIRGIN  OF  DELPHI, 

AT  THE  TOMIt  OF  HER  MOTHER. 

Oil !  lost,  for  ever  lost ! — no  more 
Shall  Vesper  light  our  dewy  way 

Along  the  rocks  of  Crissa's  shore, 
To  hymn  the  fading  fires  of  day ! 


No  more  to  Tempe's  distant  vale 

In  holy  musings  shall  we  roam, 
Througii  summer's  glow,  and  winter's  ga>e, 

To  bear  ti;e  mystic  chaplets  home  !' 
'Twas  then  my  soul's  expanding  zeal. 

By  nature  warm'd  and  led  by  thee, 
In  every  breeze  was  taught  to  feel 

The  breathings  of  a  dc'ity  ! 
Guide  of  my  heart !  to  memory  true, 

Thy  looks,  thy  words,  are  still  my  own 
I  see  thee  raising  from  the  dew, 

Some  laurel,  h)  the  wind  o'erthrown. 
And  hear  thee  say,  •'  This  humble  bough 

Was  planted  for  a  doom  divine. 
And,  though  it  weep  in  languor  now, 

Shall  flourish  on  the  Delphic  shrine  ! 
Thus,  in  the  vale  of  earthly  sense. 

Though  sunk  awhile  the  spirit  lies, 
A  viewless  hand  shall  cull  it  thence, 

To  bloom  immortal  in  the  skies  !" 

Thy  words  had  such  a  melting  flow, 

And  spoke  of  truth  so  sweetly  well, 
They  dropp'd  like  heaven's  screnest  snow, 

And  all  was  brightness  where  they  fell ! 
Fond  soother  of  my  infant  tear  ! 

Fond  sharer  of  my  infant  joy  ! 
Is  not  thy  shade  still  lingering  here  ? 

Am  I  not  still  thy  soul's  employ  .■■ 
And  oh  !  as  oft,  at  close  of  day 

When,  meeting  on  the  sacred  mount. 
Our  nymphs  awak'd  the  choral  lay, 

And  danc'd  around  Cassotis'  fount; 
As  then,  'twas  all  thy  wish  and  care. 

That  mine  should  be  the  simplest  mien. 
My  lyre  and  voice  the  sweetest  there. 

My  foot  the  lightest  o'er  the  green ; 
So  still,  each  little  grace  to  mould, 

Around  my  form  thine  eyes  are  shed, 
Arranging  every  snowy  fold, 

And  guiding  every  mazy  tread  ! 
And,  when  I  lead  the  hymning  choir, 

Thy  spirit  still,  unseen  and  free. 
Hovers  between  my  lip  and  lyre, 

And  weds  them  into  harmony  ! 
Flow,  Plistus,  flow  '  thy  murmuring  wave 

Shall  never  drop  its  silvery  tear 
Upon  so  pure,  so  blest  a  grave, 

To  memory  so  divinely  dear! 


1  Tliis  nlliiclcs  to  u  curious  i;rin,  upon  vvliicli  Chaidinri 
tias  left.  Ill  r-oriH!  I'oiiii I'.'Hs  ejii'.'riMiB.  Il  wa.s  M  ilrop  (if  pure 
.vater  iiicioscil  wiiliin  a  piece  of  crvslal.  fee  Claudian. 
F.piariiin.  ili'  Cliryntnlln  nii  aipiii  inrrnl.  Aildisnn  men- 
'"i>ii«  u  e.nriuHity  ofthis  kiii:l  iil  Mil;ui.     lie  says,  "  It  is  sued 


RINGS  AND  SEALS. 


Jichilles  Tatius,  Lib.  ii. 

"  Go  !"  said  the  angry  weeping  maid, 
"  The  charm  is  broken  ! — once  betray'd, 

a  rarity  as  this  ilini  I  saw  at  Vendoiiio  in  France,  vvlilch 
lliey  lliiTe  pretend  is  a  teiir  iliai  onr  Savidiir  slicid  over  I. a 
zaitis,  and  was  gailiercil  up  l)v  an  angel,  wlio  put  il  in  a  little 
c-.rvstal  vial  and  made  a  present  of  it  to  Mary  MiigilaliMio.' 
— .//(/r//.s-«7i'.>!  Ilrmiirlis  an  several  Piirts  of  Italy. 

1  'I'lie  laurel,  for  the  common  nsis  of  the  templo.  Tm 
adoinnis  llie  alliirR  and  sweepiiii;  the  pavement,  was  BllI^ 
pli(Mi  by  a  tree  near  llio  fountain  of  Castalia.     But  upon  tf 


El'isl'l.i:s,  ()br:s.  E'lx. 


133 


Oh  !  never  can  my  heart  rely 
On  word  or  look,  on  oath  or  sigh. 
Take  back  the  gifts,  so  sweetly  given, 
With  proniis'd  faith  and  vows  to  Heaven : 
That  little  ring,  which,  night  and  morn, 
With  wedded  truth  my  hand  liaih  worn ; 
That  seal  which  oft,  in  momciit  blest. 
Thou  hast  upon  my  lip  imprest, 
And  sworn  its  dewy  spring  should  be 
A  lountain  seal'd'  for  only  tliec  ! 
Tike,  take  them  back,  the  giil  and  vow, 
All  sullied,  .'ost,  and  hateful,  now!" 

I  took  the  ring — the  seal  I  took, 
While  oh  !  her  every  tear  and  look 
Were  such  as  angels  look  and  shed, 
When  man  is  by  the  world  misled  ! 
Gently  I  whisper'd,  "  Fanny,  dear! 
Not  half  thy  lovers  gii'ts  are  here  : 
Say,  where  are  all  the  seals  he  gave 
To  every  ringlet's  jetty  wave. 
And  where  is  every  one  he  printed 
Upon  that  lip,  so  ruby-tinted — 
Seals  of  the  purest  gem  of  bliss, 
Oh  !  riciier,  softer,  far  than  this  ! 

"  And  then  the  ring — my  love  !  recall 
Hov.'  many  rings  delicious  all. 
His  arms  around  tliat  neck  hath  twisted, 
Twining  warmer  far  than  this  did  ! 
Where  are  they  all,  so  sweet,  so  many  '^ 
Oh  !  dearest,  give  back  all,  if  any  !" 

While  thus  I  murmur'd,  trembling  too 
Lest  all  the  nymph  had  vow'd  was  true, 
I  saw  a  smile  relenting  rise 
Mid  the  moist  azure  of  her  eyes, 
Like  day-light  o'er  a  sea  of  blue. 
While  yet  the  air  is  dim  with  dew ! 
She  let  her  cheek  repose  on  mine. 
She  let  my  arms  around  her  twine — 
Oh!  who  can  tell  the  bliss  one  feels 
In  thus  exchanging  rings  and  seals  ! 


TO  MISS  SUSAN  B— CKF— D. 

HER  SINGING. 

I  MORE  than  once  have  heard,  at  night, 
A  song,  like  those  thy  lips  have  given, 

Ajid  it  was  sung  by  shapes  of  light. 
Who  seem'd,  like  thee,  to  breathe  of  heaven  ! 

But  this  was  all  a  dream  of  sleep, 
And  I  have  said,  when  morning  shone, 


ini|)o.tuiil  DC.caslons,  they  sent  to  'I'diipe  tor  ilieir  launl. 
*Ve  find  in  Puusanias,  that  ihis  valley  supplied  the  bruriclies, 
)!"  which  ihe  temple  wiis  originally  constructed ;  «iid  Pln- 
arch  says,  in  his  Dialogue  un  Music,  "The  youth  who 
brings  the  Tempio  laurel  to  Delphi  is  always  attended  by  a 
olayer  on  ihe  llute."  Akkx  fi>iv  xxi  rm  xxtxxc/^iCo^'"  ^x.iSi 
rifv  T£/i«5rix>|i/  S:civ>tv  si;  ^i^jsj  !rapO|UxpTfi   au/.>)rij;. 

1  "  There  are  gardens,  supp<is.>d  to  he  ihusn  of  Kin;.'  Solo- 
mon, in  tlie  neighbourhood  of  Bethlehem.  The  friiirs  .-how 
a  fountain  which  they  say  is  the  'sealed  fountain,'  to  which 
the  holy  spouse  in  the  Canticles  is  compared  ;  and  they  pre- 
end  a  tradition,  that  Solomon  shut  up  these  springs  anil  jjut 
his  signet  upon  the  door,  to  keeplheni  for  his  own  drinking." 
—MaundrcIVs  Travels.  See  also  the  XuUs  to  Mr.  Good's 
Translation  of  the  Son^  of  Sulomoii. 


"Oh!  why  should  fairy  Fancy  keep 
These  wonders  I'or  herself  alone?" 

1  knew  not  then  that  Fate  had  lent 
Such  tones  to  one  of  mortal  birth  ; 

I  knew  not  then  that  Heaven  had  sent 
A  voice,  a  form  like  thine  on  oarth  ' 

And  yet,  in  all  tiiat  flowery  maze 
Through  which  my  lile  I'.as  lov'd  to  tread. 

When  1  have  heard  the  sweetest  lays 
From  hps  of  dearest  lustre  shed  ; 

When  I  have  felt  the  warbled  word 

From  Beauty's  mouth  of  perfume  sighing, 

Sweet  as  music's  hallow'd  b.rd 
Upon  a  rose's  bosom  lying ! 

Though  form  and  song  at  once  combin'd 
Their  loveliest  bloom  and  softest  thnjl, 

My  heart  hath  sigh'd,  my  heart  hath  pin'd 
For  something  softer,  lovelier  still ! 

Oh  !  I  have  found  it  all,  at  last, 
In  thee,  thou  sweetest,  living  lyre. 

Through  which  the  soul  hath  ever  pass'd 
Its  harmonizing  breath  of  fire  I 

All  that  my  best  and  wildest  dream. 
In  Fancy's  hour,  could  hear  or  see 

Of  3Iusic's  sigh  or  Beauty's  beam 
Are  realiz'd,  at  once,  in  thee ! 


LINES, 


WRITTEN  AT  THE  COHOS,  OR  FALLS  OP 
THE  MOHAWK  RIVER.' 


Gia  era  in  loco  ove  s'udia  'I  rimboinbo 

Dell'  acqua.     *     *     *  Danlt- 

From  rise  of  morn  till  set  of  sun, 

I've  seen  the  mighty  Mohawk  run. 

And  as  I  mark'd  the  woods  of  pine 

Along  his  mirror  darkly  shine. 

Like  tall  and  gloomy  forms  that  pass 

Before  the  wizard's  midnight  glass; 

And  as  I  vievv'd  the  hurrying  pace 

With  which  he  ran  his  turbid  race, 

Rushing,  alike  untir'd  and  wild, 

Through  shades  that  frown'd,  and  flo»vers  tba 

smil'd. 
Flying  by  every  green  recess 
That  woo'd  him  to  its  calm  caress. 
Yet,  sometimes  turning  with  the  wind, 
As  if  to  leave  one  look  behind  ! 


1  There  is  :i  dreary  and  savage  chariicter  in  the  eountr; 
iinmodiately  ab  ive  these  Falls,  which  is  much  more  in  h.ir 
niony  wiih  the  wildness  of  such  a  scene,  than  the  cultivated 
lands  in  thi^  neighbourhood  of  Ningara.  See  the  drawn. .j 
of  them  in  Mr.  Weld's  book.  According  to  him,  tlit  per 
prndicular  height  of  the  Cohos  Falls  is  fifty  feet,  but  Ihn 
Matquis  de  Chastellu.x  makes  it  sevenly-si.\. 

The  fine  rainbow,  which  is  continually  forming  and  di» 
solving  as  the  spray  uses  into  the  light  of  the  sun,  Ib  oer- 
haps  the  most  ir.ti^restir.f;  baaufy  which  these  wo(i<l';'t-.l 
ca'.aracts  exhibit 


134 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Oh !  I  have  thought,  and  thinking,  sigh'd — 

How  like  t-a  thee,  thou  restless  tide ! 

May  be  the  lot,  the  life  o*"  him, 

Who  roams  along  thy  water's  brim ! 

Through  what  alternate  shades  of  woe, 

And  flowers  of  joy  my  path  may  go  ! 

How  many  a  humble  still  retreat 

Way  rise  to  court  my  weary  feet, 

While  still  pursuing,  still  unblest, 

1  wander  on,  nor  dare  to  rest ! 

But,  urgent  as  the  doom  that  calls 

Thy  water  to  its  destin'd  falls, 

I  see  the  world's  bewildering  force 

Hurry  my  heart's  devoted  course 

From  lapse  to  lapse,  till  hfe  be  done, 

And  the  last  current  cease  to  run  ! 

Oh,  may  my  falls  be  bright  as  thine ! 

May  Heaven's  forgiving  rainbow  shine 

Upon  the  mist  that  circles  me. 

As  soft,  as  now  it  hangs  o'er  thee ! 


CLORIS  AND  FANNY. 

Cloris  !  if  I  were  Persia's  king, 
I'd  make  my  graceful  queen  of  thee  : 

While  Fanny,  wild  and  artless  thing. 
Should  but  my  humble  handmaid  be. 

There  is  but  oiw  objection  in  it — 
That,  verily,  I'm  much  afraid 

I  should,  in  some  unhu-ky  minute. 
Forsake  the  mistress  for  the  maid  ! 


TO  MISS 


W'lTH  woman's  form  and  woman's  tricks 
So  much  of  man  you  seem  to  mix. 

One  knows  not  where  to  take  you ; 
I  pray  you,  if  'tis  not  too  far, 
Go,  ask  of  Nature  which  you  are. 

Or  what  she  meant  to  make  you. 

Yet  stay — you  need  not  take  the  pains — 
With  neither  beauty,  youth,  nor  brains 

For  man  or  maid's  desiring  : 
Pert  as  female,  fool  as  male. 
As  boy  too  green,  as  girl  too  stale — 

The  thing  's  not  worth  inquiring ! 


TO 


UN  HER  ASKING  ME  TO  ADDRESS  A  POEM  TO  HER. 

Sine  vencru  I'liget  Apullo. 

JKiriil.  Menaffius. 

How  can  I  sing  of  fragrant  sighs 

I  ne'er  have  felt  from  thee  ? 
How  can  1  sing  of  smiling  eyes. 

That  ne'er  have  smil'd  on  ine  ? 

The  heart,  'tis  true,  may  fancy  much, 
but,  oh  !  'tis  cold  and  seeming — 

One  moment's  real,  rapturous  touch 
Is  worth  an  age  ofdroaming! 


Think'st  thou,  when  Julia's  lip  and  breast 

Inspir'd  my  youthful  tongue, 

I  coldly  spoke  cf  lips  unprest, 

Nor  felt  the  heaven  I  sung? 

No,  no,  the  spell,  that  warm'd  so  long, 

Was  still  my  Julia's  kiss. 
And  still  the  girl  was  paid,  m  song, 

What  she  had  giv'n  in  bliss  ! 

Then  beam  one  burning  smile  on  me, 

And  I  will  sing  those  eyes  ; 
Let  me  but  feel  a  breath  from  thee, 

And  I  will  praise  thy  sighs. 

That  rosy  mouth  alone  can  bring 

What  makes  the  bard  divine— 
Oh,  Lady  !   how  my  lip  would  sing, 

If  once  'twere  prest  to  thine ! 


SONG 

OF  THE  EVIL  SPIRIT  OF  THE  WOODS.* 

Qua  via  difficllis,  qu;i(iue  est  via  nulla.  . 

Onid.  Metam.  Lib.  iii.  v  TST 

Now  the  vapour,  hot  and  damp, 
Shed  by  day's  expiring  lamp. 
Through  the  misty  etlier  spreads 
Every  ill  the  white  man  dreads ; 
Fiery  fever's  thirsty  tlirill. 
Fitful  ague's  shivering  chill ! 

Hark!  I  hear  the  traveller's  song, 
As  he  winds  the  woods  along. 
Christian  !  'tis  the  song  of  fear; 
Wolves  are  round  thee,  night  is  near. 
And  the  wild  thou  dar'st  to  roam — 
Oh  I  'twas  once  the  Indian's  home  !* 
Hither,  sprites,  who  love  to  harm, 
Wheresoe'er  you  work  your  charm. 
By  the  creeks,  or  by  the  brakes, 
Where  the  pale  witch  feeds  her  snakes 
And  the  cayman^  loves  to  creep. 
Torpid,  to  his  wintry  sleep  : 
Where  the  bird  of  carrion  flits. 
And  the  shuddering  murderer  sits,* 


1  The  idea  of  this  poem  occurred  to  me  in  passing  throug'j 
the  very  dreary  wddeincss  beiweun  Batavia,  a  new  settle- 
ment In  the  midst  of  the  woods,  and  the  little  viihige  of 
Buffalo  upon  Lake  Erie.  This  is  Ihe  most  fatiguing  part 
of  the  route,  in  travelling  through  the  Genesee  country  tc 
Niagara. 

2  "  The  Five  ConCederated  Nations  (of  Indians)  were 
srttled  along  the  banks  of  the  Susquehanna  and  the  adju- 
cnt  country,  until  the  year  1779,  whtMi  General  Sullivan, 
with  an  army  of  -lOOO  men,  drove  them  iVoni  their  country 
to  Niagara,  where,  being  obliged  to  live  on  salted  provisionx, 
to  which  they  were  una'  customed,  great  numbers  of  theni 
died.  Two  luuidred  of  them,  it  is  saio,  were  buried  ir  one 
grave,  where  they  had  encamped." — Morse's  Jimarican 
(Icnijraphy. 

3  The  alligator,  who  is  supposed  to  I'ie  'r.  a  torpid  state  all 
the  winter,  in  the  bank  of  some  creek  or  ,.onrt,  having  pre 
viously  gvvalloweil  ii  large  number  of  ;<i/it-  knots,  w.Hioh  are 
Ilia  only  sustenance  during  the  time. 

4  This  was  the  modcol  punishment  for  murder  (as  Palher 
Charlevoix  tells  us)  among  the  Ilurons.  "  Tln>y  aid  the 
d(!ad  body  upon  poles  at  the  top  of  a  cabin,  luid  [he  uuir- 
dercr  was  ()l>li"-d  to  rcTiiain  several  day>  tug  ■iher,  nod  to 
receive  :A\  tiril  ilii>;>pcii  from  the  carcass,  not  only  >i'  Mrr' 
self  but  on  lilslM,,a  •• 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


135 


Lone  beneath  :i  roof  of  blood, 
VVhile  upon  his  poison'd  food, 
From  the  corpse  of  him  lie  slew 
Drops  the  chill  and  gory  dew ! 

Hither  bend  you,  turn  you  hither 
Eyes  that  blast  and  wings  that  wither  ! 
Cross  the  wandering  Christian's  way. 
Lead  him,  ere  the  glimpse  of  day, 
Many  a  mile  of  madd'ning  error 
Through  the  ma/e  of  night  and  terror. 
Till  the  morn  behold  him  iying 
O'er  the  damp  earth,  pale  and  dying  ! 
ftlock  him,  when  his  eager  sight 
Seeks  the  cordial  cottage-light; 
Gleam  then,  like  the  lightning-bug, 
Tempt  him  to  tiie  den  that's  dug 
For  the  foul  and  famish'd  brood 
Of  the  she-wolf,  gaunt  for  blood  ! 
Or,  unto  the  dangerous  pass 
O'er  the  deep  and  dark  morass. 
Where  the  trembling  Indian  brings 
Belts  of  porcelain,  pipes,  and  rings. 
Tributes,  to  be  hung  in  air 
To  the  Fiend  presiding  there  !' 
Then,  when  night's  long  labour  past, 
VVildcr'd,  faint,  he  falls  at  last. 
Sinking  where  the  causeway's  edgz 
Moulders  in  the  slimy  sedge. 
There  let  every  noxious  thing 
Trail  its  tilth  and  lix  its  sting  ; 
Let  the  bull-toad  taint  him  over. 
Round  liim  let  inusquitoes  hover. 
In  his  ears  and  eye-balls  tingling. 
With  his  blood  their  poison  mingling. 
Till,  beneath  the  solar  fires. 
Rankling  all,  the  wretch  expires  ! 


TO  MRS.  HENRY  T— GHE, 

ON  RSIAUING  HER  "  PSYCHE." 

Tell  me  the  witching  tale  again. 
For  nt  '^er  has  my  heail  or  ear 

Hung  on  s.0  sweet,  so  pure  a  strain, 
So  pure  to  feel,  so  sweet  to  hear ! 

Say,  Love  !  in  all  thy  spring  of  fame. 
When  the  high  heaven  itself  was  thine; 

When  piety  confess'd  the  flame. 
And  even  thy  errors  were  divine ! 

Did  ever  Muse's  hand,  so  fair 

A  glory  round  thy  temple  spread  ? 


1802. 


"  We  find  also  Cnllais  of  porcelain,  tobacco,  ears  of 
maize,  skins,  eic.  liy  the  side  of  ditlicult  and  dangerous  ways, 
on  rocks,  or  by  the  side  of  the  fills  ;  and  these  are  so  many 
ofierinss  made  to  the  spirits  which  preside  in  these  places." 
See  Cliarlcvoix's  /.rtter  un  the  Traditions  and  the  Religion 
of  the  Savnircs  of  Canada. 

Father  Hennepin  loo  mentions  this  ceremony ;  he  Jiiso 
says,  "  We  took  notice  of  one  barbarian,  who  made  a  kind 
jf  sacritiee  upon  an  o;ik  at  ihe  Cascade  of  St.  Antony  of 
I'adna,  uponthe river  Missiislppi."  See  Hennepiii's  Foyage 
'nlo  JVurtJi  Jimerica. 


Did  ever  lip's  ambrosial  air 

Such  perlurne  o'er  thy  altars  shed  ? 

One  maid  there  was,  who  round  her  lyre 
'i'he  mystic  myrtle  wildly  wreath'd — 

But  all  her  sighs  were  sighs  of  lire, 
The  myrtle  wither'd  as  she  brealh'd  ' 

Oh !  you  that  love's  celestial  dream, 

In  all  its  purity,  would  know, 
Let  not  the  senses'  ardent  beam, 

Too  strongly  through  the  vision  glow ! 

Love  sweetest  lies,  conceal'd  in  night. 
The  night  where  Heaven  has  bid  him  lie; 

Oh !  shed  not  there  unhallowed  light, 
Or  Psyche  knows,  the  boy  will  fly!' 

Dear  Psyche  I  many  a  charmed  hour. 
Through  many  a  wild  and  magic  waste, 

To  the  fair  fount  and  blissful  bower^ 
Thy  mazy  foot  my  soul  hath  trac'd  ! 

Where'er  thy  joys  are  number'd  now, 
Beneath  whatever  shades  of  rest, 

The  Genius  of  the  starry  brow^ 

Hath  chain'd  thee  to  thy  Cupid's  breast , 

Wliether  above  the  horizon  dim. 
Along  whose  verge  our  spirits  stray, 

(Half  sunk  within  tlie  shadowy  brim. 
Half  brighten'd  by  the  eternal  ray.)* 

Thou  risest  to  a  cloudless  pole  ! 

Or,  lingering  here,  dost  love  to  mark 
The  twilight  walk  of  many  a  soul 

Through  sunny  good  and  evil  dark ; 

Still  be  the  song  to  Psyche  dear, 
The  song,  whose  dulcet  tide  was  given 

To  keep  her  name  as  fadeless  here. 
As  nectar  keeps  her  soul  in  heaven  !   , 


1  See  the  story  in  Apuleius.  With  respect  tolliis  beautifa' 
allegory  of  Love  and  Psyche,  there  is  an  ingenious  idea 
suggested  by  the  senator  Buonarotti,  in  his  "  Osservaziunt 
.fopra  alcuni  frammenti  di  vast  atilichi."  He  ihinks  me 
fable  is  taken  from  some  very  occult  mysteries,  which  had 
long  been  celebrated  in  honour  of  Love  ,  and  he  accounts, 
upon  this  supposition,  for  the  silence  of  the  more  ancient 
auiliors  upon  the  subject,  as  it  was  not  till  tmvards  the  de- 
cline of  pagan  superstilion,  that  writers  could  venture  to 
reveal  or  discuss  such  ceremonies;  accordingly,  he  observe* 
we  find  Lucian  and  Plutarch  treating,  without  reserve,  <if 
the  Dea  Syria,  and  Isis  and  Osiris;  and  Apnieius,  who  baa 
given  us  the  story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  has  also  detailed 
some  of  the  mysteries  of  Isis.  See  the  Giornale.di  J.itterati 
d' Italia,  torn,  x.wii.  articoi.  I.  See  also  Ihe  Observations 
upon  the  ancient  Gems  in  the  Museum  Florcnlinum,  vol. 
1.  p  15f). 

1  cannot  avoid  remarking  here  an  error  into  which  the 
French  Encyclopiidistes  have  been  led  by  M.  Spon,  n  tlieit 
article  Psyche.  They  say,  "  Petron  fait  un  recii  de  k 
poinpe  nujitiale  de  ces  deux  anians  (Amour  et  Psyche.) 
D6ja,  dit-il,"  etc.  elc.  The  Psyche  of  Petroniiis,  howeier. 
is  a  servanl-maid,  and  the  marriage  which  be  describes  if 
that  of  the  young  Pannychis.  See  Span's  Kcchcrc/iet 
Ciirieuses,  etc.  Dissertat.  5. 

2  Allusions  to  Mrs.  T — glie's  poem. 

3  Constancv. 

•1  By  Ibis  image  the  Pliitonisis  ex\ir<-ssed  the  nj.idle  state 
of  the  soul  between  sensible  and  mlelleciual  exis:ence. 


r3IPR03IPTU,  UPON  LEAVING  SOME 
FRIENDS. 

O  dulces  co!iiit,im  vale  e  c^E.us  ! — Catullus. 

No,  never  shall  my  soul  forget 
The  friends  I  found  so  cordial-hearted  ; 

Dear  shall  be  the  day  we  met, 
And  dear  shall  be  the  night  we  parted  ! 

Oh  !  if  regrets,  however  sweet, 

Must  with  tiie  lapse  of  time  decay, 

Yet  still,  when  thus  in  mirth  you  meet. 
Fill  high  to  him  that's  far  away  ! 

Long  be  the  flame  of  maniory  found, 
Alive — when  with  your  so(:ial  glass. 

Let  that  be  still  the  magic  round, 
O'er  which  oblivion  dares  not  pass  ! 


EPISTLE  Vlll. 
TO  THE  HONOURABLE  W.  R.  SPENCER, 

Nee  venil  ad  Juios  iiiiisa  vocala  gutas. 

Onid  ez  Puutu,  Lib.  i.  ep.  5. 

FROM  BUFFALO  LTPON  LAKE  ERIE 

Tho7J  oft  hast  told  me  of  the  fairy  hours 
Thy  heart  has  number'd  in  those  classic  bowers. 
Where  fancy  sees  the  giiost  of  ancient  wit 
Mid  cojvls  and  cardinals  profanely  flit. 
And  pagan  spirits,  by  the  pope  unlaid, 
Haunt  every  stream  and  sing  through  every  shade  ! 
There  still  the  bard,  who,  (if  his  numbers  be 
His  tongue's  light  echo,)  must  tiave  talk'd  like  thee, 
The  courtly  bard,  from  whom  thy  mind  has  caught 
Those  playful,  sunshine  holidays  ol' thought 
In  which  the  basking  soul  reclines  and  glows. 
Warm  without  toil  and  brilliant  in  repose. 
There  still  he  roves,  and  lauglung  loves  to  see 
How  modern  monks  with  ancient  rakes  agree  ; 
How  mitres  hang,  where  ivy  wreaths  might  twine. 
And  heallien  Massic  's  damn'd  for  stronger  wine  1 
There  too  are  all  tliose  wandering  souls  of  song, 
With  whom  tliy  spirit  hath  commun'd  so  long. 
Whose  rarest  gems  are,  every  instant,  hung 
By  memory's  magic  on  thy  sparkling  tongue. 
But  here,  alas  I  by  Eric's  stormy  lake, 
\s  far  from  thee,  my  lonely  course  1  take, 
.No  bright  remembrance  o'er  the  fancy  plays 
No  classic  dream,  no  star  of  other  days 
lias  left  that  visionary  glory  here. 
That  relic  of  its  light,  so  soft,  so  dean 
VVhich  gilds  and  hallows  even  the  rudest  scene, 
The  humblest  shed,  where  genius  once  has  been ! 

All  that  creation's  varying  mass  assumes 
Of  grand  or  lov(;ly,  here  aspires  and  blooms  ; 
Bold  rise  the  mountains,  rich  the  gardens  glow, 
Hrijrht  lakes  expand,  and  coiitjucriiig'  rivers  flow; 

I  Tills  c|piiliil  was  suK<;e<ti'<l  hy  < 'Imrjevoix's  Btrikiriff  (io- 
•'iotion  of  tlin  confluence  ut'  the  Miusiruri  vvitli  the  Missis- 


Mind,  mind  alone,  without  whose  quickening  ray, 
The  world  's  a  wilderness,  and  man  but  clay, 
Mind,  miad  alone,  in  barren,  still  repose. 
Nor  blooms,  nor  rises,  nor  expands,  nor  flows  ! 
Take  Christians,  Mohawks,  Democrats  and  all 
From  the  rude  wigwam  to  the  congresa-hall. 
From  man  the  savage,  whether  slav'd  or  free, 
To  man  the  civiliz'd,  less  tame  than  he ! 
'Tis  one  dull  chaos,  one  unfertile  strife 
Betwi,xt  half-polish'd  and  half-barbarous  life; 
Where  every  ill  the  ancient  world  can  brew 
Is  mix'd  with  every  grossuess  of  the  new  ; 
Wliere  all  corrupts  though  little  can  entice, 
And  nothing  's  knov.'n  of  luxury,  but  vice  ! 

Is  this  the  region  then,  is  this  the  clime 

For  golden  fancy  1  for  those  dreams  sublime, 

Which  all  their  miracles  of  light  reveal 

To  heads  that  meditate  and  hearts  that  feel  ? 

No,  no — the  muse  of  inspiration  plays 

O'er  every  scene  ;  she  walks  the  forest-maze. 

And  climbs  the  mountain  ;  every  blooming  spot 

Burns  with  her  step,  yet  man  regards  it  not ! 

She  whispers  round,  her  words  are  in  the  air. 

But  lost.,  unheard,  they  linger  freezing  there. 

Without  one  breath  of  soul,  divinely  strong, 

One  ray  of  heart  to  thaw  them  into  song  ! 

Yet,  yet  forgive  me,  oh,  you  sacred  few ! 
Whom  late  by  Delaware's  green  banks  I  knew , 
Whom,  known  and  lov'd  through  many  a  social  ev( 
'Twas  bliss  to  live  with,  and  'twas  pain  to  leave  ! ' 
Less  dearly  welcome  were  the  lines  of  yore 
The  exile  saw  upon  the  sandy  shore, 
When  his  lone  heart  but  faintly  hop'd  to  find 
One  print  of  man,  one  blessed  stamp  of  mind ! 
Less  dearly  welcome  than  the  liberal  zeal. 
The  strength  to  reason  and  the  warmth  to  feel. 
The  manly  polish  and  the  illumin'd  taste. 
Which,  'mid  the  melancholy,  heartless  waste 
My  foot  has  wander'd,  oh  you  sacred  few ! 
I  found  by  Delaware's  green  banks  with  you. 
Long  may  you  hate  the  Gallic  dross  tliat  runs 
O'er  your  lair  country  and  corrupts  its  sons  ; 
Long  love  the  arts,  the  glories  which  adorn 
Those  fields  of  freedom,  where  your  sires  were  born 
Oh  !  if  America  can  yet  be  great. 
If,  neither  chain'd  by  choice,  nor  damn'd  by  fate 


sippi.  "  I  believe  ibis  is  ihn  finest  coiiflnenpe  in  the  world 
Tiie  two  rivers  are  inncli  of  the  same  breadth,  each  ab  mi' 
half  a  le;igue;  hnttlie  Missouri  is  by  far  the  most  rapid,  ai  d 
seems  to  enter  the  Mississippi  like  a  coiu|neror,  throiii'l. 
which  it  carries  its  white  waves  to  the  0|>piisite  shore  wnli 
out  mixing  tliein  :  nflerwards  it  ^ivcs  its  colour  to  the  Mis. 
sissippi,  which  it  never  loses  again,  but  carries  quite  down 
to  Ihi^  ^ea." — JjCtler  xxvii. 

1  In  the  society  of  Mr.  Dennie  and  his  friends,  at  Phlla 
delphia,  1  p:issid  the  few  agreeable  moments  which  my  io;\i 
thronsh  the  Stales  iifforilid  inc.  Mr.  Dennie  has  succeeded 
in  difTiisiiif.'  tliron;;!!  this  elegant  liitle  circle  that  love  f<,r 
good  literature  and  sound  politics,  which  he  feels  so  zeal- 
ously himself,  and  which  is  so  very  rarely  llie  charactoristii 
of  his  counlrynien.  They  will  not,  I  trust,  accuse  me  o*" 
illiberiility  for  the  picture  which  I  have  given  of  the  igno- 
rance ar.d  corrniition  that  surrouiul  iheni.  If  I  did  not  hate, 
as  I  ought,  the  'auLle  *•>  which  they  are  opposed,  I  could 
not  value,  ns  I  do,  the  spiru  <vilh  wiiicti  lliey  defy  it;  and 
in  learning  from  them  what  Americans  run  he,  I  but  sen 
with  the  more  Indiffnation  what  Americans  um 


EPISTLES,  ()Dj;s,  ETC. 


IV 


To  the  mob-mania  which  imbrues  her  now, 

She  yet  can  raise  the  brigiit  but  temperate  brow 

or  single  majesty,  can  grandly  |)iace 

An  empire's  pillar  upon  rrt:(;ii()ni's  l)ase, 

Nor  fear  the  niigiity  shaft  will  feebler  prove 

For  the  fair  capital  that  tlowers  above  ? — 

If  yet,  releas'd  from  all  that  vulgar  throng, 

So  vain  of  duhiess  and  so  pleasM  with  wrong, 

Who  hourly  teach  her,  like  themselves,  to  hide 

Folly  in  froth,  and  barrenness  in  priile. 

She  yet  can  rise,  can  wreath  the  attic  charms 

Of  soil  refinement  round  the  pomp  of  arms. 

And  see  her  poets  Hash  the  fires  of  song, 

To  light  her  warriors'  tiiundcrbolts  along! 

It  is  to  you,  to  souls  that  f  ivouring  Heaven 

Has  made  like  yours,  the  glorious  task  is  given — 

Oil,  but  for  .■<ui:li,  Columbia's  days  were  done  ; 

Rank  without  ripeness,  quicken'd  without  sun, 

C'rude  at  the  surface,  rotten  at  the  core. 

Her  fruits  would  fall,  before  her  spring  were  o'er  ! 

Believe  me,  Spkncer,  while  I  wing'd  the  hours 
Where  Schuylkill  undulates  through  banks  of  flow- 
ers. 
Though  few  the  days,  the  happy  evenings  few. 
So  warm  with  heart,  so  rich  witii  mind  the>  flew, 
Tiiat  my  full  soul  forgot  its  wish  to  roam. 
And  rested  there,  as  in  a  dream  of  home  ! 
And  looks  I  met,  like  looks  I  lov'd  before. 
And  voices  too,  which,  as  they  trembled  o'er 
The  chord  of  memory,  fmuui  full  many  a  tone 
Of  kindness  there  in  concord  v\iih  their  own.' 
Oil  !  we  had  nights  of  that  communion  free, 
That  flush  of  heart,  which  1  have  knoun  with  thee 
So  oft.  so  warmly;  nights  of  niirlli  and  mind. 
Of  whims  that  taught,  and  (iillios  iliat  refin'd ; 
When  shall  we  both  renew  them  ?  w  hen  restor'd 
To  the  pure  feast  and  intellecnial  board, 
Shall  I  once  more  enjoy  with  thee  and  thine 
Those  whims  that  teach,  those  liillies  that  refine? 
Even  now,  as  wandering  upon  Erie's  shore, 
I  hear  ^'iagara's  distant  calaract  roar, 
I  sigh  for  England— oh  !  these  v^eary  feet 
Have  many  a  mile  to  journey,  ere  we  meet ! 


.  '  fir,  ns  SOT  KAPTA  NTN  MNEIAN  EXa. 
Kurtpiuei 

A  WARNING 


TO. 


Oh  !  fair  as  Heaven  and  chaste  as  light ! 
Did  Nature  mould  thee  all  so  bright, 
That  thou  shouldst  ever  learn  to  weep 
O'er  languid  Virtue's  fatal  sleep, 
O'er  shame  extinguish'd,  honour  fled. 
Peace  lost,  heart  wither'd,  feeling  dead? 

No,  no — a  star  was  born  with  thee, 
Which  sheds  eternal  purity  ! 
Thou  hast,  within  those  sainted  eyes, 
So  fair  a  transcript  of  the  skies. 


In  lines  of  fire  such  liea  enly  lore, 
That  man  should  read  them  and  adore ! 

Yet  have  1  known  a  gentle  maid 

Whose  early  charms  were  Just  array'd 

In  nature's  loveliness  like  thine, 

And  wore  that  clear,  celestial  s  ^n. 

Which  seems  to  mark  the  brow  that's  fai: 

For  Destiny's  peculiar  care! 

Whose  bosom  too  was  once  a  zone, 

Where  the  bright  gem  of  virtue  shone 

Whose  eyes  were  tahsmans  of  fire 

Against  the  spell  of  man's  desire  ! 

Yet,  hapless  girl,  in  one  sad  hour, 

Her  charms  have  shed  their  radiant  flowej 

The  gem  has  been  beguil'd  away ; 

Her  eyes  have  lost  their  chastening  ray; 

The  simple  fear,  the  guiltless  shame, 

The  smiles  that  from  reflection  came. 

All,  all  have  fled,  and  left  her  mind 

A  faded  monument  behind  ! 

Like  some  wave-beaten,  mouldering  stone 

To  memory  rais'd  by  hands  unknown, 

Which,  many  a  wintry  hour,  has  stood. 

Beside  the  ford  of  Tyra's  flood, 

To  tell  the  traveller,  as  he  cross'd. 

That  there  some  loved  friend  was  Inst . 

Oh !  'twas  a  sight  I  wept  to  see — 

Heaven  keep  the  lost-one's  fate  from  ihee ! 


TO 


Tis  time,  I  feel,  to  leave  thee  now, 
Wliile  yet  my  soul  is  something  free; 

W'hile  yet  those  dangerous  eyes  allow 
One  moment's  thought  to  stray  from  thee' 

Oh  !  thou  art  every  instant  dearer — 
Every  chance  that  brings  me  nigh  thee. 

Brings  my  ruin  nearer,  nearer: 
I  am  lost,  unless  I  fly  thee ! 

Nay,  if  thou  dost  not  scorn  and  hate  me, 

\Vish  me  not  so  soon  to  fall. 
Duties,  fame,  and  hopes  await  me. 

Oh  !  that  eye  would  blast  them  all ! 

Yes,  yes,  it  would — for  thou'rt  as  cold 

As  ever  yet  allur'd  or  sway'd. 
And  would'st,  without  a  sigh,  behold 

The  ruin  which  thyself  had  made ! 

Yet — could  I  think  that,  truly  fond. 
That  eye  but  once  would  smile  on  me. 

Good  Heaven  !  how  much,  how  far  beyonu 
Fame,  duty,  hope,  that  smile  would  be  i 

Oh  !  but  to  win  it,  night  and  day. 

Inglorious  at  thy  feet  reclin'd, 
I'd  sigh  my  dreams  of  fame  away, 

The  world  for  thee  forgot,  resign'd ! 

But  no,  no,  no — farewell — we  part, 
Never  to  meet,  no,  never,  never   • 

Oh,  woman  I  what  a  mind  and  hcan 
Thy  coldness  has  undone  for  ever 


138 


MOORE'S  vVORKS. 


Fll()3I  THE  HIGH  PRIEST  OF  APOLLO,  TO 
A  VniGlN  OF  DELPHL' 

Cum  iligiio  liigua. — Sulpicia. 

"  WTio  is  the  maid,  witli  golden  hair, 
With  eyes  of  lire  and  feet  of  air, 
Whose  harp  around  my  altar  swells 
The  sweetest  of  a  thousand  shells?" 

'Twas  thus  the  deity,  who  treads 
The  arch  of  heaven,  and  grandly  sheds 
Day  from  his  eye-lids  1 — thus  he  spoke, 
As  through  my  cell  his  glories  brolve. 

"  WHio  is  the  maid,  with  golden  hair, 
With  eyes  of  tire  and  feet  of  air. 
Whose  harp  around  my  altar  swells, 
The  sweetest  of  a  thousand  shells  ?" 

Aphelia  is  the  Delphic  fair,^ 
With  eyes  of  fire  and  golden  hair, 
Aphelia's  are  the  airy  feet, 
And  hers  tlie  harp  divinely  sweet ; 

For  foot  so  light  has  never  trod 
The  laurel'd  caverns'  of  the  god, 
Nor  harp  so  soft  has  ever  given 
A  strain  to  earth  or  sigh  to  heaven . 

"Then  tell  the  virgin  to  unfold, 
Li  looser  pomp,  her  locks  of  gold. 
And  bid  those  eyes  with  fonder  fire 
Be  kindled  for  a  god's  desire ;" 
Since  He,  who  lights  the  path  of  years — 
Even  from  the  fount  of  morning's  tears. 
To  wliere  his  sitting  splendours  burn 
Upon  the  western  sea-maid's  urn — 


1  This  poom  requiies  a  little  explanation.  It  is  well 
kr.own  tliiit,  in  the  ancient  tenii)lcs,  whenever  a  reverend 
priest,  like  the  supposed  auihur  of  the  invilalion  bet'oie  us, 
was  inspired  with  a  tender  inclination  towards  any  fair 
visitor  of  the  shrine,  and,  at  the  same  time,  felt  a  diHidence 
m  his  own  powers  of  persuasion,  he  had  but  to  proclaim 
that  the  God  himself  was  enamoured  of  her,  and  had  signi- 
fied his  divine  will  that  she  sliould  sleep  in  the  interior  of 
the  temple.  Maiiy  a  jiious  husband  connived  at  this  divine 
assignation,  and  even  declared  himself  pioud  of  the  selec- 
tion, with  which  his  family  had  been  distmguislied  by  the 
deity.  In  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Behis,  there  was  a  splendid 
bed  for  these  occasions.  In  Egyptian  Thebes  the  same 
mockery  was  practised,  and  at  the  oracle  of  Patara  in  Ly- 
cia,  the  priestess  never  could  prophesy  till  an  interview  with 
the  deity  was  allowed  her.  Tlie  story  which  we  read  in 
Joscpbus  (Lib.  xviii.  cap.  3.)  of  the  Roman  matron  Panlir)a, 
whom  the  priests  of  Isis,  for  a  bribe,  betrayed  in  this  niamier 
t.)  AFundus,  is  a  singular  instance  of  the  impudent  excess  to 
which  credulily  suffered  these  itni)ostures  to  be  carried. 
This  story  has  been  put  into  the  form  of  a  little  novtd,  under 
the  name  of  "  La  Pudicitia  Scbernila,"  by  the  licentious 
nnd  unfortunate  Pallavicino.  See  his  Opere  Sciitc,  torn.  i. 
I  have  made  my  priest  here  prefer  a  cave  to  the  temple. 

2  In  the  'Jlli  Pytbic  of  Pindar,  where  Apollo,  in  the  sau'e 
manner,  reipiires  of  Chiron  some  information  respecting  the 
fair  Cyreec,  the  Centaur,  in  obeying,  very  gravely  apolo- 
gizes for'teding  the  god  what  his  omniscience  nius-t  know  so 
perfectly  already; 

El  Js  y«  Xff  "*•  '^^P  o-o^'Oi'  xvTi(fifilxi 

3  Akk'  >i(  J»?vj>J'>i  yvscKx  iijiTOftxi  rxSs.  Kuripid. 
Inn.  V.  76. 

4  Ne  deve  parlorir  ammirntione  cb'  egli  si  pregiasse  di 
naver  una  Delta  coneornnle  nol  possesso  della  inogfie ; 
monire,  anclie,  mri  nosiri  sei-oli,  non  ostanie  cosi  rigorose 
legge  d'onorc,  trovasi  clii  s'ascrive  a  gloria  il  ved(!r  l:i  mo- 
iWn  hono''<tii  da  gl'  aniple^si  di  un  Principe. — Palianicino. 


Cannot,  in  all  his  course,  behold 
Such  eyes  of  fire,  such  hair  of  gold ! 
Tell  her,  he  comes,  in  blissful  pride, 
His  lip  yet  sparkling  with  tlie  tide, 
That  mantles  in  Olympian  bowls, 
The  nectar  of  eternal  souls  ! 
For  her,  for  her  he  quits  the  skies, 
And  to  her  kiss  from  nectar  flies. 
Oh !  he  \\ould  hide  his  wreath  of  rays, 
And  leave  tlie  world  to  pine  for  days, 
Might  he  but  pass  the  hours  of  shade, 
Imbosom'd  by  his  Delphic  maid — 
She,  more  than  earthly  woman  blest. 
He,  more  than  god  on  woman's  breast !" 

There  is  a  cave  beneath  the  steep,' 

Where  living  rills  of  crystal  weep 

O'er  herbage  of  the  loveliest  hue 

That  ever  spring  begem'd  with  dew  : 

There  oil  the  green  bank's  glossy  tint 

Is  brighten'd  by  the  amorous  print 

Of  many  a  faun  and  naiad's  form. 

That  still  upon  the  dew  is  warm, 

When  virgins  come,  at  peep  of  day, 

To  kiss  the  sod  where  lovers  lay  ! 

"  There,  there,''  the  god,  impassion'd,  said, 

"Soon  as  the  twilight  tinge  is  fled, 

And  the  dim  orb  of  lunar  souls- 

Along  its  shadowy  path-way  rolls — 

There  shall  we  find  our  bridal  bed. 

And  ne'er  did  rosy  rapture  spread, 

Not  even  in  Jove,  voluptuous  bowers, 

A  bridal  bed  so  blest  as  ours !" 

"  Tell  the  imperial  God,  who  reigns. 
Sublime  in  oriental  fanes. 
Whose  towering  turrets  paint  their  pride 
Upon  Euphrates'  pregnant  tide;' 
Tell  him,  when  to  his  midnight  loves 
In  mystic  majesty  he  moves. 


1  The  t'orycian  Cave,  which  Pausanias  mentions.  The 
inhabitants  of  Parnassus  held  it  sacred  to  the  Corycier 
nymphs,  who  were  children  of  the  river  Plistus. 

2  See  a  preceding  note,  page  119.  It  should  seem  that 
lunar  spirits  were  of  a  purer  order  than  spirits  in  general,  as 
Pythagoras  was  said  by  bis  followers  to  have  descended  from 
the  regions  of  the  moon.  The  heresiarch  Manes  too  ima- 
gined that  the  sun  and  moon  are  the  residence  of  Christ 
and  that  the  ascension  was  nothing  more  than  his  flight  l& 
those  orbs. 

3  The  temple  of  Jupiter  Bolus  at  Babylon,  which  con- 
sisted of  several  chapels  and  lowers.  "In  the  last  tower 
(says  Herodotus)  is  a  large  chapel,  in  which  there  lies  a  bed, 
very  siilendidly  ornamented,  and  beside  it  a  table  of  gold; 
but  there  is  no  statue  in  the  i)lace.  No  man  is  allowed  to 
sleep  here,  but  the  apartment  is  appropriated  to  a  female, 
whom,  if  we  believe  the  Chaldean  priests,  the  deity  selects 
from  the  women  of  the  country,  as  his  favourite." — Lib.  i 
cap.  181. 

The  poem  now  before  the  reader,  and  a  few  more  in  the 
[iresent  collection,  are  taken  from  a  work,  which  I  rather 
prematurely  announced  to  the  |)ublic,  and  which,  perhaps  verj 
luckily  for  myself,  was  interrupted  by  my  voyage  t<.  Ameri- 
ca. The  following  fragments  from  the  same  work  describe 
the  effect  of  one  of  these  invitations  of  Apollo  upon  th« 
mind  of  a  yotmg  enthusiastic  girl: — 

Delphi  heard  her  shrine  proclaim. 
In  oracles,  Iho  guilty  flame. 
Apollo  lov'd  my  yonthfnl  charms, 
Ajiollo  woo'd  ine  to  his  arms! — 
Sure,  sure  when  man  so  oft  allows 
Religion's  wreath  to  blinil  bis  brows. 
Weak  wondering  woman  must  believe, 
Where  pride  and  zeal  at  once  deceive- 


El'lSTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


130 


Lighted  by  many  an  odorous  fire, 
And  hymn'd  by  all  Clialdea's  choir — 
Oil !  tell  tlic  godhead  to  cont'ess, 
I'lie  pomijous  joy  delights  him  less, 
(Even  thougii  his  mighty  arms  enfold 
A  |)riestess  on  a  couch  of  gold) 
Than,  when  in  love's  uidiolicr  prank, 
By  inoonligiit  cave  or  rustic  bank, 
Upon  his  neck  some  wood-nymph  lies, 
Exhaling  from  her  lips  and  eyes 
The  tiame  and  incense  of  delight, 
To  sanctify  a  dearer  rite, 
A  mystery,  more  divinely  vvarm'd 
Than  priesthood  ever  yet  perform'd !" 

Happy  the  maid,  whom  Heaven  allows 
To  break  for  Heaven  her  virgin  vows  ! 
Happy  ilie  maid  I — her  robe  of  shame 
Is  whiten'd  by  a  heavenly  flame. 
Whose  glory,  with  a  lingering  trace, 
Shines  through  and  deifies  her  race ! 

Oh,  virgin !  what  a  doom  is  thine ! 
To-night,  to-night  a  lip  divine' 

When  flattery  takes  a  holy  vest, 

Oh!  'tis  loo  mucli  tor  woman's  breast  I 

How  often  ere  the  deslLii'd  time, 

VVhicli  was  to  seal  my  joys  sublime, 

How  often  did  I  trembling  run 

To  meet,  at  morn,  the  mounting  sun, 

And,  wbile  his  fervid  beam  he  tlirew 

U|)on  my  lips'  luxuriant  dew, 

I  thought — alas!  the  simple  dream — 

There  burn'd  a  kiss  in  every  be;im ; 

With  parted  lips  inlial'd  their  l-.eiit, 

And  sigli'd,  "  oh  god  !  thy  kiss  is  sweet!" 

Oft  too,  at  day's  meridian  hour, 
When  to  the  naiad's  gleaiiiy  bovver 
Our  virgins  sleal,  and,  blushing,  bide 
Their  beauties  in  the  folding  tide, 
If,  thniugii  the  grove,  whose  modest  arms 
Were  spread  around  my  robeless  cliarms, 
A  wandering  sunbeam  wanton  fell 
Where  lover's  looks  alone  sliould  dwell, 
Not  all  a  lover's  looks  of  flame 
Could  kindle  such  an  amorous  shume. 
It  was  the  sun's  admiring  glance, 
And,  as  I  felt  its  glow  advance 
O'er  my  young  beauties,  wildly  flush'd 
I  burn'd  and  pantcHl,  Ihrill'd  and  blush'd 


No  deity  at  midnight  came — 
The  lamps,  that  witness'd  all  my  shame, 
ReveaI'd  to  these  bewilder'd  eyes 
No  other  shape  than  earth  supplies  ; 
No  solar  light,  no  nectar'd  air. 
All,  all,  alas!  was  human  there: 
Woman's  faint  conflict,  virtue's  fall. 
And  passion's  victory — human  ah  1 

How  gently  must  the  guilt  of  love 
Be  charm'd  awiiy  by  Powers  above. 
When  men  possess  such  teniler  skill 
In  softening  crime  and  sweetening  ill ! 
'Twas  but  a  niglit,  and  morning's  rays 
Saw  me,  with  fond  forgiving  gaze. 
Hang  o'er  thi;  qniet  slumbering  breast 
■  Of  him  who  ruin'd  all  my  rest ; 
Him,  who  had  taught  these  eyes  to  weep 
Their  first  sad  tears,  and  yet  could  sleep  ! 

1  Fontcnelle,  in  his  pla'yful  rifacimento  of  the  learned 
materials  of  Van-Dale,  has  related  in  his  o«  n  inimitable 
manner  an  adventure  of  this  kind,  which  wiis  detected  and 
exposed  at  Alexandria.  See  l'  Historie.  dcs  Omcli'S.  se- 
conde  dissertnt.  chap.  vii.  Crebillon,  loo,  in  one  of  his  most 
anvising  little  stories,  has  made  the  Genie  Mange-Taupes. 


In  every  kiss  shall  stamp  on  thee 

A  seal  of  immortality  ! 

Fly  to  the  cave,  Aphelia,  (ly ; 

There  lose  the  world,  and  wed  the  sky! 

There  all  the  boundless  rapture  steal 

Which  gods  can  give,  or  woman  feel ! 


WOMAN. 
Away,  away — you're  all  the  same, 

A  fluttering,  smiling, jilting  throng! 
Oh !  by  my  soul,  I  burn  with  shame, 

To  think  I've  been  your  slave  so  long ! 

Slow  to  be  warm'd,  and  quick  to  rove, 
From  folly  kind,  from  cunning  loath, 

Too  cold  for  bliss,  too  weak  for  love, 
Yet  feigning  all  that 's  best  in  both. 

Still  panting  o'er  a  crowd  to  reign, 
More  joy  it  gives  to  woman's  breast 

To  make  ten  frigid  co.\combs  vain, 
Than  one  true,  manly  lover  blest ! 

Away,  away — your  smile  's  a  curse — 
Oh  !  blot  me  from  the  race  of  men, 

Ivind  pitying  He^'ven  !  by  death  or  worse, 
Before  I  love  such  things  again  ! 


BALLAD  STANZAS. 

I  KNEW  by  the  smoke  that  so  gracefully  curl'd 
Above  the  green  elms,  that  a  cottage  was  near. 

And  I  said,  "  if  there's  peace  to  be  found  in  the  world 
A  heart  that  was  humble  might  hope  for  it  here  1" 

It  was  noon,  and  on  flowers  that  languish'd  around 
In  silence  repos'd  the  voluptuous  bee ; 

Every  leaf  was  at  rest,  and  I  heard  not  a  sound 
But  the  wood-pecker  tapping  the  hollow  beech-ireo 

And  "  Here  in  this  lone  little  wood,''  1  exclaim'd, 
"  W  ith  a  maid  who  was  lovely  to  soul  and  to  eye, 

Who  would  blush  when  I  prais'd  her,  and  weep  if  ] 
blam'd. 
How  blest  could  I  live,  and  how  calm  could  I  die ' 

"  By  the  shade  of  yon  sumach,  whose  red  berry  dips 
In  the  gush  of  the  fountain,  how  sweet  to  recline, 

And  to  know  that  I  sigh'd  upon  innocent  lips. 
Which  had  never  been  sigh'd  on  by  any  but  mine  1" 


TO 


KO^El  TA  'MATATA.         Euripides 

1803. 


Come,  take  the  harp — 'tis  vain  to  muse 
Upon  the  gathering  ills  we  see ; 

Oh !  take  the  harp,  and  let  me  lose 
All  thoughts  of  ill  in  hearing  thee  ! 


of  the  Isle  Jominille,  assiTt  this  privilege  ol  spiritual  beings 
in  a  mamiiT  very  formidable  'o  I  he  hu>bands  of  the  island 
He  says,  however,  "  Les  maris  oni  Ih  pbiisir  de  r<"S!er  ton 
lours  dans  le  doule;  en  pareil  cas,  n'est  une  ressnurrc  ' 


140 


JMOORE'S  WORKS, 


Sing  to  me,  love  ! — though  death  were  near, 
Tliy  song  could  make  my  soul  forget — 

Nav,  nay,  in  piiy  dry  that  tear, 
All  may  be  well,  be  liappy  yet ! 

Let  me  but  see  that  snowy  arm 
Once  more  upon  the  dear  harp  lie. 

And  1  will  cease  to  dream  of  harm. 
Will  smile  at  fate,  while  thou  art  nigh  ! 

Give  me  that  strain  of  mournful  touch, 
We  us'd  to  love  long,  long  ago, 

Before  our  hearts  had  known  as  much 
As  now,  alas  !  they  bleed  to  know  ! 

Sweet  notes  !  they  tell  of  former  peace. 
Of  all  that  look'd  so  rapturous  then : 

Now  wither'd,  lost — oh  !  pray  thee,  cease, 
1  cannot  bear  those  sounds  again  ! 

An  thou  too,  wretched?  yes,  thou  art; 

I  see  thy  tears  flow  fast  with  mine — 
Come,  come  to  this  devoted  heart, 

'Tis  breaking,  but  it  still  is  thine  ! 


holy 


A  VISION  OF  PHILOSOPHY. 

'TwAs  on  the  Red  Sea  coast,  at  morn,  we  met 
The  venerable  man  :'  a  virgin  bloom 
Of  softness  mingled  with  the  vigorous  thought 
That  tower'd  upon  his  brow ;  as  when  we  see 
The  gentle  moon  and  the  full  radiant  sun 
Shining  in  heaven  together.     When  he  spoke, 
'Twas    language    sweeten'd   into   song — such 

sounds 
As  oft  the  spirit  of  the  good  man  hears, 
Prelusive  to  the  harmony  of  heaven. 
When  death  is  nigh !-  and  still,  as  he  unclos'd 
His  sacred  lips,  an  odour,  all  as  bland 
As  oceau-breezes  gather  from  the  flowers 
That  blossom  in  elysiura,'  breath'd  around  ! 
With  silent  awe  we  listen'd,  while  he  told 
Of  the  dark  veil,  which  many  an  age  had  hung 
O'er  Nature's  form,  till  by  the  touch  of  Time 
The  mystic  shroud  grew  thin  and  luminous, 
And  half  the  goddess  beam'd  in  glimpses  through  it! 
Of  magic  wonders,  that  were  known  and  taught 
By  him  (or  Cham  or  Zoroaster  nam'd) 

1  III  Pluuirch's  Essay  on  the  Decline  nf  the  Uracles, 
Cleoiiibrolii^i,  une  of  the  iiiturlo':utors,  describes  an  ext  a- 
oriliiuiy  iiiaii  whom  he  had  met  with,  alter  long  research, 
ii|H)ii  the  l):i!il;s  of  the  Red  Sea.  Once  in  every  year  tliis 
KU|)eriiatural  personage  appeared  to  mortals,  hnd  conversed 
wilh  them  ;  the  rest  of  his  time  he  passed  iimmig  the  Genii 
and  the  Nymphs.     iUf,i  ti)i/  ifji-fixv  crxXao-o-av  ivpov,  xv- 

^pwWO*;    XVX   TTXV     STflf     XTTX^     6  VTU^%  ZVO  V  T «,  TXKKX     Si     CUV 

roetf  vv/i<fxif,  vi/ix(ri  xa»  Sxi/ii(ri,  tig  S(?»(rxe.  He  spoke 
in  a  tone  not  fiir  removed  from  singing,  and  whenever  lie 
opened  his  lips,  a  fragrunce  filled  the  place:  <f^iyyo,utvi>u 
St  rav  rOTT-iv  su^yi'ia  xxrii^s,  too  frioixxTog  ^Sttnov  xTTfiTrvi- 
ovTO{.  From  him  Cleumbrotus  learned  the  doctrine  of  a 
plurality  of  worlds. 

2  1  he  celeliraied  .lanus  Doiiftn,  a  little  before  his  death, 
imagined  thai  he  hoard  a  strain  of  music  in  the  air.  See 
llie  poem  of  ilc.insius  "in  hiirinoni:irn  qnani  pauIo  ante 
iib'l.iin  audiro  Hibi  visus  est  Ooiisii."     Page  50]. 


an 


»V(Xt    JI-Sfl-T 

iifix  Si  -jCiM 


(pXiyfi 


Pindar.  Oli/inp.  ii. 


Who  mus'd  amid  the  mighty  cataclysm, 
O'er  his  rude  tablets  of  priinev.ii  lore,' 
Nor  let  the  living  star  of  science^  sink 
Beneath  the  waters  which  ingulf'd  the  world  ! — 
Of  visions,  by  Calliope  reveal'd 
To  hini,^  who  Irat'd  upon  his  typic  lyre 
The  diapason  of  man's  mingled  frame. 
And  the  grand  boric  heptachord  of  Heaven! 
With  all  of  pure,  of  wondrous  and  arcane, 
Wliich  the  giave  sons  of  Mochus,  many  a  night, 
Told  to  the  young  and  briglit-hair'd  visitant 
Of  Cariael's  sacred  mount  1* — Then,  in  a  flow 


1  Cliani,  the  son  of  Noah,  is  supposed  to  liave  taken  with 
him  into  the  ark  the  jirincipal  doctrines  oi'  magical,  or  ralhei 
ol  natural,  science,  u.iicli  he  had  inscribed  upon  some  very 
durable  substances,  in  order  that  they  miijht  resist  the 
ravages  uf  tlie  deluge,  and  transmit  the  secrets  of  antedilu- 
vian knowledge  to  Ins  posteiily. — See  the  extracts  made  by 
Uayle,  in  his  article  Chain.  The  identity  of  Cliani  and  Zo- 
roaster depends  upon  he  authority  of  Berosus,  or  the  im- 
postor Aniiius,  ami  a  lew  mote  sucli  respectable  testimonies 
See  Maade's  jipoLogie  punr  Us  Grands  Homines,  etc. 
Cna|).  8,  where  he  taKes  more  trouble  than  is  necessary  in 
tefuiing  this  gratuitous  supposition. 

•Z  Chamum  a  posieris  hujus  unis  admiratoribus  Zoroas- 
irnm,  seu  vivuni  astrum,ino|)teiea  fuisse  dictum  etpio  Deo 
habituni. — Buchart.  Ocoi^raph.  .S'acr.  lib.  iv.  cap.  i. 

'i  Orpheus. — Paulinus,  in  his  Hcbiiuniades,  Cap.  ii.  L'b. 
iii.  has  endeavoured  to  show,  afti^r  the  Platonists,  that  man 
IS  a  diapason,  made  up  of  a  diatesseion,  which  is  his  soul, 
and  a  diapente,  which  is  his  body.  Thise  frequent  allusions 
to  music,  by  which  the  ancient  iihilosi^phers  illustrated  their 
sublime  theories,  must  have  tended  ver)  much  to  elevate 
ihe  character  of  the  art,  and  to  enrich  it  with  associations 
of  I  he  grandest  and  most  interesting  nature.  See  a  pre- 
ceding note,  page  107,  for  their  ideas  upon  the  harmony  ol 
the  spheres.  Heraclitus  compared  Ihe  mixture  of  good  and 
evil  in  this  world  to  the  blended  varieties  of  harmony  in  a 
iiiiislcal  instrument:  {Plutarch  de  Jlnima:  Procreat.)  and 
Euryphainus  llic  Pylhagorean,  in  a  fragment  preserved  by 
Sioba;us,  describes  human  life,  in  its  perfection,  as  a  sweet 
and  well-iuned  lyre.  Some  of  the  ancients  were  so  fanciful 
as  to  sup|iosB  that  the  operations  of  the  memory  were  regu- 
lated by  a  kind  of  musical  cadence,  and  that  ideas  occurred 
to  it  "  per  arsin  et  Ihesin  ;"  while  others  converted  the  whole 
man  into  a  mere  harmonized  machine,  whose  motion  de- 
pended upon  a  certain  tension  of  the  body,  analogous  lollial 
id'  Ihe  strings  in  an  instrument.  Cicero  indeed  ridicules 
Afistoxenus  lor  this  fancy,  and  says,  "  let  him  teach  singing, 
and  leave  philosophy  to  Aristotle ;"  but  Aristotle  himself, 
though  decidedly  opposed  to  the  harmonic  speculations  ol 
ihe  Pythagoreans  and  Platonists,  could  sometimes  conde- 
scend to  enliven  his  doctrines  by  reference  to  tiie  beauties 
of  iTiusical  science;  as,  in  the  (realise  ITjpi  xoo-jfcou,  attri- 
buted to  him,  Ka3-»;7-£p  Si  ev  jjopai,  xopu^aiou  xoeTotfJ^vroj. 

X.   T.   \. 

The  Abb6  Batteux,  upon  the  doctrine  of  the  Stoics,  allri- 
Iniles  to  those  philosophers  the  same  mode  of  illustration. 
"  I>'anie  6tait  cause  active,  ^amv  xinc,-,  le  corps  cause 
passive  >)J£  TOO  Trxtrxt^v.  L'une  agissint  dans  I'autre;  et 
y  prenant,  par  son  action  mfime,  un  caractere,  des  formes, 
des  modilii:at:ons,  (ju'elle  n'avait  pas  par  elle-meme :  a  peu 
pres  conime  Pair,  (|ui,  chassi;  dans  un  instrument  de  musitpie, 
fait  connairre  par  les  diflerens  sons  qu'il  produit,  les  dill'er- 
eiites  modifications  tpi'il  y  recoit."  See  a  fine  simile  ol 
this  kinil  in  Cardinal  Polip-nac'.i  Poem,  Lib.  5.  v.  734. 

4  Pythagoras  is  represented  in  Jamblichus  as  descending 
Willi  great  solemnity  from  Mount  Carmel,  for  which  reason 
Ihe  Carmelites  have  claimed  hiin  as  one  of  their  fraternity. 
This  Mochiis  or  Mosi-im--,  >riih  the  descendants  of  wlunn 
Pythagoras  conversed  in  Phirnicia,  and  from  whom  he  de- 
rived the  doctrines  of  atomic  philosophy,  is  supposeil  by 
some  to  be  the  same  with  Moses.  Hui'tt  has  adopted  this 
id"a,  Denionstraliun  cransreligni^.,  Prop.  iv.  cliiip.  2.  ^7; 
and  LeClerc,  amongst  others,  has  refuted  it.  See  Bthlioth. 
choisit!,  tom.  i.  p.  7.5. — It  is  certain,  Imwover,  that  the  doc- 
trine of  atoms  was  known  and  promulgited  lon^  before  Epi- 
curus. "  With  Ihe  fountains  of  nemocritiis,"  says  Cicero, 
"the  gardens  of  Rpicuriis  were  watered;"  and  indeed  the 
learned  author  of  Ihe  Intrlhitaal  f^ystrw  has  shown,  tliai 
all  till'  eirlv  p'lil.Kopli'rs,  till  l!'n  time  of  Plalo,  wore  nlom 
isls.  We  find  l";ii'-urMs,  liiiwever,  no-is>in,T  that  his  wni\i. 
were   new   and   iiiiliorrowed,  anil   nerhans   few   ainoni;  the 


ei'J«tll:s,  odes,  etc 


Ul 


Of  calmer  converse,  he  beguil'd  us  on 
Through  many  a  maze  ol'  garden  and  ol"  porcli, 


iiiciuiils  liiid  iL  HUuiigur  (.uiiiii  tu  uri;,'iiiiiluy ;  I'ui,  in  tiulli 
It'  wu  uviiiiiiiiu  iliuir  aciiould  ui  j>liiiui>u)<jiy,  iiulwillus  iiiKtiui 
Om  (juculiiiriiic'ii  winch  buciii  Id  dislniyuisii  iliuin  Ir.jni  oaci 
I'lliL-r,  we  may  genuiully  obsuivu  llnil  iliu  ililtcicncu-  it.  I>ul 
voi'biil  and  trilling,  and  lliui,ainung  liiusu  various  and  learn 
ed  tierutiies,  tlierc  is  scaicoly  oiiu  lu  Ue  selected,  wtiose  iipi 
nions  are  its  own,  unginal,  and  exclusive.  Tlie  dueiriiie  ul 
the  world's  eternity  may  be  iruced  tlirougli  all  the  se 
Tlie  continual  iiietem))sycliosis  of  I'ytiiagoias,  the  giand 
periodic  year  ol"  the  Sioics,  i,at  the  coiioIumou  ul  which  the 
univeise  is  supposed  to  reiurn  to  Us  or:giii;il  erder,  and 
commiiice  a  new  revolnlion,)  the  successive  dissolution  and 
combination  of  alums  maintained  by  Uie  Kjiicureans,  all 
these  leneis  are  but  dili'erent  iiilnnaiiuiis  ol'  ihe  same  gene 
rul  belief  in  the  eternity  of  the  world.  As  rit.  Austin  ex- 
plains the  peiiodic  yearol' the  J^iuics,  it  disagrees  only  so  lar 
with  the  idea  ol'llie  I'ytliagureai.s,  iliat  instead  uT  an  endless 
lr:insmissiuii  of  the  suul  tliruugh  a  variety  ui  bodies,  it 
stores  the  same  body  and  suul  to  rejieal  their  former  round 
111  existence,  and  "tiiat  identioul  I'lalo,  who  lectured  in  the 
/^cadellly  ol  Alliens,  shall  ag.iin  and  again,  at  certain  inter- 
vals during  the  lapse  of  e.ermiy,  uirpear  in  the  same  academy 
and  resume  the  same  functions — "  ....  sic  cailein  leiiipoia 
temporaliununie  rerum  voluniina  repe:i,  ul  v.g.  sicui  in  isto 
saculo  Plalu  philosopluis  in  urbe  Aiheiiiensi,  in  ea  schoia 
qu;e  Academia  dicta  est,  discijiulos  docuit,  ita  per  iiinuine 
riibilia  retro  sajcula,  inultum  plexis  quidem  iniervallis,  sed 
certis,  et  idem  Piuio,  el  eadein  civilus,  eademque  sehola, 
iidemque  discipuli  repeliti  et  per  innumerabilia  delude  s;ecnla 
repeteiuii  sint — de  Civilat.  I)ei.  lib.  xii.  cap.  13.  Vanini, 
in  his  dialogues,  has  given  us  a  similar  explicauon  of  tl 
periodic  levoluiions  of  tne  world.  "  Ea  de  causa,  qui  nunc 
sunt  in  tisu  riius,  centies  inillies  fucrunt,  loticsquc  renascen- 
lur  ()uoties  ceciderunl." — 52. 

Tlie  paradoxical  noiions  of  the  Stoics,  upon  the  beauty, 
the  riches,  ihe  doinniion  of  their  imagiiiaiy  sage,  are  iiinong 
the  mub!  distinguishnig  chaructpristics  of  the  »cliool,  and, 
according  lo  iln  ir  udvocate  Lipsius,  were  jiecuiiar  lo  tha, 
sect.  '■  i'riora  ilia  ^decreta)  qu;e  passim  in  philosupliantium 
scholis  fere  obiinenl,  ista  qua;  peciiliaria  huic  seca;  et  ha- 
bent  contrarlictionem:  i.  e.  paradoxa." — Manaiiuct  ail 
Stoic.  PliHos.  lib.  iii.  disserlat.  -2.  But  it  is  evident  (as 
he  Abbe  (iariiier  has  remarked,  Jlenioires  de,  VJicad.  torn. 
35.)  that  even  these  absurdities  of  ihe  stoics  are  b.rrowed, 
and  that  Plato  is  the  source  of  all  their  extravagant  para- 
doxes. We  find  their  dogma,  ''dives  (|ui  sa|)iens,"  (which 
Clement  of  Alexandria  has  transferred  from  the  Philusophur 
to  the  Christian,  I'alagug.  I'lb.  iii.  cap.  (5.)  expressed  iJi  the 
prayer  of  Socrates  at  the  end  uf  the  Phoedrus.  i2  ?y.i  llai- 
Tt  xxi  xKKo^  00-04  Tit^E  -9"£0*,  5ci>)TS  fiOt  xxKui  ysvsiTCrxt  TXV- 
Sa^iV  Tjejuj-jiv  Si  oa-x  l%ii,  roif  siroj  £ik*j  /x^k  ?i^ix' 
7r\K(j-»ov  it  v^i.::'^oi,ui  ToiToiov.  And  many  other  instances 
iniglii  be  adduced  from  the  Ai'Tsp:co-T!«i,  the  IIoaitixo;,  etc. 
to  prove  that  these  weeds  of  paradox,  were  gathered  among 
the  bowers  of  the  Academy.  Hence  it  is  that  Cicero,  in  llie 
preface  to  his  Paradoxes,  calls  ihcin  Socratica  ;  and  Lipsius, 
bxuliing  in  the  palionage  of  ."'ocraies,  says,  "  Ille  tutus  i.si 
noster."  This  is  indeed  a  coalition  which  evinces  as  much 
as  can  be  yished  the  confused  i-iniililude  of  ancient  philo- 
sophical opinions:  the  father  of  scepticism  is  here  eniollcd 
Binengst  the  founders  of  the  Portico  ;  he,  whose  best  know- 
ledge was  that  of  his  own  ignorance,  is  ctilled  in  to  authorize 
the  pretensions  of  the  most  obslinaie  dogmatists  in  all  an- 
:i(iuity. 

Uutilius,  in  his  ftinerarium,  h:is  ridiculed  the  sabbath  of 
ttie  .lews,  as  "  lassati  mollis  imago  Dei;"  but  Epi'uriis  gave 
an  eternal  holiday  to  his  gods,  ami,  rather  than  disturb  the 
(iliinihers  of  Olympus,  denied  at  once  Ihe  innrference  of  a 
Providence.  He  does  nut,  however,  siem  to  have  been  sin- 
;:idar  in  this  opinion.  Theophilus  of  Antiuch,  if  he  d-.'serve 
any  creilii,  in  a  leitiT  to  Autolycus,  lib.  iii.  inipulcs  a  simi- 
lar belief  to  Pythagoras.  ?>!0-i  (ITu  jxyoj  x,-)  ts  tx'v  ttxvtwv 
irss;  xi'^-f  .o.Tioi/  fi>i^iv  afovTiCi'V,  and  Plutarch,  though  so 
hostile  to  the  followeis  of  Epicurus,  has  unaccountalili 
ad  •p'"il  thr;  very  same  theological  error;  havHig  quoted  the 
cpiiiiuns  of  .Anaxagoras  and  Plato  upon  divinity,  he  adds, 
KotvjL^  Kr  x,ux^Txv^iriv  a/«c:or;fDi,  or*  Tov  ^!cv  STTOii-frxv 
s^rio-Tspoyusvoi'  Tojv  xvtfumvi'v.  J)e  Placil-  Philosnph, 
lib.  i.  cap.  7. — Plato  iiimself  has  attributed  a  de^^ree  of  in- 
riilTerence  to  the  gods,  which  Is  not  far  removed  from  the 
apathy  of  Epicnrus'shoaven;  as  thus,  in  his  Philebus,  where 
Piotari'hus  asks,  Ouxsi'  iixo»  yi  »ts  xxifnv  -Jss,,  sts  to 
sixfTiow;  and  Socr:ites  answeis,  n»i'u  iiiv  ouv  jixor,  x<7xy\- 
(i^v  youv  xiTiiv  i/.  xTipoi'  y  lyvcfiivov  kttiv  :  while  Aristotle 
•upposes  a  still  i^porf  absurd  luuiraiitv.  and  concludes,  bv  no 


Through  many  a  system,  wliere  the  scatter'd  light 
Oi'  heavenly  truth  lay,  like  a  broKcn  beam 


veiy  llulieiillg  uiia.ugy,  Ihai  llie  lli.ily  Is  as  iii<  upuhlu  uf  vir 
tue  af  ol  v.ce:  K»i  y  xg  jiir-,^  om^iv  j^^h\,  «ini  x^tix,  oui' 
»ftr)(,  oui  jDj  ou'ii  a.iu. —  t.mic.  jYicun.aiii.  lib.  vii.  cap.  1 
111  iruili,  Aribtulie,  ujiuii  Hie  subject  ui  I'ruvidelice,  was  little 
mure  currect  tliaii  Kpieuius.  lie  suj/p>;sed  ihc  iiiuuii  tu  be  the 
liniitul  divine  inierieteiice,  excludiiifj  ul  cuur^e  thissubiunai) 
wurld  from  its  iiitliieiice.  'i'hu  hrsi  dehnitiuii  ul  tlie  uuild, 
III  ins  lieatisu  ll-$<  xor/uou,  (if  this  ireatis^;  be  really  the 
work  01  Arisioiie,;  agrees,  aliiiust  verbuni  verbu,  with  tlial 
in  the  letter  ul  bpicurus  lo  Pythucles;  Ihcy  huili  oii.it  the 
nieiitiun  ol  a  deity ;  and,  in  Ins  Kthics,  lie  iniiiiiutes  a  duiibl 
whether  the  guds  feel  any  interebl  in  tne  cuncuriis  of  muji 
kind.  El  yx(  tij  tTniUKiix  rmv  aw jj jukivjuv  ujro  Jtiu. 
yivirxi.  it  IS  true,  he  adus,  'i.lc-—i(  ioxti,  but  even  this  is 
very  sceptical. 

In  these  erroneous  conceptions  of  Aristotln,  we  trace  the 
cause  of  that  general  neglect,  which  his  philusujiliy  expe- 
rienced among  ihe  early  Clirisiiaiis.  Pialu  is  selduiii  niui  h 
more  ortlmdox  ;  but  the  obsciiie  enihusiasm  uf  his  style  al- 
lowed Iheiii  to  interpret  all  his  .ancles  to  llieir  purpose  ;  such 
glowing  steel  w as  easily  iiiuulUtd,  and  Plaiuiiism  became  a 
skNord  in  the  hands  uf  the  faihers. 

The  Providence  of  the  Stuics,  so  vaunted  in  their  school, 
was  a  iiower  as  contemptibly  meiiicient  as  the  resi.  All 
was  tale  in  the  sy.sleniol  the  Porliro.  'I'lie  chains  ul  destiny 
were  thrown  over  Jupiter  hiinsell,  and  their  deity  was  like 
lioigia,  et  Caisaret  in  ml.  j\ut  even  ilie  language  uf  beneca 
can  leconcile  this  degradation  of  divinity :  •'  Ille  ipse  umiii- 
uni  conditor  ac  rector  scripsit  (|uidum  fata,  seil  sequiiur; 
semper  paret,  semel  jussit."     J.il/.  de  I'ruvidcnlid,  Cap.  5. 

VVitli  resjiect  to  the  ditference  between  theSious, Perijia- 
telics,  and  Academicians,  the  following  words  of  Cicero, 
j  ruve  that  he  saw  but  lilile  to  distingiii.-h  iheiii  tioni  each 
other:  "Perijialeticus  et  Acadeniicos,  numniiljiis  diilerenles, 
re  congrueiilLs;  a  quibus  Stoici  ipsi  verbis  iiiagis  quam 
senttiiiiis  dissen.seruni."  .icudciiiit.  lib.  ii.  5.,  and  peihaps 
what  Keiil  has  rum.uked  upon  one  of  ilieir  points  of  contro- 
versy might  be  applied  as  eii'eclually  to  the  recuiicileinenl 
of  all  tlie  rest:  ''The  dispute  between  the  Siuics  and 
Perijiatetics  was  probiibly  all  fur  waiil  of  definition.  The 
one  said  they  were  good  under  the  control  ui'  leason,  the 
uthiT  that  they  should  be  eradicated."  A'.v.vaj.v,  vol.  iii. 
(n  short,  from  the  little  which  1  know  upon  the  subject,  it 
app<  ars  tu  me  as  ditiicult  tu  establish  tne  buundaries  of 
opinion  between  any  two  of  the  philosophical  sects,  as  it 
would  be  to  lix  the  land-marks  uf  those  estates  in  the  moon, 
which  Kicciulus  so  generously  allotted  to  his  brother  us 
tionoiners.  Accordingly  we  observe  some  of  the  grealisi 
men  of  anti()uity  passing  without  scruple  I'roin  scliool  to 
school,  according  to  the  fancy  or  convenience  of  the  nio- 
iinn;.  Cicero,  the  father  of  Roman  philosophy,  is  .-onie- 
tiiiies  an  Academician,  sometimes  a  Stoic;  and,  more  than 
once,  he  acknowledges  a  conforiniiy  with  Ejiicurus  :  "  nun 
sine  causa  igitur,  Epicurus  ausus  est  diceie  siMiijier  in  plu 
ribus  bonis  esse  sapicntem,  quia  semper  sii  in  vuluplatibiis." 
'J'lisculan.  QiitEst.  lib.  v. — Though  often  pure  in  his  theo 
iogy,  he  sometimes  smiles  at  futurity  as  a  tiction;  thus,  in 
his  Oration  for  Ciueiitius,  speaking  uf  punishments  in  the 
life  tu  come,  he  says,  "  Uu;e  si  falsa  sunt,  id  quod  omnes 
inteligunt,  ijuidei  tandem  aliud  niorseripuit,  pra;ter  sensuni 
doloris?"  though  here  perluijis  we  should  do  him  justice  by 
agreeing  with  his  comnieiit.iior  Sylvius,  who  remarks  upon 
this  passage,  "  Haicuulem  dixit,  ut  ciiusie  sua"  snhserviiet." 
Horace  roves  like  a  buticrlly  through  the  schools,  and  now 
wings  along  the  walls  of  the  Porch,  and  now  bayks  among 
the  flowers  of  the  Garden  ;  while  Virgil,  with  a  toncof  mind 
strongly  philosophical,  htis  left  us  uncertain  of  the  sect 
which  he  espoused;  the  b  dance  of  opinion  declares  him  an 
Epiciireiin,  but  the  ancient  author  of  his  life  asserts  that  he 
was  an  Academician,  and  .ve  trai:e  through  his  poetry  the 
tones  of  ahnost  all  the  leading  sects.  The  s.inie  kind  of 
ell  ctric  indiiVeierice  is  ob>crvable  in  most  of  the  Pcinac 
writers.  Thus  Propertius.  'mi  the  fine  elegy  of  Cynthia,  or 
his  departure  fur  Athens, 

Illic  vel  studiis  animuni  emendare  Platonis, 
Incipitim,  out  hortis,  docte  Epicure,  luis. 

Lib.  iii.  Eleg.  21 
Though  Broukhusius  here  reads,  "  dux  Epicure,"  whicn 
sncni*  to  fix  the  poet  under  the  banners  of  Epicurus.  Even 
the  Slo'C  S  neca,  whose  doctrines  have  been  considircd  sb 
orthodox,  that  St.  Jerome  has  ranked  him  amongst  the 
pcdesiastical  writers,  and  !?•  coacrio,  in  his  ciniineninr* 
upon  Daiih-,  has  doubled,  (in  ronsidera'ion  uf  the  philosi' 
pher's   supposed    corresnondince  with  St.  P«ii',1    wheln>" 


142 


MOOIIF.'S  \VORK?s. 


From  the  pure  sun,  which,  though  retracted  all 

Into  a  thousand  hues,  is  sunshine  still,' 

And  bright  through  every  ciiangel — he  spoke  of  Ilim, 

The  lone,-  eternal  One  who  dwells  above, 

And  of  the  soul's  untraceable  descent 

From  that  high  fount  of  spirit,  through  the  grades 

Of  intellectual  being,  till  it  mix 

With  atoms  vague,  corruptible,  and  dark ; 

Nor  even  then,  though  sunk  in  earthly  dross, 

Corrupted  all,  nor  its  ethereal  touch 

Quite  lost,  but  tasting  of  the  fountain  still! 

As  some  bright  river,  which  has  roH'd  along 

Through  meads  of  flowery  hght  and  mines  of  gold. 

When  pour'd  at  length  into  the  dusky  deep. 

Disdains  to  mingle  with  its  briny  taint, 

But  keeps  awhile  the  pure  and  golden  tinge, 

The  balray  freshness  of  the  fields  it  left  P 

And  here  the  old  man  ceased — a  winged  train 
Of  nymphs  and  genii  led  him  from  our  eyes. 
The  fair  illusion  tied  ;  and,  as  1  wak'd, 
I  knew  my  visionary  soul  had  been 
Among  that  people  of  aerial  dreams 
Who  live  upon  the  burning  galaxy  l* 


D.iule  siiouUI  liiive  i)liiceii  lurn  in  LiiiiLio  uilh  tin.;  restol'llju 
Pa{;:uis — iliu  ligitl  !Sf;iiuc;a  has  besiovveil  such  comiii.iida- 
tiiiiis  on  Epicurus,  thai  it'  only  those  passages  of  liis  uoilv» 
weie  preserved  lo  us,  wo  could  not,  1  think,  hesilule  In  pio- 
nounciiig  him  an  lipicurean.  In  the  same  manner  we  linil 
I'orphyry,  in  his  work  upon  abstinence,  reterriiig  lo  lijucnrus 
as  an  example  of  the  most  slrict  Pythagorean  teni|ieraiice  ; 
and  JLiancelotli,  the  autliur  of  Farfailoni  dcgli  aiilicln 
Islorici,  has  been  seduced  by  this  grave  reputation  of  Ljii- 
cnrusinio  the  absurd  error  of  associating  him  with  Chrysi|)- 
pus,  as  a  chief  of  the  Stoic  Kchool.  'I'here  is  no  doubt, 
indeed,  that  however  llie  Epicurean  sect  miglu  have  relaxed 
from  iis  original  ])uriiy,  the  morals  of  its  founder  were  as 
correct  as  those  of  any  among  the  ancient  philosophers  ;  and 
rijs  doctrines  ujion  pleasure,  as  explained  in  the  letter  to 
MencDceus,  are  rational,  amiable,  and  consistent  with  our 
nature.  M.  de  Sablons,  in  Ins  (irmids  huinmcs  vcnges  ex- 
presses strong  indignation  against  the  Encycloj)6distes  lor 
their  just  and  animated  praises  of  Epicurus,  and  discussing 
the  (|uostion,  "si  ce  philosophe  6tait  vertueux,"he  denies  it 
upon  no  other  authority  than  the  calumnies  collected  by 
Plutarch,  who  himself  confesses  that,  on  this  parlicular  sub- 
ject, he  consulted  only  opinion  and  report,  without  pausing 
to  invesligale  their  truth.  AkKx  rifv  Jo  J:tp>)  ou  tijv  xKi^tiixv 
■mo^ou/ti)!'.  To  the  factious  zeal  of  his  illiberal  rivals  the 
Stoics,  Epicurus  owed  these  gross  misrepresentations  of  the 
iife  and  opinions  of  himself  and  his  associates,  which,  not- 
withstanding the  learned  exertions  of  (Jassendi,  have  still 
left  an  odium  on  the  name  of  his  jihilosojihy  ;  and  we  ought 
to  examine  llie  ancient  accounts  of  Epicurus  wiih  llie*same 
degree  of  cautions  belief  which,  in  rending  ecclesiastical 
liislory,  we  yield  to  the  declamations  (ff  the  fatheis  against 
the  heretics  ;  trusting  as  Utile  to  Plutarch  upon  a  dogma  of 
this  |ihihis.,pher,  as  we  would  to  St.  Cyril  upon  a  tenet  of 
N. storms.     (1801.) 

The  preceding  remarks,  I  wish  the  reailer  to  observe, 
were  written  'it  a  time  when  I  thought  the  sliidies  lo  uhicli 
lliey  refer  ,nuch  mure  important  and  much  more  amusip" 
than,  I  freely  confess,  they  ap(iear  to  me  at  ))rosent. 

1  Ijaclanlius  asserts  thai  all  the  truthsof  Christianity  may 
!)e  l()!inrl  dispersed  tlirongh  the  ancient  philosuphical  sects, 
Hnd  llial  any  om'  wlm  woiilil  collect  these  scatieriid  frag- 
ments of  orthodoxy,  might  form  a  code  in  no  respin-t  ditfer- 
liig  from  that  of  the  Christian.  "Si  cxtitisstd  aliiiuis,  (|ui 
veritaiern  sparsam  per  singulos  pi^r  sectascpie  ditTusam 
CoMigerel  in  iiniim,  ac  redigerel  in  corpus,  is  profecto  mm 
ilissentiret   i  nobis." — Inxt.  lib.  vi.  c.  7. 

H  This  fine  Phiionic  image  I  have  taken  from  a  passage 
Father  Houchet's  letter  upon  the  iMelempsyclmsis,  in- 
pprted  in  Vir.arVs  Ccrim.     Urliir.  tom.  iv. 

4  .According  to  Pythagoras,  the  people  of  Dreams  are 
I'lUls  colltfctfd  togcilic  in  the  Galaxy.  An/uof  is  onip-jr, 
»  »Ti»  liu7xj'5p»i',  XI  'v-J^y,!  k;  <r\ivuyiirbxi  si((riv  fi?  '  ^v 
,   »>  xfixi.— /'nr/;/;«r.  ,//•  ,  /,i/r(i  .Kllmph. 


TO 


The  world  had  just  begun  to  steal 
Each  hope  that  led  me  lightly  on, 

1  felt  not,  as  I  us'd  to  feel. 

And  life  grew  dark  and  love  was  gone' 

No  eye  to  mingle  sorrow's  tear. 
No  lip  to  mingle  pleasure's  breath, 

No  tongue  to  oal!  me  kind  and  dear — 
'Twas  gloomy,  and  I  wish'd  for  death  ! 

But  when  I  saw  that  gentle  eye. 
Oh  !  something  seem'd  to  tell  me  then, 

That  I  was  j'et  too  young  to  die, 

And  hope  and  bliss  might  bloom  again  I 

With  every  beamy  smile,  that  cross'd 
Your  kindling  cheek,  .you  lighted  home 

Some  feeling  which  my  heart  had  lost. 

And  peace,  which  long  had  learn'd  to  roam 

'Twas  then  indeed  so  sweet  to  live, 
Hope  look'd  so  new,  and  love  so  kind, 

That,  though  I  weep,  1  still  forgive 
The  ruin,  which  they've  left  behind ! 

I  could  have  lov'd  you — oh  so  well ; — 
The  dream,  that  wishing  boyhood  knows, 

Is  but  a  bright  beguiling  spell. 

Which  only  lives,  while  passion  glows  : 

But  when  this  early  flush  declines, 
When  the  heart's  vivid  morning  fleets, 

You  know  not  then  how  close  it  twines 
Round  the  first  kindred  soul  it  meets  ! 

Yes,  yes,  I  could  have  lov'd,  as  one 

Who,  while  his  youth's  enchantments  fall. 

Finds  something  dear  to  rest  upon. 
Which  paj's  him  for  the  loss  of  all ! 


DREAMS. 


TO 


In  slumber,  I  prithee  how  is  it 

That  souls  are  oft  taking  the  air, 
And  paying  each  other  a  visit. 

While  bodies  are — Heaven  knows  where? 

Last  night,  'tis  in  vain  to  deny  it, 

Your  soul  took  a  fancy  to  roam. 
For  I  heard  her,  on  tiptoe  so  quiet, 

Come  ask,  whether  mine  was  at  home. 

And  mine  let  her  in  with  delight. 

And  they  talk'd  and  they  kiss'd  the  time  through 
For,  when  souls  come  together  at  night, 

There  is  no  knowing  what  they  may'nt  do! 

And  J/OMJ-  little  soul.  Heaven  bless  her! 

Had  much  to  complain  and  to  say, 
Of  how  sadly  you  wrong  and  oppress  her 

By  keeping  her  prison'd  all  d;iy. 

"  If  I  happen,"  said  she,  "  but  to  steal 
For  a  peep  now  and  then  to  her  ey«. 

Or  to  quiet  the  fever  I  feel, 
.Iiwt  venture  abroad  on  a  sisrh" 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC 


14P, 


*  In  an  instant,  she  frightens  me  in 
"With  some  phantt.in  of  prudence  or  terror, 

For  fear  I  should  stray  into  sin. 
Or,  what  is  stili  worse,  into  error  ! 

'  So,  instead  of  displaying  my  graces 

Through   looli,  and   through  words,  and   tlirougi 
mein, 
[  am  shut  up  in  corners  and  places. 

Where  truly  I  blush  to  be  seen  !" 

tJpon  heading  this  piteous  confession, 

Ml/  Soul,  looking  tenderly  at  her, 
Occlar'd,  as  for  grace  and  discretion. 

He  did  not  know  much  of  the  matter  ; 

'  But,  to-morrow,  sweet  Spirit!"  he  said, 
"  Be  at  home  after  midnight,  and  then 

J  will  come  when  your  lady's  in  bed, 
And  we'll  talk  o'er  the  subject  again." 

So  she  whisper'd  a  word  in  his  ear, 

I  suppose  to  her  door  to  direct  him, 
\nd — -just  after  midnight,  my  dear, 

Your  polite  little  soul  may  expect  him 


TO  MRS. 


To  see  thee  every  day  that  came, 
And  find  thee  every  day  the  same. 
In  pleasure's  smile  or  sorrow's  tear 
The  same  benign,  consoling  dear  ! — 
To  meet  thee  early,  leave  thee  late, 
Has  been  so  long,  my  bliss,  my  fate, 
That  life,  without  this  cheering  ray. 
Which  came,  like  sunshine,  every  day, 
And  all  my  pain,  my  sorrow  chas'd. 
Is  now  a  lone  and  loveless  waste. — 
Wliere  are  the  chords  she  used  to  touch  ? 
Where  are  the  songs  she  lov'd  so  much  ? 
The  songs  are  hush'd,the  chords  are  still. 
And  so,  perhaps,  will  every  thrill 
Of  friendship  soon  be  iull'd  to  rest, 
Wliich  late  I  wak'd  in  Anna's  breast! 
Yet  no — the  simple  notes  1  play'd. 
On  memory's  tablet  soon  may  fade  ; 
The  songs,  which  Anna  lov'd  to  hear. 
May  all  be  lost  on  Anna's  ear ; 
But  friendship's  sweet  and  fairy  strain 
Shall  ever  in  her  heart  remain  : 
Nor  memory  lose  nor  time  impair 
The  sympithies  which  tremble  there  I 


A  CANADIAN  BOAT-SONG. 

WRITTEN  ON  THE  RIVKR  ST.  LAWRE.NCE.' 

El  rcmigiin  caiitus  hortatiir. 

ClunitiUan. 

Faintly  as  tolls  the  evening  chime 

Our  voices  keep  tune,  and  our  oars  keep  time : 


1 1  wrote  thpse  words  Id  an  air,  which  onr  Imatmen  siinj 
io  us  very  frequently.  The  wind  was  so  iinfaVDuralile,  thai 
they  were  oMiged  to  row  all  the  way,  and  we  were  five  days 
in  descending  the  river  from  Kingston  to  Montreal,  e.Tposed 
tc  an  intense  sun  during  the  day,  and  at  night  forced  to  take 


Soon  as  the  woods  on  shore  look  dim, 
We'll  sing  at  St.  Ann's  our  parting  hymn,' 
Row  brothers,  row,  llie  stream  runs  fast. 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  day-light 's  past ' 

Why  should  we  yet  our  sail  unfurl? 
There  is  not  a  breath  the  blue  wave  to  curl ! 
But,  when  the  wind  blows  off  the  shore. 
Oh  I  sweetly  we'll  rest  our  weaiy  oar. 
Blow,  breezes,  blow,  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  day-hght  's  past ! 

Utawas'  tide  !  this  trembling  moon, 
Shall  see  us  float  over  thy  surges  soon: 
Saint  of  this  green  isle!  hear  our  prayers. 
Oh  I  grant  us  cool  heavens  and  iiivouring  airs. 
Blow,  breezes,  blow,  the  stream  runs  fast. 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  day-light's  past ; 


EPISTLE  IX. 
TO  THE  LADY  CHARLOTTE  R— WD-  N 

FROM  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  RIVER  ST.  LAWRENCE 

Not  many  months  have  now  been  dream'd  away 
Since  yonder  sun,  (beneath  whose  evening  ray 
Wo  rest  our  boat  among  these  Indian  Isles,) 
Saw  me,  Avhere  ma/.y  Trent  serenely  smiles, 
Through  many  an  oak,  as  sacred  as  the  groves, 
Beneath  whose  shade  the  pious  Persian  roves, 
And  hears  the  soul  of  father  or  of  chief. 
Or  loved  mistress,  sigh  in  every  leaf  I-* 


shelter  from  the  dews  in  any  miserable  hut  upon  the  bank? 
that  would  receive  us.  But  the  niagnificenl  scenery  of  tlio 
St.  I/tiwrence  repays  all  these  diliicullies. 

Our  yuyageurs  had  good  v<pivc9,  and  sung  perl'cctiv  in 
tune  together.  'J'ijc  orignial  worus  ol  the  air,  to  which  I 
itdapled  these  s;:uizas,  ajipearcd  lo  he  a  long,  incoherent 
siory,  of  which  I  could  understand  hut  htlie,  from  the  barba 
rous  pronunciation  of  the  Canadians.     It  begins, 

Dans  mon  cliemin  j'ai  rencontre 
Deu.\  cavaliers  tres-bien  monies  ; 

.And  the  refrain  to  every  verse  was, 

A  I'ombre  d'un  bois  je  m'en  vaisjoucr, 
A  I'ombre  d'un  bois  je  m'en  vais  danser. 

I  ventured  lo  harmonize  this  air,  and  liave  published  it. 
\Viiho'\t  that  charm,  which  a-isocialion  gives  lo  every  little 
memorial  of  scenes  or  feelings  that  are  past,  the  melody  may 
perhaps  be  llioughi  common  and  trilimg ;  but  I  remember 
when  we  had  entered,  at  sunset,  upiin  oneoftliose  beautiful 
lakes,  into  which  the  St.  Lawrence  so  grandly  and  unex- 
j)ectedly  op.'ns,  I  have  heanl  this  simple  air  with  a  pleasure 
which  the  linesl  compositions  of  the  hrst  masters  have  n»-ver 
given  me;  and  now,  there  is  not  a  note  of  it,  which  does  nut 
rocal  to  my  memory  thedip  of  our  oars  in  the  St.  Lawrence, 
the  flight  of  our  boat  down  the  r^'pids,  and  all  those  n<'W 
and  fanciful  impressions  to  which  my  iieart  was  alive,  dur- 
ing the  whole  of  this  very  interesting  voyage. 

The  above  stanzas  arc  supposed  tn  he  sung  bv  those 
voyygenrs,  who  g.)  to  the  Ginntle  f'oitage  by  the  Utawas 
river.  For  an  account  of  rhis  wonderful  undertaking,  see 
>■(>  .-ilexavdcr  Mnrkcmic's  General  History  of  the  Fur 
'I'rude,  prefixed  to  his  Joumnl. 

1  "  At  the  Rapids  of  St.  .Ann  they  are  obliged  to  take  out 
I  |jart,  if  not  the  whole,  of  their  hiding.  It  is  from  this  s|iol 
iIh'   Canadians   consider   Ihey  take   their   departure,  as   it 

sesses  the  last  church  on  the  island,  which  is  dediialed 
lo  the  tutelar  saint  of  voyagers." — j}[ackenzie's  General 
Historii  of  the  Fur  Trade. 

2  "  Avendo  essi  per  costume  di  avere  in  veneratione  gli 
alberi  grandi  ed  aniichi,  quasi  che  siano  spesso  riceitacco* 


14-t 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Theie  listening,  I^ady  I  while  tliy  lip  hath  sung 

My  own  unpolisii'd  lays,  how  proud  I've  hung 

On  every  nifllow'd  niiinher!  proud  to  feel 

Ttat  notes  like  mine  should  have  the  fate  to  steal, 

As  o'er  thy  hallowing  lip  they  sigh'd  along, 

Such  breath  of  passuon  and  such  soul  of  song. 

Oh  I  I  have  wonder'd,  f  ke  the  peasant  boy 

Who  sings  at  eve  ins  sabbath  strains  of  joy, 

\nd  when  he  hears  the  rude,  lu.xuriant  note 

Rack  to  h'.s  ear  on  softening  echoes  float. 

Believes  it  still  some  answering  spirit's  tone, 

And  thinks  it  ail  too  svveet  to  be  his  own ! 

!  dream'd  not  then  that,  ere  the  roUing  year 

Flad  HH'd  its  circle,  1  should  wander  lieie 

In  musing  awe  ;  should  tread  this  wondrous  world, 

See  all  its  store  of  inland  waters  hurl'd 

In  one  vast  volume  down  Niagara's  sleep,' 

Or  calm  behold  them,  in  transparent  sleep, 

VMieri!  the  blue  hills  of  old  Toronto  shed 

Their  evening  shadows  o'er  Ontario's  bed  ! 

Should  trace  the  grand  Cadaraqui,  and  glide 

Down  the  white  Rapids  of  his  lordly  tide 

Through  massy  woods,  through  islets  flowering  fair. 

Through  shades  of  bloom,  where  the  first  sinful  pair, 

For  consolation  might  have  weeping  trod, 

When  banish'd  from  the  garden  of  their  God  ! 

Oh,  Lady !  these  are  miracles,  which  man, 

Cag'd  in  the  bounds  of  Europe's  pigmy  plan. 

Can  scarcely  dream  of;  which  his  eye  must  see. 

To  know  how  beautiful  this  world  can  be  ! 

Rut  soft ! — the  tinges  of  the  west  decline, 
And  night  falls  dewy  o'er  these  banks  of  pine. 
Among  the  reeds,  in  which  our  idle  best 
Is  rock'd  to  rest,  (he  wind's  complaining  note 
Dies,  like  a  half-breath'd  whispering  of  flutes  ; 
Along  the  wave  the  gleaming  porpoise  shoots. 
And  I  can  trace  him,  like  a  watery  star,^ 
Down  the  steep  current,  till  he  fades  afar 
Amid  the  foaming  breakers'  silvery  light. 
Where  yon  rough  rapids  sparkle  through  the  night ! 
Here,  as  along  this  shadowy  bank  1  stray. 
And  the  smooth  glass-snake,^  ghding  o'er  my  way, 
Shows  the  dim  moonlight  through  Ins  scaly  form. 
Fancy,  with  nil  tlie  scene's  enchantment  warm, 
Hears  in  the  murmur  of  the  nightly  breeze. 
Some  Indian  Spirit  warble  words  like  these  : — 


rli  aiiime  b(!<itu.'" — Pictruililla  rnllr,  Part.  Second.  Lettera 
16  (1.1  igi.irilini  ili  Si'iia/.. 

1  Wlien  I  arrivL'il  iit  ('liip|iewa,  vviiliiii  thri^o  tniloa  of  llie 
Falls,  it.  was  too  Inlu  to  think  of  visiiiiis  tlirm  t!ial  i.'veninsj, 
anil  I  lay  awako  all  iiiglit  with  tliu  sound  of  iho  rnlarafit  in 
my  ears!  The  day  following  I  consider  as  a  kind  of  era  in 
my  life,  and  the  first  elimp^f  which  \  caushi  uC  l\u><u  won- 
derful Falls  !;avo  ine  a  feeling  wliicli  nothing  in  this  world 
can  ever  exciie  a<rnin. 

To  Colonel  I'.roek,  of  the  49th,  who  commanded  at  the 
Fort,  t  am  particnlarly  iiidihleil  for  his  kindness  to  me  dtir- 
in-;  tlio  fortnight  I  remained  at  NiiiL'ara.  Among  many 
pleasant  days  'vhich  I  passed  wilh  liiin  and  his  hrollier-offi- 
cors,  that  of  oin-  visit  to  the  Tiiscaroia  Indians  was  not  the 
least  interesting.  They  received  us  in  all  their  ancient  coa- 
ttiine  ;  the  voinig  men  (^\hihited,  lor  our  aninscmcnt,  in  the 
race,  thT  bi't-eame,  etc.  while  the  old  and  the  "omen  Fat 
111  {.'roups  under  the  surrounding  trees,  and  the  picture  alto- 
gether was  asbeanliful  as  it  was  ne\v  to  me. 

2  Anhnrey  in  his  travels,  has  not  red  this  shooting  illumi- 
nntion  whii-li  piirpo'S'is  diffuse au  night  through  the  St.  I.aw- 
•<in(e. — Vol.  i.  p.  2i(. 

■)  Ti  e  glass +  ii(ki'  is  lir  tile  and  transnarent. 


From  the  cliine  of  sacred  doves,' 
Where  the  blessed  Indian  roves. 
Through  the  air  on  wing,  as  while 
As  the  spirit-stones  of  light,^ 
Which  the  eye  of  morning  counts 
On  the  Apallachian  mounts  ! 
Hither  oft  my  flight  I  take 
Over  Huron's  lucid  lake. 
Where  the  wave,  as  clear  as  dew. 
Sleeps  beneath  the  light  canoe, 
Which,  reflected,  floating  there, 
Looks  as  if  it  hung  in  air  !^ 

Then,  when  I  hcve  stray'd  awhile 
Through  the  Manataulin  isle,'* 
Breathing  all  its  holy  bloom, 
Swifl.  upon  the  purple  plume 
Of  my  Wakon-bird^  J  fly 
Where  beneath  a  burning  sky, 
O'er  the  bed  of  Erie's  lake. 
Slumbers  many  a  water  snake, 
Basking  in  the  web  of  leaves, 
Which  the  weeping  lily  weaves  !° 

Then  I  chase  the  fiow'ret-king 
Through  his  bloomy  wild  of  spring ; 
See  him  now,  while  diamond  hues 
Soft  his  neck  and  wings  suffuse. 
In  the  leafy  chalice  sink, 
Thirsting  for  his  balmy  drink  ; 
Now  behold  him  all  on  fire, 
Lovely  in  his  looks  of  ire. 
Breaking  every  infant  stern. 
Scattering  every  velvet  gem. 
Where  his  little  tyrant  lip 
Had  not  found  enough  to  sip  ! 

Then  my  playful  hand  I  steep 

Where  the  gold-thread'  loves  to  creep. 


1  The  departed  spirit  goes  into  the  Country  of  Souls, 
where,  ai'cording  to  some,  it  is  transformed  into  a  dove.' 
Charlevoix,  vpov  the  Traditions  and  the  Religion  of  Iht 
Savasr.s  of  Canada.  See  the  curious  Fable  of  the  Jlmcri 
can  Orpheus  in  I.iifitav,  torn.  i.  p.  402. 

2  "  The  monntnins  appear  to  be  sprinkled  with  white  stones, 
which  glistened  in  ihe  sun,  and  were  called  by  the  Indian* 
nmnetoe  aseniah,  or  spirit-stones  " — Machenzie's  Journal. 

3  I  was  thinking  here  of  what  Carver  savs  so  beautifully 
in  his  description  of  one  of  tlie=o  lakes;  "  When  it  was  calm 
and  the  sun  shone  bright,  I  could  sit  in  my  canoe,  where  th" 
ile|)th  was  upwards  of  six  fathoms,  and  plainly  see  huge 
piles  of  stone  at  the  hotton,  of  different  shapes,  some  of 
which  appeared  as  if  they  had  been  hewn  ;  the  water  was  at 
this  time  as  pure  and  transparent  iis  air,  and  my  canoe 
seemed  as  if  it  hung  suspended  in  that  element.  It  was  im- 
possible to  look  attentively  through  this  limpid  medium,  ill 
Ihe  rorks  below,  without  finding,  betiire  many  minulis  were 
elapsed,  your  bend  swim  and  your  eyes  no  longer  able  to 
hehnld  Ihe  dazzling  scene." 

4  Apres  avo'r  traversi'?  plusieurs  isles  pen  considi^rahles, 
nous  en  Ironvames  le  ipialrieme  jour  une  fameuse,  nominee 
I'i-le  de  Maiiitoiialin. —  Voyasrrs  du  Unrnti  de  J.a/inntnv, 
tom.  i.  lett.  1.5.  IManataidin  signifies  a  place  of  Sp'riis,  and 
this  Ishind  in  T/ak'^  Huron  i-^  held  sacred  bv  the  Tndiand. 

.^''The  Wakon  bird,  which  probably  is  of  Ihe  same 
suecies  wilh  the  bird  of  paradise,  receives  its  name  from  Ihe 
ideas  the  Iiidiiins  have  of  its  superior  excellence;  the  \\n- 
kon-bird  jeing,  in  their  langnnge,  Ihe  Bird  of  tliu  Great 
Spirit." — Morse. 

(i  The  islands  of  Lake  Erie  are  surrounded  to  a  consider 
able  distance  by  a  largo  pond-lilv,  whose  leaves  spread 
thickly  over  the  surface  of  die  lake,  and  form  a  kind  of  becJ 
for  the  water-snakes  in  summer. 

7  "  The  eold-ihread  is  of  the  vine  kind,  and  grows  'n 
swamps.  Tiie  roots  spread  themselves  jiist  under  the  sur 
t'nrr  of  Ihe  mornsees   and  areeas'lv  drawn  out  bv  handfuis 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


145 


(/ull  from  thence  a  tangled  wreath, 
Words  of  magic  roiiiul  it  breiithc, 
And  tin;  sunny  chaplet  spread 
O'er  tlio  slee|)lng  lly-bird's  head,' 
'J'ill  with  dreams  ol'lioney  blest, 
Ilaimtcd  in  his  downy  nest 
By  the  garden's  fairest  spells, 
Dewy  buds  and  fragrant  bells, 
Fancy  all  his  soul  embowers 
In  the  lly-bird's  heaven  of  flowers! 

Oft  when  hoar  and  silvery  flakes 
Melt  along  the  ruliled  lakes; 
When  the  gray  moose  sheds  his  horns, 
When  the  track,  at  evening,  warns 
Weary  hunters  of  the  way 
To  the  wigwam's  cheering  ray, 
Then,  aloft  through  freezing  air, 
With  the  snow-bird"  soft  and  fair 
As  the  liccco  that  Heaven  flings 
O'er  his  little  pearly  wings, 
Light  above  the  rocks  I  play, 
Where  Niagara's  starry  spray. 
Frozen  on  the  clifF,  appears 
Like  a  giant's  starting  tears  ! 
There,  amid  the  island-sedge, 
Just  upon  the  cataract's  edge. 
Where  the  foot  of  living  man 
Never  trod  since  time  began. 
Lone  I  sit,  at  close  of  day, 
While,  beneath  the  golden  ray, 
Icy  columns  gleam  below, 
Feather'd  round  with  falling  snow. 
And  an  arch  of  glory  springs. 
Brilliant  as  the  chain  of  rings 
Round  the  neck  of  virgins  hung — 
Virgins,^  who  have  wander'd  young 
O'er  the  waters  of  the  west 
To  the  land  where  spirits  rest ! 

''    us  have  I  charm'd,  with  \isionary  lay, 
Th    lonely  moments  of  the  night  away  ; 
An't  now,  fresh  day-light  o'er  the  water  beams  ! 
On(«  more  embark'd  upon  the  glittering  streams, 
Our  boat  flies  light  along  the  leafy  shore, 
Shooting  the  falls,  without  a  dip  of  oar 
Or  breath  of  zephyr,  like  the  mystic  bark 
The  poet  saw,  in  dreams  divinely  dark, 
Borne,  without  sails,  along  the  dusky  f^ood,* 
While  on  its  deck  a  pilot  angel  stood. 


Tliey  resemlilc  a  lurge  mtaiigled  skein  of  silk,  and  are  of  a 
brisfit  yellow." — .^Jursi: 

1  L'uisuuu  mouclii;,  gros  cotnme  iin  hanneton,  est  de  lou- 
tes  couleiira,  vives  et  i:liangeantes  :  il  tire  sa  subsistence  des 
fleurs  comme  les  abwillos;  son  nid  est  fait  d'lin  colon  tres- 
tin  siis|ifiiidii  a  un'^  branche  d'arbre. —  yoij(i<;is  aaz  hides 
OcciiUvtalrs,  par  M.  Kossu.  Sei<ind  Part,  lull.  xx. 
y  Einberiza  iiyeinalis. — See  Imlny's  KeHtucky,  page  2S0. 
3  Lafitau  wislies  to  believe,  for  the  sake  of  his  llieory, 
that  there  was  an  ordi-r  of  vestals  established  among  the 
Iroiiudis  Indians;  bni  I  um  alraid  that  Jacijues  Carthier, 
upon  whose  authority  he  supports  himself,  meant  any  thing 
but  vestal  ins: itulions  by  ihe  "  cabanes  publiques"  which  he 
met  with  at  Montreal. — See  Lalitau,  Slmnrs  dcs  Sauvages 
HmeHcains,  etc.  tom.  i.  p.  173. 

4  Vedi  die  sdegna  gli  argomenli  umani; 
Si  che  renio  non  vnol,  ne  nltro  velo, 
Che  r  ale  sue  tra  li'i  si  lontani. 
Vedi  come  "I  lia  dritie  verso  '1  cielo 
K 


And,  with  his  wings  ofliving  light  unfuri'd, 
(.'oasted  the  dim  shores  of  another  world  ! 

Yet  oh !  believe  me,  in  this  blooming  maze 
Of  lovely  nature,  where  the  fancy  strays 
From  charm  to  charm,  where  every  How'ret's  hue 

I  liath  something  strange  and  every  leaf  is  new  ! 
I  never  feel  a  bliss  so  pure  and  still. 
So  heavenly  calm,  as  when  a  stream  or  hill. 
Or  veteran  oak,  like  those  remeinbnr'd  well, 

I  Or  breeze,  or  echo,  or  some  wild-Hower's  smell, 
(For,  who  can  say  what  small  and  fairy  ties 

!  The  memory  flings  o'er  pleasure,  as  it  flieh!) 
Reminds  my  heart  of  many  a  sylvan  dream 
I  once  indiilg'd  by  Trent's  inspiring  stream; 
Of  all  my  sunny  morns  and  moonlight  nights 

I  On  Donnington's  green  lawns  and  breezy  heights  . 

I     Whether  I  trace  the  tranquil  moments  o'er 
When  I  have  seen  thee  cull  the  blooms  of  lore. 
With  him,  the  polish'd  warrior,  by  thy  side, 
i  A  sister's  idol  and  a  nation's  pride ! 
[When  thou  hast  read  of  heroes,  trophied  high, 
I  In  ancient  fame,  and  I  have  seen  thine  eye 
[Turn  to  the  living  hero,  while  it  read, 
[  For  pure  and  brightening  comments  on  the  dead  ! 
i  Or  whether  memory  to  my  mind  recalls 
The  festal  grandeur  of  those  lordly  halls. 
When  guests  have  met  around  the  sparkling  board. 
And  welcome  warm'd  the  cup  that  luxury  pour'd  ; 
When  the  bright  future  Star  of  England's  Throne, 
With  magic  smile,  hath  o'er  the  banquet  shone. 
Winning  respect,  nor  claiming  what  he  won. 
But  tempering  greatness,  like  an  evening  sun 
Whose  hght  the  eye  can  tranquilly  admire. 
Glorious  but  mild,  all  softness  yet  all  fire  ! — 
Whatever  hue  my  recollections  take. 
Even  the  regret,  the  very  pain  they  wake 
Is  dear  and  es'iuisite  ! — but  oh  !  no  more — 
Lady  !  adieu — my  heart  has  linger'd  o'er 
These  vanish'd  times,  till  all  that  round  me  lies. 
Stream,  banks,  and  bowers,  have  faded  on  my  eyes 


IMPR03IPTU, 


AFTER  A  VISIT  TO  MRS. 


-,  OF  MONTREAL. 


'TwAS  but  for  a  moment — and  yet  in  that  time 
She  crowded  the  impressions  of  many  an  houn 

Her  eye  had  a  glow,  like  the  sun  of  her  clime. 
Which  wak'd  evei7  feeling  at  once  into  flower. 

Oh  !  could  we  have  stol'n  but  one  rapturous  day, 
To  renew  such  impressions  again  and  again. 

The  things  we  could  look,  and  imagine,  and  say. 
Would  be  worth  all  the  life  we  had  wasted  tdl  then  • 

\Vhat  we  had  not  the  leisure  or  language  to  speak, 
We  should  find  some  more  exquisite  mode  of  le- 
veahng. 

And,  between  us,  should  feel  just  as  much  in  a  week 
As  others  would  take  a  millennium  in  feeling  ' 


Traltando  '1  aere  con  "I  eterne  penne; 
Che  non  si  muian,  come  mortal  pelo. 

Dante,  Purpator.  Cant,  ii 


146 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


WRITTEN 

ON  PASSING  DEADMAN'S  ISLAND,'   IN 

THE  GULF  OF  ST    LAWRENCE, 

LATE   IN  THE  EVENING,  SEPTEMBER,  1804. 

See  you,  beneath  yon  cloud  so  dark, 

Fast  gliding  along,  a  gloomy  bark  ! 

Her  sails  are  full,  though  the  wind  is  still, 

And  there  blows  not  a  breath  her  sails  to  fill ! 

Oh  !  what  doth  that  vessel  of  darkness  bear  ? 
The  silent  calm  of  the  grave  is  there, 
Save  now  and  again  a  death-knell  rung. 
And  the  flap  of  the  sails  with  night-fog  hung ! 

Theie  lieth  a  wreck  on  the  dismal  shore 
Of  •••old  and  pitiless  Labrador; 
Where,  under  the  moon,  upon  mounts  of  frost. 
Full  many  a  mariner's  bones  are  tost ! 

Yon  shadowy  bark  hath  been  io  that  wreck 
And  the  dim  blue  fire,  that  lights  her  deck. 
Doth  play  on  as  pale  and  livid  a  crew. 
As  ever  yet  drank  the  church-yard  dew ! 

To  Deadman's  Isle,  in  the  eye  of  the  blast. 
To  Deadman's  Isle  she  speeds  her  fist; 
By  skeleton  shapes  her  sails  are  furl'd. 
And  the  hand  that  steers  is  not  of  this  world ! 

Oh !  hurry  thee  on — oh  !  hurry  thee  on 
Thou  terrible  bark!  ere  the  night  be  gone, 
Nor  let  morning  look  on  so  foul  a  sight 
As  would  blanch  for  ever  her  rosy  light ! 


TO  THE  BOSTON  FRIGATE,' 

ON    LEAVING    HALIFAX    FOR  ENGLAND,    OCT.    1804. 
NOiJTOT   nPOiI'Ai;iS   VAlKEVOr.—  Phidar.  ryth.  i. 

With  triumph,  this  morning,  oh,  Boston!  I  hail 
The  stir  of  thy  deck  and  the  spread  of  thy  sail. 
For  they  tell  me  I  soon  shall  be  wafted  in  thee, 
To  the  flourishing  isle  of  the  brave  and  the  free. 
And  that  chill  Nova-Scotia's  unpromising  strand' 
Is  the  last  I  shall  tread  of  American  land. 


1  This  is  one  of  the  M:'.!rilali-n  Islands,  and,  ^injularly 
enough,  is  the  properly  of  Sir  Isaac  Cotliii.  Tim  abnve 
lines  were  scigsested  l)y  a  suiieistilum  very  common  among 
Bailors,  who  call  this  giiosl-sliip,  I  think,  "  the  Flying  Du'cli- 
man." 

We  were  thirteen  days  on  <mr  (lassage  frotn  Que!ii<c  to 
Halifax,  and  I  had  lieen  so  spoiled  by  the  very  splendid  hos- 
pitality, with  which  my  friends  of  the  Phaeton  and  Moston 
ii.ul  treated  me,  that  !  was  hut  ill  (irepared  to  eneonnler  the 
miseries  of  a  Canadian  ship.  The  weather,  however,  wiis 
pleasant,  and  the  srpnery  along  the  river  deli;;hlful.  Our 
pa-sage  through  the  Gut  of  Canso.  with  n  bright  sky  and  a 
fair  wind,  was  particularly  striking  and  romantic.  ^ 

2  ('ommMiided  bv  Captain  .1.  E.  Dmiglas,  with  whom  I 
rcttiriied  to  England,  and  to  whom  I  am  ind  bted  for  nianv, 
many  kindnesses.  In  truth,  I  should  but  oiruil  the  delicacy 
jf  mv  iViend  Ponglas,  and,  at  the  same  time,  do  injustice  to 
my  own  feelifigs  of  gratitude,  did  [  attempt  to  ^ay  how 
much  I  owe  him. 

.3  Sir  .John  Wentworth,  the  Oovernnr  of  Nova-Scotia, 
very  kindly  allowed  me  to  aecompiny  hiiri  on  his  visit  to 
:he  Colles'e,  which  they  have  latelv  estah;ishe<l  at  Windsor, 
about  forty  miles  from  Halifix,  ant  I  was  it.deed  most  |>lea- 
tanilv  Burpr'sed  by  the  beauty  and  feriility  of  the  country 
which  opened  upon  os  after  the  b'eak  and  locky  wililerness 
hv  whirl)  tialifux  is  surrounded.     I  was  told  that,  in  travel- 


Well — peace  to  the  land !  may  the  people,  at  length, 
Know   that  freedom    is    bliss,   but    that   honour  u 

strength ; 
That  though  man  have  the  wings  of  the   fetterle&fa 

wind, 
Of  the  wantonest  air  that  the  north  can  unbind, 
Yet  if  health  do  not  sweeten  the  blast  with  her  bloom, 
Nor  virtue's  aroma  its  pathway  perfume, 
Unblest  is  the  freedom  and  dreary  the  flight, 
That  but  wanders  to  ruin  and  wantons  to  blight ! 

Farewell  to  the  few  I  have  left  witli  regret. 
May  they  sometimes  recall,  what  I  cannot  forget, 
That  communion  of  heart  and  that  parley  of  soul, 
Which  has  lengthen'd  our  nights  and  illumin'd  our 

bowl. 
When  they've  ask'd  me  the  manners,  the  mind,  or 

the  mein 
Of  some  bard  I  had  known,  or  some  chief  I  had  seen. 
Whose  glory,  though  distant,  they  long  had  ador'd, 
Whose  name  often  hallow'd  the  juice  of  their  board! 
And  still  as,  with  sympathy  humble  but  true, 
I  told  them  each  luminous  trait  that  I  knew, 
They  have   listen'd,  and  sigh'd   that  the   powerful 

stream 
Of  America's  empire  should  pass,  like  a  dream. 
Without  leaving  one  fragment  of  genius  to  say 
How  sublime  was  the  tide  which  had  vanish'd  away! 
Farewell  to  the  few — though  we  never  may  meet 
On  this  planet  again,  it  is  soothing  and  sweet 
To  think  that,  whenever  my  song  or  my  name 
Shall  recur  to  their  ear,  they'll  recall  me  tlie  same 
I  have  been  to  tiiem  now,  young,  unthoughtful,  and 

blest, 
Ere  hope  had  deceiv'd  me  or  sorrow  deprest ! 

But,  Douglas  !  while  thus  I  endear  to  my  rnind 
The  elect  of  the  land  we  shall  soon  leave  behind, 
I  can  read  in  the  weather-wise  glance  of  thine  eye, 
As  it  follows  the  rack  flitting  over  the  sky. 
That  the  faint  coming  breeze  will  be  fair  for  our  flight, 
And  shall  steal  us  away,  ere  the  falling  of  night. 
Dear  Douglas  !  thou  knowcst,  with  thee  by  my  side, 
With  thy  friendship  to  soothe  me,  thy  courige  tc 

guide. 
There  is  not  a  bleak  isle  in  those  summerless  seas. 
Where  the  day  conies  in  darkness,  or  shines  but  to 

freeze, 
Not  a  tract  of  the  line,  not  a  barbarous  shore. 
That  I  could  not  with  patience,  with  pleasure  explore. 
Oh  !  think  then  how  happy  1  follow  thee  now. 
When  Hope  smooths  the  billowy  path  of  our  prow, 
And  each  prosperous  sigh  of  the  west-springing  wind 
Takes  me  nearer  the  home  where  my  heart  is  eii- 

shrin'd  ; 
Where  the  smile  of  a  father  shall  meet  me  again. 
And  the  tears  of  a  mother  turn  bliss  into  pain ; 
Where  the  kind  voice  of  sisters  shall  steal  to  mj 

heart, 
And  ask  it,  in  sighs,  how  we  ever  could  part! — 
But  see  ! — the  bent  top-sails  are  ready  to  swell — 
To  the  boat — I  am  with  thee — Columbia,  farewell ' 


ling  onwards,  wo  should  find  the  soil  and  the  scenery  Ini 
prove,  and  it  gave  me  much  plea>ure  to  know  tlial  the  wo» 
thy  (Governor  has  by  no  means  such  aii  "  iuamabile  regnum 
as  I  was,  at  first  sight,  inclined  to  helievr. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


147 


TO  LADY  H- 


ON    AN   OLD    RING    FOUND   AT    TUNKRIDGE-WEI.I.S. 
Tiinbridffe-  Wdb,  August,  1805. 
When  Grammont  grac'd  these  happy  springs 

And  Tunbridge  saw,  upon  her  Pantiles, 
Tlic  nifrriest  wight  of  all  the  kings 
That  ever  rul'd  these  gay,  gallant  isles; 

Like  us,  by  day,  they  rode,  they  vvalk'd. 

At  eve,  they  did  as  we  may  do, 
And  Granniiont  just  like  Spencer  talk'd 

And  lovely  Stewart  smil'd  like  you  ! 

The  only  different  trait  is  this, 

That  woman  then,  if  man  beset  her, 
Was  rather  given  to  saying  "yes," 

Because,  as  yet,  she  knew  no  better ! 

Each  night  they  held  a  coterie. 

Where,  every  fear  to  slumber  c'harm'd, 

Lovers  were  all  they  ought  to  be. 
And  husbands  not  the  least  alarm'd ! 

They  call'd  up  all  their  school-day  pranks, 
Nor  thought  it  much  their  sense  beneath 

To  play  at  riddles,  quips,  and  cranks. 
And  lords  show'd  wit,  and  ladies  teeth. 

As — "  Why  are  husbands  like  the  Jlint  ?" 

Because,  forsooth,  a  husband's  duty 
Is  just  to  set  the  name  and  print 

That  give  a  currency  to  beauty. 

"  W^hy  is  a  garden  s  wildcr'd  maze 
Like  a  young  widow,  fresh  and  fair  ?" 

Because  it  wants  some  hand  to  raise 
The  weeds,  vvliich  "  have  no  business  there  !" 

And  thus  they  miss'd  and  thus  they  hit. 

And  now  they  struck  and  now  they  parried. 

And  some  lay-in  of  full-grown  wit, 
While  others  of  a  pun  miscarried. 

'Twas  one  of  those  facetious  nishts 
That  Grammont  gave  this  forfeit  ring, 

For  breaking  grave  conundrum  rites. 
Or  punning  'ill,  or — some  such  thing; 

From  whence  it  can  be  fairly  trac'd 
Through  many  a  branch  and  many  a  bough. 

From  twig  to  twig,  until  it  grac'd 
The  snowy  hand  that  wears  it  now. 

All  this  I'll  prove,  and  then — to  you 
Uh,  Tunbridge  I  and  your  springs  ironical, 

I  swear  by  H — the — te's  eye  of  blue 
To  dedicate  the  important  chronicle. 

Long  may  your  ancient  inmates  give 
Their  mantles  to  your  modern  lodgers, 

And  Charles'  loves  in  H — the — te  live. 
And  Charles'  bards  revive  in  Rogers ! 

[,et  no  pedantic  fools  be  there. 

For  ever  be  those  fops  abolish'd. 
With  heads  as  wooden  as  thy  ware. 

And,  Heaven  knows  !  not  half  so  polish'd. 

But  still  receive  the  mild,  the  gay. 

The  few,  who  know  the  rare  delight 
Of  reading  Grammont  every  day. 

And  acting  Grammont  every  night ! 


TO 


Nevfr  mind  how  the  pedagogue  proses, 

You  want  not  antiquity's  stamp. 
The  lip  that 's  so  scented  by  roses, 

Oh  !  never  must  smell  of  the  lamp. 

Old  Cloe,  whose  withering  kisses 
Have  long  set  the  loves  at  defiance, 

Now  done  with  the  science  of  blisses, 
fllay  fly  to  the  blisses  of  science ! 

Young  Sappho,  for  want  of  employments. 

Alone  o'er  her  Ovid  may  melt, 
Condemn'd  but  to  read  of  enjoyments, 

Which  wiser  Corinna  had  felt. 

But  for  you  to  be  buried  in  books — 
Oh,  Fanxv  I  they're  pitiful  sages. 

Who  could  not  in  one  of  your  looks 
Read  more  than  in  millions  of  pages  ! 

Astronomy  finds  in  your  eye 

Better  light  than  she  studies  above, 

And  music  nnist  borrow  your  sigh 
As  the  melody  dearest  to  love. 

In  Ethics — 'tis  you  that  can  check. 

In  a  minute,  their  doubts  and  tlieir  quarrels. 

Oh  !  show  but  that  mole  on  your  neck, 
And  'twill  soon  put  an  end  to  their  morals 

Your  Arithmetic  only  can  trip 

When  to  kiss  and  to  count  you  endeavour. 
But  eloquence  glows  on  your  lip 

When  you  swear  that  you'll  love  me  for  ever 

Thus  you  see  what  a  brilliant  alliance 

Of  arts  is  assembled  in  you — 
A  course  of  more  exquisite  science 

JMan  never  need  wish  to  go  through  1 

And,  oh  ! — if  a  fellow  like  me 

IMay  confer  a  diploma  of  hearts, 
With  my  1  p  thus  1  seal  your  degree, 

My  divine  little  Mistress  of  Arts  ! 


EXTRACT  FROM  "THE  DEVIL  AMONG 
THE  SCHOLARS."' 

TI   KAKON  O   VEALIX. 

Vhrysost.  Homil.  in  Epist.  aJ  Hcbriros. 


But,  whither  have  these  gentle  ones. 
The  rosy  nymphs  and  black-ey'd  nuns 
With  all  of  Cupid's  wild  romancing. 
Led  my  truant  brains  a  dancing? 
Instead  of  wise  encomiaslics 
Upou  the  Doctors  and  Sciiolastics, 
Polymaths,  and  Polyhistors, 
Polyglots  and — all  their  sister^. 


1  I  promised  lliat  T  wiiuld  give  llie  ren^ainder  of  ihiF 
Puoin,  but,  as  my  critics  do  not  seem  lo  rclisli  the  sublime 
luarninL'  wbicli  it  contains,  they  sliall  h^ive  no  more  cif  it 
With  a  view,  liowivpr,  to  the  edilicatlon  of  ihesi;  gentle 
men,  I  have  privnii'd  un  an  indnslrions  t'riend  ofmiric  uho 
has  read  u  great  mnnbor  of  unnecesjsary  hnuks,  lo  lilunJ 
nate  the  extract  with  a  litllu  uf  his  |>rucious  eniditiin 


us 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  instant  I  luive  got  the  whim  in, 
Olf  I  t!y  with  nans  and  woinen, 
Like  epic  poets,  ne'er  ot  ease 
Until  I've  stol'n  "  in  inedias  res  !" 
So  have  I  known  a  hopeful  ifouth 
Sit  down,  in  quest  of  lore  and  truth. 
With  tomes  sufficient  to  confound  him, 
Like  Tohu  Boiiu,  heap'd  around  him, 
iMumurra'  stuck  to  Theophrastus, 
A  nd  Galen  tumbling  o'er  Bombastus  l'^ 
When  1(1 !  while  all  that's  learn'd  and  wise 
Absorbs  the  boy,  he  lifts  his  eyes, 
And,  through  the  window  of  his  study 
Beholds  a  virgin,  fair  and  ruddy. 
With  eyes  as  brightly  turn'd  ujion  him,  as 
The  angel's'  were  on  Hieronyinus, 
Saying,  'twas  just  as  sweet  to  kiss  her — oh! 
Far  more  sweet  than  reading  Cicero  ! 
Quick  tly  the  folios,  widely  scatter'd. 
Old  Homer's  liiurell'd  brow  is  batter'd, 
And  Sappho's  skin  to  Tally's  leather, 
All  are  confus'd  and  tost  together  ! 
Raptur'd  he  quits  each  dozing  sage, 
Oh  woman  !  for  thy  lovelier  page  : 
Sweet  book  I  unlike  the  books  of  ait, 
Whose  errors  are  thy  fairest  part ; 
In  wiiom,  the  dear  errata  cohuiin 
Is  the  best  page  in  all  the  volume." 
But,  to  bogin  my  subject  rhyme — 
'Twas  just  about  this  devilish  tune. 
When  scarce  there  happen'd  any  frolics 
Tliat  were  not  done  by  Diabohcs, 


1  Mauiuira,  a  ili)g;imtie  |)hilc'Soplier,  wlio  never  doubteil 
about  any  ilimg,  except  who  «as  liis  t'ailier.  "  Nuli.i  du  re 
uiKiuiim  |ira;terquuin  de  patre  dubiuivit."  In  vit. — He  was 
very  learned — "  La  dedans,  (that  is,  in  his  head  when  it  was 
opened,)  le  Punicjue  heurte  le  Fersun,  I'llebreu  eh()(|ue 
I'Arabique,  pour  ne  point  parler  de  la  mauvaise  inti'ihgiuice 
du  Latin  avec  leGrec,"  etc.  SeeV Hintoirede  Moutmaur, 
torn.  ii.  p.-ige  91. 

2  Bornhastus  was  one  of  the  names  of  that  great  scholar 
and  quack  Paracelsus.  "Philippus  Bomhaslus  laiet  i?ub 
splenJido  tegmine  Aurooli  Theophrasti  Paracelsi,"  suys  Sta 
delius  de  ciicuinforanea  Lilt^ialoiUin  vanitate. — He  used  to 
tight  the  devil  every  nigiit  with  the  broHd-sword,  to  the  no 
aiiiall  terror  of  his  pupil  Oporinus,  who  has  n.^corded  the  eir- 
cuiiislance.  (See  Opnrbi.  yU.  apud  Christian,  (iryph. 
^it.  adcct.  (juoriindam  Krudit.is.siiiwrum,  i;U.)  Paracel- 
sus had  but  a  poor  opinion  of  Galen.  "My  very  bcurd 
(says  he  in  his  Faragranam)  has  more  learning  in  it  iliiiii 
either  Galen  or  Avicenna." 

3  The  angel,  who  solded  St.  Jerom  for  reading  Cicero, 
nsGratian  tells  the  slory  in  his  Concordanlia  Uiscordantiuni 
Canonam,  and  says  that  for  this  reason  bishops  v,iiXf  not 
allowed  to  read  the  Classics.  "  F.piscopus  Genlilium  libros 
noM  legal. — Distinct.  U7.  But  Graiiiui  is  notorious  for  ly- 
ing— besides,  angels  have  got  no  tongues,  as  the  illnslriuus 
pupil  ul'  Paiitenus  assures  us.  Ouji'  uq  >!;""■  txiutk,  outo'5 
•  xsivoi;  >t  y/.'juTT»-  ouj'  s.v  opyavx  ti{  Hjiv  Juuvhj  aj  ysKoij. 
—  Clem.   Jilexand.   stromal.      Now,   hnw  an   angel   coulil 

Bcold  without  a  tongue,  1  shall   leave  the  angelic  Mrs. 

to  determine. 

4  The  idea  of  the  Rabbins  about  the  origin  of  woman  is 
gingiilar.  They  think  that  man  was  originally  formed  with 
a  tail,  like  a  monkery,  Imt  that  the  Oeity  cut  otF  this  appen- 
dage behind,  and  iiiaile  wniiian  of  il.  ijpon  this  e.xlruordi- 
uary  suppiwition  the  following  rellection  is  Ibiinilud: — 

If  such  is  the  tie  between  women  and  men, 

'J'lie  ninny  who  weds  is  a  piiifiil  elf, 
For  he  takers  to  Ins  tad,  like  an  aliril,  again, 

And  he  makes  a  deplnrable  ape  of  himsflf. 
Yil,  I*' wi-  may  j'ld.'c  as  I  hi'  fi-<liicin«  prevail. 

Every  Imsbin'il  re Imts  iIw  onainal  pliin. 

And,  kniiwing  li:<  wilV  is  no  >•  'nan  his  tail, 

^Vhy  lie — leaves  her  behind  hini  as  much  iiH  hs  can. 


A  cold  and  loveless  son  of  Lucifer, 

Who  woman  scorn'd,  nor  knew  the  use  of  he? 

A  branch  of  Dagon's  family, 

(Which  Dagon,  whether  He  or  She, 

Is  a  dispute  that  vastly  better  is 

Referr'd  to  Scaliger'  et  ca;teris,) 

Finding  that  in  this  cage  of  fools, 

The  wisest  sots  adorn  the  schools. 

Took  it  at  once  his  head  Satanic  in, 

To  grow  a  great  scholastic  tnannikin, 

A  doctor,  quite  as  learn'd  and  line  as 

Scotus  John  or  Tom  Aquinas,"^ 

Lully,  Hales  irrefragabihs 

Or  any  doctor  of  the  rabble  is  ! 

In  languages,'  the  Polyglots, 

Compared  to  Itim,  were  Babel  sots  ; 

He  cliatter'd  more  than  ever  Jew  did, 

Sanhedrim  and  Priest  included  ; 

Priest  and  holy  Sanhedrim 

Were  one-and-scveiity  fools  to  him ! 

But  chief  the  learned  demon  felt  a 

Zeal  so  strong  for  gamma,  delta. 

That,  all  for  Greek  and  learning's  glory,* 

He  nighJy  tippled  "  Grjeco  more," 

And  never  paid  a  bill  or  balance 

Except  upon  the  Grecian  Kalends, 

From  whence  your  scholars,  when  they  want  tick 

Say,  to  be  At-tick  's  to  be  on  tick  ! 


1  Scali-grr.  de  Emcndat.  'J'eiiipor. — Dagon  was  though' 
hv  i).tliers  lo  be  a  certain  sea-mouster,  who  came  every  <l-ij 
out  of  the  Red  Sea  lo  teach  the  Syrians  husbandry.  Sep 
.luci/itcs  Gajfartd's  C(i7-iusilcs  iiiuuies,  Chap.  i.  He  sayi 
lie  thinks  this  story  of  the  sea-monster  "  carries  little  show 
of  prubaliilily  with  il." 

i2  1  wish  it  were  known  with  any  degree  of  certainty 
whether  ihe  Commentary  on  Boitliius,  attributed  to  Thomas 
Aquinas,  be  really  the  work  of  this  Angelic  Doctor.  There 
are  some  bold  assertions  hazarded  in  it:  for  instance  he 
says  that  Plato  kept  school  in  a  town  called  Acadeniia,  and 
that  Alcibiades  was  a  very  beautiful  woman  whom  someot 
.-Vristotle's  pupils  fell  in  love  with.  "Alcibiades  mulier 
full  pulcherrima,  (piam  videntes  quidam  discipuli  Aristole- 
lis,"  etc. — See  h'rcytag.  jifiparat.  J.itteriir.  Art.  8ti.  toni  i 

3  The  following  compliment  was  paid  to  Laurentius 
Valla,  upon  his  accurate  knowledge  of  the  Latin  language: 

Nunc  postqnam  manes  defunetus  Valla  petivit, 
Non  audet  PInfo  verba  Latlna  Ui(pii. 

Since  Val  arrived  in  Pluto's  shade, 

His  nouns  and  pronouns  ail  so  pat  in, 
Pluio  hunsijlf  would  be  afraid 

To  ask  even  "what's  o'clock"  in  Latin! 

These  lines  may  be  found  in  Ihe  Jiuctarum  Cennio  of  Du 
Verdier  (page  '21),)  an  excellent  critic,  if  he  could  have  either 
felt  or  understood  any  one  of  the  works  «hich  ho  criticises. 

4  It  is  much  lo  be  regretted  that  Martin  Luther,  with  all 
his  talents  for  reforming,  should  yet  be  vulgar  enough  to 
laugh  at  Caiiierarins  for  writing  to  him  in  Greek.  "  Jlaster 
.loachiin,"  says  he,  "  has  sent  me  some  dates  and  some  rai- 
sins, and  has  also  written  nie  two  letters  in  (Ireek.  As  soon 
as  I  am  recovered,  I  shall  answer  them  in  Turkish,  that  he  loo 
may  have  Ihe  pleasure  of  reading  what  he  does  not  uinler- 
staiid." — "Graica  sunt,  legi  non  pussunl,"  is  the  ignorunt 
speech  nitribuied  lo  Accnrsius;  but  very  unjustly — far  lioni 
asserting  that  Greek  could  not  be  read,  Ihal  worthy  juris- 
consult upon  the  law  C.  D.  de  Honor,  possess,  expressly  says, 
"  Gra'ca- lilerie  possunt  inlidligi  el  legi"  (VUU:  JSToi).  /.ih- 
rnr.  liariar.  CdlUclion.  FascicuU  IV.) — Scipio  Carleroma- 
clius  seems  to  think  that  there  is  no  salvation  out  of  the  pale 
of  Greek  literature:  "Via  prima  salntis  Graia  pandetur  nb 
urbc."  And  the  zeal  of  Laurentius  Rhodomanmis  ciinnnt 
bo  siifficienlly  iidmireil,  when  he  e.vhorls  his  countrymm 
"  per  glorinm  Christi,  per  salntem  piitriai,  per  reipuhlicip 
decus  et  eiiiolumeiitum,"  lo  sindy  Ihe  Greek  language.  Noi 
must  wo  forgel  Phavorinns,  tin.' e.Ki-elknl  IJishop  of  Noce-a, 
who,  cureless  of  all  Ihe  usual  coiimi"ii«ialions  of  a  ('lirisli.in 
riMpi'red  ii"  fiiithcr  I'lilogium  on  his  tomb  than  "Here  li"'' 
a  Greek  Lexicograyher.*' 


fcll'lSTLES,  ODES,  ETC 


US 


In  logics,  he  was  quite  IIo  I'iirui  !' 

Knew  as  much  as  ever  man  knew. 

He  fouehi  the  conihat  syllogistic 

With  so  much  skill  and  art  eristic, 

That  though  you  wore  the  learned  Stagyrite, 

At  once  upon  the  hip  he  liad  you  right! 

Sometimes  indeed  his  speculations 

Were  view'd  as  dangerous  innovations. 

As  thus — the  Doctor's  house  did  harbour  a 

Sweet  blooming  girl,  whose  name  was  Barbara: 

Oil,  when  his  heart  was  in  a  merry  key, 

He  taught  this  maid  his  esoterica, 

And  sometimes,  as  a  cure  for  hectics, 

Would  lecture  her  in  dialectics. 

How  f.ir  their  zeal  let  him  and  her  go 

Before  they  came  to  scaling  Ergo, 

Or  how  they  placed  the  medius  terminus, 

Our  chronicles  do  not  determine  us  ; 

But  so  it  was — by  some  confusion 

In  this  their  logical  pr;elusion. 

The  Doctor  wholly  spoil'd,  thoy  say, 

The  figure-  of  young  Barbara  ; 

And  thus,  by  many  a  snare  sophistic, 

And  enthymeme  paralogistic, 

Beguil'd  a  maid,  who  could  not  give, 

To  save  her  life,  a  negative.'' 

In  music,  though  he  had  no  ears 

Except  for  that  among  the  spheres, 

(Which  most  of  all,  as  he  averr'd  it, 

He  dearly  lov'd,  'cause  no  one  heard  it,) 

Yet  aptly  he,  at  siglit,  could  read 

Each  tuneful  diagram  in  Bede, 

And  find,  by  Euclid's  coroUaria, 

The  ratios  of  a  jig  or  aria. 

But,  as  for  all  your  warbling  Delias, 

Orpheuscs,  and  Saint  Cecihas, 

He  ovvn'd  he  thought  them  much  surpass'd 

By  that  redoubted  Hyaloclasf' 

Who  still  contriv'd  by  dint  of  throttle, 

Where'er  he  went  to  crack  a  bottle ! 

Likewise  to  show  his  ni'ghty  knowledge,  he, 

On  things  unknown  in  physiology. 

Wrote  many  a  chapter  to  divert  us, 

Like  that  great  little  man  Albertus, 

Wherein  he  show'd  the  reason  why, 

When  children  first  are  heard  to  cry. 


1    O  IIAMT.     'J'lio    intrciilucl.oii   ol'    ll)is   hingu  .ge   mlo 
English  poi^trv  h;is  u  gcioil  elf-'cl,  iin<l  ouglil  to  bi-  more  uni- 
^cffially  adopted.     A  word  or  I  wo  of  Greek  in  a  stanza 
•vonld  serve  as  a  ballast  to  tlie  most  "  light  o'  love"  verses. 
Ausoiiius,  among  the  ancients,  may  serve  as  a  model: 
Ou  yxg  /ioi  is.ui;  Eo-Tiv  in  hac  regione  fiivavrt 
A^iov  ab  nostris  s;riJsus»  esse  xx.uin'ai;. 
Kosnard,   the   French  poet,  has  enriched  his  sonnets  and 
odes  witii  niiiny  an  e.\qui-itc  morsel  from  the  Lexicon.    Mis 
C/icre  EiittitcMc,  in  addrmsing  his  mistress,  is  admirable, 
and  cm  be  only  matclnd  by  Cowley's  .Intipcristasis. 

2  The  firs!  figure  of  simple  syllogisms,  to  which  Barbara 
belong*,  togelher  with  Celarent,  D  irii,  and  Fcrio._ 

3  Because  the  three  propositiims  in  the  mood  of  Barbara 
ire  universal  alfirmatives. — 'rhe  poet  borrowed  this  equi- 
voqne  upon  Biiibira  from  a  curious  E|)igram  which  Mencke- 
nius  gives  in  a  note  upon  his  F.ssiiys  de  Cliarlatanrria 
Krailitorum.  In  the  JViipUa;  I'criyairticai  of  Caspar  Bar- 
liEus,  the  reader  will  find  some  faci:tious  applications  of  ihe 
'.errns  of  logic  to  matrimony.  Crambe's  'l're:iti«e  on  Syllo- 
gisms, in  Martinus  Scriblerns,  is  borrowed  chiefly  from  the 
JVuptid  Peripatpticie  of  B  irl-.eus. 

4  Or,  Glass-Breaker.— Morhotins  has  given  an  account  of 
this  extraordinary  man,  in  a  work  published  1682  '■  De 
»itreo  csvoho  fracto,"  etc. 


I      If  boy  the  baby  chance  to  i>c, 
He  cries  OA!— if  girl,  OE' 
These  are,  says  he,  exceeding  fair  hints 
Respecting  their  first  sinful  parents  ; 
"  Oh  Eve  !"  exclaimeih  little  madam, 
While  little  master  cries,  "  O  Adam  !"' 
In  point  of  science  astronomical. 
It  secni'd  to  him  extremely  comical, 
That,  once  a  year,  the  frolic  sun 
Should  call  at  Virgo's  house  for  tun. 
And  stop  a  montli  and  blaze  around  tier, 
Yet  leave  her  Virgo,  as  he  found  her  ! 
But,  'twas  in  Optics  and  Dioptricks, 
Our  daemon  play'd  his  first  and  top  tricks  : 
He  held  that  sunshine  passes  quicker 
Through  wine  than  any  other  liquor ; 
That  glasses  are  the  best  utensils 
To  catch  the  eyes  bewildcr'd  pencils; 
And  though  he  saw  no  great  objection 
To  steady  light  and  pure  reflection, 
He  thought  the  aberrating  rays. 
Which  play  about  a  bumper's  blaze. 
Were  by  the  Doctors  look'd,  in  common,  on. 
As  a  more  rare  and  rich  phenomenon  ! 
He  wisely  said  that  the  scnsorium 
Is  for  the  eyes  a  great  emporium. 
To  which  those  noted  picture  stealers 
Send  all  they  can,  and  meet  with  dealers. 
In  many  an  optical  proceeding 
The  brain,  he  said,  show'd  great  good  breeding; 
For  instance,  when  we  ogle  women, 
(A  trick  which  Barbara  tutor'd  him  in,) 
Although  the  dears  are  apt  to  get  in  d 
Strange  position  on  the  retina. 
Yet  instantly  the  modest  brain 
Doth  set  them  on  their  legs  again  !' 
Our  doctor  thus  with  "  stulf'd  sulliciency' 
Of'  all  omnigenous  omnisciency, 
Began  (as  who  would  not  begin 
That  had,  like  him,  so  much  within  ?) 
To  let  it  out  in  books  of  all  sorts. 
Folios,  quartos,  large  and  small  sorts ; 
Poems,  so  very  deep  and  sensible. 
That  they  were  quite  incomprehensible,* 
Prose,  which  had  been  at  learning's  Fair, 
And  bought  up  all  the  trumpery  there. 


1  This  is  translateil  alrnnst  literally  from  a  passage  in  Jll 
hcrtiis  lie  Secntis,  etc. — 1  have  not  the  book  by  me,  or  1 
would  tran...cribe  the  words. 

2  Minding  to  that  habiuial  act  of  the  judgment,  by  which 
notwithsianding  Ihe  inversion  of  ihe  image  upon  the  retina, 
a  correct  impression  of  the  object  is  conveyed  to  the  sen 
soraiin. 

3  Under  this  description,  I  believe,  "  the  Devil  among  the 
Scholars"  n.ay  be  included.  Yet  Leibnitz  found  out  tns 
uses  of  incomprehensibility,  when  he  was  apjjointed  secre- 
tary to  a  society  of  philosophers  al  .N'urernberg,  merely  foi 
his  Mierit  in  writing  a  cabalistical  letler,  one  word  of  whicli 
neither  they  nor  himself  could  interpret.  See  the  FJoffe 
Hiatjiriqne  de  M.  de  I.cilmiti,  V F.iirope.  Sana^ilc. — Pejple 
of  all  ages  have  loved  to  be  puzzled.  Wi-  find  Cieerc 
thtiidiing  Alliens  for  having  sent  him  a  work  of  Serapii>n 
"  ex  quo  (says  lie)  qnidem  ego  {(]Uod  inter  iios  liceal  rti'-erel 
millesimam  partem  vix  intelligo."  Lb.  2.  Kpist  4.  \nci 
we  know  that  Avicen,  the  learned  .Arab  an,  read  Aristolle'i 
Metaphysics  forty  times  over,  for  the  mpreme  pleasure  of 
being  able  to  info-in  the  wo-lil  that  he  coold  not  comproHi  r.t- 
one  svlluble  throughout  them. — .Nicolas  Mo/ifa  in  fit 
Mviccn. 


150 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  taiter'd  rags  of  every  vest, 

111  which  the  Greeks  and  Romans  drest, 

And  o'er  her  figure,  svvoln  and  antic, 

Scatter'd  them  all  with  airs  so  frantic, 

That  those,  who  saw  the  fits  she  had, 

Det-lar'd  unhappy  prose  was  mad  ! 

Epics  he  wrote,  and  scores  of  rebusses, 

All  as  neat  as  old  Turnebus's ; 

Eggs  and  altars,  cyclopaedias. 

Grammars,  prayer-books — oh  !  't  were  tedious, 

Did  1  but  tell  the  half,  to  follow  me ; 

Not  the  scribbling  bard  of  Ptolemy, 

No — nor  the  hoary  Trismegistus, 

(Whose  writings  all,  thank  Heaven  !  have  miss'dus,) 

Ere  fill'd  with  lumber  such  a  ware-room 

As  this  great  "  porcus  literarum  !" 


FRAGMENTS  OF  A  JOURNAL.^ 
TO  G.  M.  ESQ. 

FROM  FREDERICKSBURGH,  VIRGINIA,^  JUNE  2d. 

Dear  George  !  though  every  bone  is  aching, 

After  the  shaking 
I've  had  this  week,  over  ruts  and  ridges,' 

And  bridges. 
Made  of  a  few  uneasy  planks,* 

In  open  ranks, 
Like  old  women's  teeth,  all  loosely  thrown 
Over  rivers  of  mud,  whose  names  alone 
Would  make  the  knees  of  stoutest  man  knock, 

Rappahannock, 
Occoquan — the  heavens  may  harbour  us  ! 
Who  ever  heard  of  names  so  barbarous  ? 


1  These  fragmenls  f./rin  but  a  stuiill  pan  of  a  ridiculous 
medley  of  prose  and  doj.'gerel,  into  which,  for  my  amuse- 
ment, 1  threw  some  of  tlie  incidints  nf  my  journey.  II'  it 
were  even  in  a  more  rational  form,  there  is  yet  much  of  it 
too  allusive  and  loo  iiersoiial  for  publication, 

2  Having  remaineo  about  a  week  at  New- York,  wliere  I 
Baw  Madame  .lerome  Bonaparte,  and  felt  a  slight  shock  of 
an  earthquake,  (the  only  things  that  particularly  awakened 
my  atlenticn,)  I  sailed  airain  in  the  Boston  lor  Nor  blk,  from 
wliHiice  1  proceeded  on  my  tour  to  the  northward,  through 
Williamsburgh,  etc.  At  Richmond  there  are  a  few  men  of 
considerable  talents.  Mr.  Wickham,  one  of  their  celebrated 
hs:i\  characters,  is  a  gentleman  whose  manners  and  nlode 
of  life  would  do  honour  to  the  most  cultivated  societies. 
Judge  Marshall,  the  author  of  Washington's  Life,  is  an- 
other very  distinguished  ornament  of  Richmond.  These 
ifcnllemen,  1  must  observe,  are  of  that  rcsj)ectable,  but  at 
iiresent  unpopular  party,  the  Federalists. 

3  What  Mr.  Weld  says  of  th(!  continual  necessity  of 
balancing  or  trimming  the  stage,  in  passing  over  some  of 
the  wretched  roads  in  America,  is  by  no  means  exaggerated. 
"  The  driver  frec)U(Mitlv  harl  to  call  to  the  passengers  in  the 
stage,  to  lean  out  of  the  carriage,  first  at  one  side,  then  at 
ibo  other,  to  prevent  it  from  oversetting  in  the  deep  ruts 
with  which  the  mad  abonmls!  'Now  gimtlemen,  to  the 
riglit;'  upon  which  the  passengers  all  stretched  their  bodies 
half  way  out  of  the  carriage,  to  balance  it  on  that  side. 
'  Now  gentlemen,  to  the  left;'  and  so  on." — IVeld's  Tra- 
vis, Letter  iii. 

1  Before  the  stage  can  pass  one  of  these  bridges,  the 
driver  is  (d)liged  to  slop  and  arrange  the  loose  plunks  of 
which  it  is  composed,  in  the  manner  that  best  suits  bis 
•dcas  of  safely :  and,  as  the  planks  are  again  distiirb-d  by 
the  passing  of  the  coach,  the  ne.\l  travellers  who  arrive 
have  of  course  a  new  arrangement  to  make.  Mahomt^t 
(■\-i  Sale  tells  us)  was  at  some  pains  to  imagine  h  precarious 
k  lid  of  bridge  for  the  entrance  of  nara  (iso,  in  oripr  to  en- 
'1  I'lce  the  pleasures  of  arrival:  a  Virgnian  bridge  I  tb  iik, 
lould  hu"f  nni.wBred  Ins  purpose  completely. 


Worse  than  M*'**'s  Latin, 
Or  the  smooth  codicil 
To  a  witch's  will,  wliere  she  brings  her  cat  in 

1  treat  my  goddess  ill, 
(My  muse  I  mean)  to  make  her  speak  'ein , 
Like  the  Verbum  Grsecum, 
Spermagoraiolekitholakanopolides,' 
Words  that  ought  only  be  said  upon  holidays, 
When  one  has  nothing  else  to  do. 

But,  dearest  George,  though  every  bone  is  achin| 
After  this  shaking, 
And  trying  to  regain  the  socket. 
From  which  the  stage  thought  fit  to  rock  it, 
I  fancy  I  shall  sleep  the  better 
For  having  scrawl'd  a  kind  of  letter 

To  you. 
It  seems  to  me  like — "  George,  good-night '" 

Though  flir  the  spot  I  date  it  from ; 
To  which  1  fancy,  while  I  write. 

Your  answer  back — "  Good  night  t'ye  Tom  '' 

But  do  not  think  that  I  shall  turn  all 
Sorts  of  quiddities, 
And  insipidities, 

Into  my  journal  ; 
That  I  shall  tell  you  the  different  prices 
Of  eating,  drinking,  and  such  other  vices, 
To  "  contumace  your  appetite's  acidities  !"* 
No,  no  ;  the  Muse  too  delicate  bodied  is 

For  such  commodities  ! 
Neither  suppose,  like  fellow  of  college,  she 

Can  talk  of  conchology. 
Or  meteorology  ; 
Or,  that  a  nymph,  who  wild  as  comet  errs. 

Can  discuss  barometers. 
Farming  tools,  statistic  histories. 
Geography,  law,  or  such  like  mysteries, 
For  which  she  does'nt  care  thee  skips  of 
Prettiest  flea,  that  e'er  the  Tips  of 
Catharine  Roache  look'd  smiling  upon. 
When  bards  of  France  all,  one  by  one, 
Declar'd  that  never  did  hand  approach 
Such  flea  as  was  caught  upon  Catharine  Roache  !* 

Hfi  H;  ilp  :^  ilfi  at 

Sentiment,  George,  I'll  talk  when  I've  got  any. 

And  botany — 
Oh  !  LinnKus  has  made  such  a  prig  o'me. 
Cases  I'll  find  of  such  polygamy 

Under  every  bush, 
As  would  make  the  "  shy  curcuma'"*  blush  ; 


1    i;CTSf,ax7-0f  :ii0>.£Kl3-0Xa%xi'0;rcu^ij£;.        Froill    the    Ly- 

sistraia  of  Aristophanes,  v.  458. 

U  Tiiisph'ase  is  taken  verbatim  fiom  an  account  of  aneit 
jiedition  to  Dnimmond's  Pond,  by  tme  of  those  many  Ame- 
ricans who  profess  to  think  that  'he  English  language,  as  ii 
has  been  hitherto  written,  is  deficient  in  what  they  call  re- 
[lublican  eneigy.  One  of  the  savins  of  Washington  is  far 
advanced  in  tlie  construction  of  a  new  language  for  the 
United  States,  which  is  supposed  to  be  a  mixture  of  Ilebrew 
and  Mrkmak. 

,'!  Alluding  to  a  ccdU^ctioii  of  pnenis,  called  "  I, a  Pnce  des 
grands-jonrs  de  I'oit  i  rs."  They  were  all  written  iipoi,  a 
flea,  which  Stephen  1'  isquier  found  on  the  bosom  of  the 
famous  Calliariiie  des  Roaches,  one  merniiiir  during  the 
irrandf-jmirs  of  Poitiers.  I  ask  pardon  of  the  learned 
Calbarin  ''s  meniory,  for  my  vulgar  alteration  of  bor  mo8i 
respeeialili'  'I'lrie. 

4  "  Ciircuiiia.  cold  and  shv." — Darwirt. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC 


l',l 


Vice  under  every  name  and  shape, 

From  adulterous  gardens  to  lields  of  rape  I 

I'll  send  you  some  Uiona;  3Iuscipula, 

tVnd,  into  Bartrain's  book  if  you'll  dip,  you'll  a 

Pretty  and  florid  description  tlnd  of 

This  "ludicrous,  lobed,  carniverous  kind  of — "' 

The  Lord  deliver  us  ' 
riiink  of  a  vegetable  being  "  carniverous  !" 

And,  George,  be  sure 
I'll  treat  you  too,  like  Liancourt,^ 

(Nor  thou  be  risible) 
With  all  the  views  so  striking  and  romantic, 
Which  one  might  have  of  the  Atlantic, 

If  it  were  visible. 

And  now,  to  tell  you  the  gay  variety 
Of  my  stage  society, 
riiere  was  a  quakcr  who  room  for  twenty  took. 
Pious  and  big  as  a  Polyglot  Pentateuch ! 
There  was  his  niepe  too,  sitting  so  fair  by, 
'dke  a  neat  Testament,  kept  to  swear  by. 
What  pity,  blooming  girl ! 
That  lips,  so  ready  for  a  lover, 
Should  not  beneath  their  ruby  casket  cover 

One  tooth  of  pearl !' 
But,  like  a  rose  beside  the  church-yard-stone. 
Be  doom'd  to  blush  o'er  many  a  mouldering  bone  ! 

There  was  *  *  *  * 
There  was  a  student  of  the  college,  too, 

Who  said 
Much  more  about  the  riches  of  his  head 
Than,  if  there  were  an  income-tax  on  brains. 
His  head  could  venture  to  acknowledge  to. 
I  ask'd  the  Scholar, 
If  his — v/hat  d'ye  call  her? 
Alma  3Iater  and  her  Bishop 
Properly  follow'd  the  Marquis's  wish  up,* 
And  were  much  advancing 
In  dancing  ? 


1  "Observed  likewise  in  those  savannas  abundance  of 
Ihe  ludicrous  Dionten  Muscipula." — Bartram's  Travels  in 
JVorth  America.  For  Ids  description  of  this  "  carniverous 
V'-'geiable,"  see  Inlrudnclion,  p.  13. 

•2  Tliis  pliiloso))hical  Duke,  describing  ihe  view  from  Mr. 
JetFer.son's  house,  Siys,  "the  Atlantic  might  be  seen,  were 
it  not  tor  the  greatness  of  the  distance,  which  renders  that 
pros|)ec-t  impossible."     See  his  Travels. 

3  Polyg'.iotus  was  the  first  painter,  says  Pliny,  wlio  show- 
ed the  lietli  in  his  portraits.  He  would  scarcely,  I  think, 
have  been  tempted  to  such  an  innovation  in  America. 

4  The  Marquis  de  Chasti  llux,  in  his  wise  letter  to  Mr. 
Madison,  Professor  of  Philosojihy  in  the  College  of  William 
and  Mary  at  Williamsburgh,  dwells  with  much  earnestne.'ss 
oil  the  altontion  which  should  be  paid  to  dancing.  See  his 
Travels.  This  college,  the  only  one  in  the  state  of  Virginia, 
and  the  first  which  I  saw  in  America,  gave  me  but  a  melan- 
choly idea  of  republican  seats  of  learning.  That  contempt 
for  the  elegancies  of  education,  which  the  American  demo- 
crats affect,  is  no  where  more  gro.'^sly  con-^picuous  than  in 
Virginia:  the  young  men,  who  look  for  advancement, study 
rather  to  be  dema^tosues  than  politicians  ;  and  a^  every  thing 
Ihnt  distinguishes  from  the  niuliitnde  is  supposed  to  be  in- 
vidious and  unnonular,  the  levelling  system  is  a|iplied  to 
education,  and  has  had  all  theeft'ect  which  its  partizans could 
■lesire,  bvproducing  a  most  cvtensive  ccpialityof  ignnran-e. 
The  '\bh6  Raynal,in  his  prophetic  admonitions  to  Ihe  .^me- 
iicans,  directing  their  afontion  very  strongly  to  learned  es- 
Iah!ishment^,  says,  "When  ihe  yoiitli  of  a  country  are  seen 
depraved,  the  nation  is  on  the  decline."  I  know  not  what 
thfi  Ahb6  Raynal  would  [)rononnce  of  this  nation  now,  were 
ae  alive  tu  know  the  morals  of  the  young  »nidents  at  Wil- 


iTlie  evening  now  grew  dark  and  still ; 

The  whip-poor-will 
Sung  pensively  on  every  tree  ; 
And  straight  1  lell  into  a  reverie 
Upon  that  man  of  gallantry  and  pith, 

Captain  Smith.' 
And  very  stran^'o  it  seem'd  to  me, 
That,  after  having  kiss'd  so  grand  a 
Dame  as  Lady  Trabigzanda, 

By  any  chance  he 

Could  take  a  fancy 
To  a  nymph,  with  such  a  copper  front  aa 

Pocahuntas  ! 
And  now,  as  through  the  gloom  so  dark. 
The  fire-Hies  scatter'd  many  a  liery  spark, 
To  one  that  glitter'd  on  the  quaker's  bonnet, 

I  wrote  a  sonnet.'^ 


And 

two  lines  more  had  just  completed  it ; 
But,  at  the  moment  I  repeated  it. 

Our  stage, 
(Which  good  Brissot  with  brains  so  critical 
And  sage, 
Callcth  the  true  "  machine  political,")' 
W'ith  all  its  load  of  uncles,  scholars,  nieces, 
Together  jumbled. 
Tumbled 
Into  a  rut  and  fell  to  pieces ! 

*  *  *  *  m  m 

Good  night ! — my  bed  must  be. 
By  this  time,  warm  enough  for  me. 
Because  I  tind  old  Ephraim  Steady, 
And  Miss  his  niece  are  there  already ! 

Some  cavillers 
Object  to  sleep  with  fellow-travellers  ; 
But        *        *        *        * 
Saints  protect  the  pretty  quaker. 
Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  wake  her! 


liamsburgh  I  Bui  when  he  wrote,  his  countrymen  ^a(\  not 
yet  introduced  the  "doctrinam  doos  spernenteiii"  into  Ame- 
rica. 

1  John  Smith,  a  famous  traveller,  and  by  far  the  moat 
enterprising  of  the  first  settlers  in  Virginia.  How  much  he 
was  indebted  to  the  interesting  young  Poi'ahuntas,duughtni 
of  Kiiig  Powhatan,  may  be  seen  in  all  the  histories  of  iliii 
colony.  In  the  dedication  of  his  own  work  to  the  DulchsM 
of  Richmond,  he  thus  enumerati^s  his  boiivcs  fjrtunts  : 
"  Yet  my  comfort  is,  that  heretofoie  iionourab!e  and  vertu- 
oiis  lades,  and  comparable  hut  among  themselves,  have 
olfered  me  rescue  and  proteciion  in  my  greatest  dansi-r*. 
Even  in  forraine  parts  I  have  felt  reliefefrom  that  sex.  ^"he 
beauteous  lady  "Trabigzanda,  when  I  was  a  slave  to  iha 
Turks,  did  all  she  could  to  secure  mo.  When  1  overcaiiio 
the  Bashaw  of  Nalbriis  in  Tartaria,  the  charitable  lady 
Callamaia  supplyed  my  necessities.  In  the  utmost  of  my 
extremities,  that  blessed  Pocahuntas,  Ihegreal  King's  daugli- 
ter  of  Virginia  oft  saved  my  life." 

Davis,  in  his  whimsical  Travels  through  America,  ha9 
manufactured  into  a  kind  of  romance  the  loves  of  Mr.  Rolf* 
with  this  "opaci  ma.xima  niundi,"  Pocahuntas. 

2  For  the  Sonnet,  sei^  page  1-1. 

3  "  The  Aniericiin  stages  an-  the  true  political  carriages." 
—  Rrixxofx  Travels,  Letter  6th. — There  is  nothing  inorf 
amusing  than  the  philosophical  sin^rries  of  these  French 
travellers.  In  one  of  the  letters  of  Clavieie,  prefixed  le 
those  of  Brissot,  upon  their  plan  for  eslablishins  a  republic 
of  nhilnsophers  in  some  part  of  Ihe  west«rn  worlil.  he  in- 
treats  Brissot  to  be  particular  in  choosing  a  p'ace  "wherf 
llieio  are  no  musquiloes:"  forsooth,  ne  quid  respublicnduU- 
n'enli  ca[>eret! 


152 


MOORE'S  \VOliK8. 


TO  A  FRIEND. 
When  next  you  see  the  black-ey'd  Caty, 
The  loving  languid  girl  of  Hayti,' 
VV'hose  finger  so  expertly  plays 
Amid  the  ribbon's  silken  ma/.e, 
Just  like  Aurora,  when  she  ties 
A  rainbow  round  the  morning  skies  ! 

Say,  that  I  hope,  when  winter 's  o'er, 
On  Norfolk's  bank  again  to  rove, 

And  then  shall  search  the  ribbon  store 
For  some  of  Caiys  softest  love. 

I  should  not  like  the  gloss  were  past, 
Yet  want  it  not  entirely  new ; 

But  bright  and  strong  enough  to  last 
About — suppose  a  week  or  two. 

However  frail,  however  light, 
Twill  do,  at  least,  to  wear  at  night ; 
And  so  you'll  tell  our  black-ey'd  Caty  — 
The  loving,  languid  girl  of  Hayti ! 


'  Errare  malo  cum  Platone,  quain  cura  aliis  recte  sentire." 

Ciciru. 
would  rather  think  wronsly  wiih  Plato,  than  rightly  with 
any  uiie  else. 


1802. 


Fanny,  m/  love,  we  ne'er  were  sages, 
But,  trust  me,  all  that  Tully's  zeal 

Express'd  for  Plato's  glowing  pages. 
All  that,  and  more,  for  thee  I  feel ! 

Whate'er  the  heartless  world  decree, 
Howe'er  unfeeling  prudes  condemn, 

Fanny  !  I'd  rather  sin  with  thee. 
Than  live  and  die  a  saint  with  them ! 


SONG. 


I  ne'er  on  that  lip  for  a  minute  have  gaz'd, 

But  a  thousand  temptations  beset  me, 
And  I've  thought,  as  the  dear  little  rubies  you  rais'd. 

How  delicious  'twould  be — if  you'd  let  me  ! 

Then  be  not  so  angry  for  what  I  have  done. 
Nor  say  that  you've  sworn  to  forget  me; 

They  were  buds  of  temptation  too  pouting  to  shun. 
And  I  thought  that — you  could  not  but  let  me  ! 

When  your  lip  with  a  whisper  came  close  to  my  cheek. 

Oh  think  how  bewitching  it  met  me  ! 
And,  plain  as  the  eye  of  a  Venus  could  speak, 

Your  eye  seem'd  to  say — you  would  let  me ! 

Then  forgive  the  transgression,  and  bid  me  remain. 
For,  in  truth,  if  I  go  you'll  regret  me ; 

Or,  oh  I — lot  me  try  the  transgression  again. 
And  I'll  do  all  you  wish — will  you  let  me? 


1  Amoiig  the;  WuKl-Iiiihan  Kronrh  lit  Niiriolk,  Ihcro  are 
•ornc  \'i!ry  iiilc^rcHtin;;  Saint  Doinint'o  \i\f\ti,  who,  in  the  il.iy, 
•ell  rnil'iiiery,  etc.  and  at  nifjlil  lusenihle  in  lilllo  cc>tilli(iii 
'•arii<B,  when;  Ihey  danif  iiwuy  the  rcrneinbrunce  of  their 
(nfipriunnlc  rounlry,  ntid  forffel  the  iiiisuries  which  "lea 
mill  (Jtix  noira"  liuvu  bru''.g/it  ujioii  tneni. 


FROM  THE  GREEK 
I've  prest  her  bosom  oft  and  oft ; 

In  spite  of  many  a  pouting  cheek, 
Have  touch'd  her  lip  in  dalliance  soft, 

And  play'd  around  her  silvery  neck. 

But,  as  for  more,  the  maid  's  so  coy. 

That  saints  or  angels  might  have  seen  us 

She's  now  for  prudence,  now  for  joy, 
Minerva  half,  and  half  a  Venus. 

Wlien  Venus  makes  her  bless  me  near, 
Why  then,  Minerva  makes  her  loth ; 

And — oh  the  sweet  tormenting  dear  ! 
She  makes  me  mad  between  them  both! 


ON  A  BEAUTIFUL  EAST-INDIAN 

If  all  the  daughters  of  the  sun 

Have  loving  looks  and  eyes  of  flame. 

Go,  tell  me  not  that  she  is  one — 

'Twas  from  the  wintry  moon  she  came ' 

And  yet,  sweet  eye  !  thou  ne'er  wert  given 
To  kindle  what  thou  dost  not  feel ; 

And  yet,  thou  flushing  lip — by  heaven ! 
Thou  ne'er  wert  made  for  Dian's  seal ! 

Oh  !  for  a  sunbeam,  rich  and  warm 
From  thy  own  Ganges'  fervid  haunts. 

To  light  thee  up,  thou  lovely  fonn ! 
To  all  my  soul  adores  and  wants : 

To  see  thee  burn — to  faint  and  sigh 

Upon  that  bosom  as  it  blaz'd. 
And  be  myself  the  first  to  die. 

Amid  the  flame  myself  had  rais'd ! 


TO . 

I  KNOW  that  none  can  smile  like  thee. 

But  there  is  one,  a  gentler  one, 
Whose  heart,  rhough  young  and  wild  it  be. 

Would  ne'er  have  done  as  thine  has  done. 

When  we  were  left  alone  to-day. 
When  every  curious  eye  was  fled, 

And  all  that  love  could  look  or  say. 
We  might  have  look'd,  we  might  have  said 

Would  !;he  have  felt  me  trembling  press. 
Nor  trembling  press  to  me  again? 

Would  xhe  have  had  the  power  to  bless. 
Yet  want  the  heart  to  bless  me  then  ? 

Her  tresses,  too,  as  soft  as  thine — 
Would  Klie.  have  idly  paus'd  to  twine 
Their  scattcr'd  locks,  with  cold  delay. 
While  oh  !  such  minutes  pass'd  away, 


1    Mxi^ovj  y^ipTiv  iXf^j  Tro/uxTi  trroux^  JiTTspi  Sstpnv 
Ao-XSTa  A.U0-O-0U0UI/  liOfy-ofiXi  xfyvfitifV 
Q\j7TM  y*  xzpoy-ivttobv  Q'KVIV  ikov  xK'K*  in  XXfiVWV 

UyiTv  ^xp  llx<pty,^  TO  S''  «p*  vif^tiTv  ^jimv  A^nvn 

AuTXf    iym  /UfOTOS   TI)XO|Uat    »/ipOTipxiV. 

Paulus  SilentiariHS. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


1.-.3 


As  heiiven  has  mude  for  those  who  love  ? 

For  tliose  who  love,  ;ind  long  to  steal 
\V  li.it  none  but  hearts  of  ice  reprove, 

What  none  but  hearts  of  fire  can  feel ! 

Un,  go — an  age  of  vulgar  years 
May  now  be  pin'd,  be  sigh'd  away, 

Refore  one  blessed  hour  appears. 
Like  that  which  we  have  lost  to-day ! 


AT  NIGHT.' 

At  night,  when  all  is  still  around, 
How  sweet  to  hear  the  distant  sound 

Of  footstep,  coming  soft  and  light ! 
What  pleasure  in  the  anxious  beat. 
With  which  the  bosom  Hies  to  meet 

That  foot  that  comes  so  soft  at  night ! 

And  then,  at  night,  how  sweet  to  say 
"  'Tis  late,  my  love  !"  and  chide  delay, 

Though  still  the  western  clouds  are  bright ; 
Oh  !  happy  too  the  silent  press, 
The  eloquence  of  mule  caress. 

With  those  we  love  exchang'd  at  night ! 

I  These  lines  alluile  to  a  curious  lanij),  which  has  for  its 
device  a  Cupid  with  the  words  "at  night"  written  over 
bus. 


At  night,  what  dear  employ  to  trace, 
In  fancy,  every  glowing  grace 

That's  hid  by  darkness  from  the  sight; 
And  guess  by  every  broken  sigh, 
W^hat  tales  of  bliss  the  shrouded  eye 

Is  telling  to  the  soul  at  night ! 


TO 


I  oi''TE>f  wish  that  thou  wert  dead, 
And  I  beside  thee  calmly  sleeping ; 

Since  love  is  o'er,  and  passion  Hed, 
And  life  has  nothing  worth  our  keeping' 

No — common  souls  may  bear  decline 
Of  all  that  throbb'd  them  once  so  high; 

But  hearts  that  beat  like  thine  and  mine, 
Must  still  love  on — love  on  or  die ! 

'Tis  true,  our  early  joy  was  such. 

That  nature  could  not  bear  th'  excess! 

It  was  too  much — for  life  too  much — 
'I'hough  life  be  all  a  blank  with  less ! 

To  see  that  eye  so  cold,  so  still, 

WTiicli  once,  O  God  !  could  melt  in  bliaa 
No,  no,  I  cannot  bear  the  chill — 

Hate,  burning  hate  were  heaven  to  this . 


aUSlSSISiFSS®  !LS5?f  sss 


OH, 


THE   TWOPENNY   POST   BAG. 


E  lapsiK  maiiibus  cecidfere  tabellae. —  Ovid. 


DEDICATION. 


TO  ST- 


-N  W- 


-LR- 


-E,  Esq. 


My  dear  W E : — It  IS  now  about  seven  years  since  I  promised  (and  I  grieve  to  think  it  is  almost  ag 

long  since  we  met)  to  dedicate  to  you  the  very  first  bool<,  of  whatever  size  or  kind,  I  should  publish.  Whu 
could  hsve  thought  that  so  many  years  would  elapse  without  my  giving  the  least  signs  of  life  upon  the 
subject  of  this  important  promise  ?  Who  could  have  imagined  that  a  volume  of  doggerel,  after  all,  would 
be  die  first  offering  that  Gratitude  would  lay  upon  the  shrine  of  Friendship? 

If,  however,  you  are  as  interested  about  me  and  my  pursuits  as  formerly,  you  will  be  happy  to  hea» 
that  doggerel  is  not  my  only  occupation ;  but  that  I  am  preparing  to  throw  my  name  to  the  Swans  of  the 
Temple  of  Immortality,'  leaving  it,  of  course,  to  the  said  Swans  to  determine  whether  they  ever  will  take 
he  trouble  of  picking  it  from  the  stream. 

In  the  mean  time,  my  dear  W e,  like  a  pious  Lutheran,  you  must  judge  of  me  rather  by  my  faith 

lan  my  works,  and,  however  trifling  the  tribute  which  I  offer,  never  doubt  the  fidelity  with  which  1  am,  and 

'ways  shall  be. 

Your  sincere  and  attached  friend, 

245  Piccadilly,  March  4,  1813.  THE  AUTHOR 


PREFACE. 


The  Bag,  from  which  the  following  Letters  are  se- 
lected, was  dropped  by  a  Twopenny  Postman,  about 
two  months  since,  and  picked  up  by  an  emissary  of 
the  Society  for  the  S — pp — ss — n  of  V — e,  who,  sup- 
posing it  might  materially  assist  the  private  researches 
of  that  institution,  immediately  took  it  to  his  employ- 
ers and  was  rewarded  handsomely  for  his  trouble. 
Such  a  treasury  of  secrets  was  worth  a  whole  host  of 
informers;  and,  accordingly,  like  the  Cupids  of  the 
poet  (if  I  may  use  so  profane  a  simile)  who  "  fell  at 
odds  about  the  sweet-bag  of  a  bee,"-  those  venerable 
suppressors  almost  fought  with  each  other  for  the 
honour  and  delight  of  first  ransacking  the  Post-Bag. 
Uiduckily,  however,  it  turned  out,  upon  examination, 
that  the  discoveries  of  profligacy,  which  it  enabled 
Jiem  to  make,  lay  chiefly  in  those  upper  regions  of 
society,  which  their  well-bred  regulations  forbid  them 
.o  molest  or  meddle  with.  In  conse(iuence,  they 
gained  but  very  lew  victims  by  their  prize,  and,  after 
lying  for  a  week  or  two  under  Mr.  II — tch — d's 
counter,  the  Bag,  with  its  violated  contents,  was  sold 
or  a  tridc  to  a  friend  of  mine. 

It  happened  that  I  had  just  then  been  seized  with 


1  ArJHto.  (Mnto  33. 

154 


an  ambition  (having  never  tried  the  strength  of  my 
wing  but  in  a  newspaper)  to  publish  something  or 
other  in  the  shape  of  a  book  ;  and  it  occurred  to  me 
that,  the  present  being  such  a  letter-writing  era,  a  few 
of  these  two-penny  post  epistles,  turned  into  easy 
verse,  would  bo  as  light  and  popular  a  task  as  I  could 
possibly  select  for  a  commencement.  I  did  not 
think  it  prudent,  however,  to  give  too  many  Letters  at 
first ;  and,  accordingly,  have  been  obliged  (in  order  to 
eke  out  a  sufficient  number  of  pages)  to  reprint  some 
of  those  trifics,  which  had  already  appeared  in  the 
public  journals.  As,  in  the  battles  of  ancient  times, 
tiie  shades  of  the  departed  were  sometimes  seen 
among  the  combatants,  so  I  thought  I  might  remedy 
the  thinness  of  my  ranks,  by  conjuring  up  a  few  dead 
and  forgotten  ephemerons  to  fill  them. 

Such  are  the  motives  and  accidents  that  led  to  the 
present  publication;  and  as  this  is  the  first  time  my 
muse  has  ever  ventured  out  of  the  go-cart  of  a  news- 
paper, though  I  feel  all  a  parent's  delight  at  seeing 
little  Miss  go  alone,  1  am  also  not  without  a  parent's 
anxiety,  lest  an  unlucky  fall  should  ^e  the  conse- 
quence of  the  experiment ;  and  1  need  not  point  out 
the  many  living  instances  there  are  of  Muses  tliat 
have  suffered  severely  in  their  heads,  from  taking  too 
early  and  rashly  to  their  feet.  Besides,  a  book  is  so 
very  dillercnt  a  thing  from  a  newspaper ! — in  the  for 


THE  TWOPENNY  POST  BAG. 


155 


mer,  your  doggerel,  without  either  company  or  shel- 
ter, must  stand  shivering  in  the  middle  of  a  bleak 
white  page  by  itself;  whereas,  in  the  latter,  it  is  com- 
forily  backed  by  advertisements,  and  has  sometimes 
even  a  Speech  of  i>lr.  St — pli — n's,  or  something 
equally  warm,  for  a  chauffe-pw, — so  that,  in  general, 
the  very  reverse  of  "  laudatur  et  alget"  is  its  destiny. 
Ambition,  however,  must  run  some  risks,  and  I 
sh.'.ll  be  very  well  satisfied  if  the  reception  of  tiiese 
tew  Letters  should  have  the  ell'ect  of  sending  me  to 
the  Post-Bag  for  more. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FOURTEENTH 
EDITION. 

BY    A    FRIE.ND    OF    THE    AUTHOR. 


In  the  absence  of  Mr.  Brown,  who  is  at  present  on 

c,  tour  through ,  I  feci  myself  called  upon,  as 

his  friend,  to  notice  certain  misconceptions  and  mis- 
representations, to  which  this  little  volume  of  Trifles 
has  given  rise. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  not  true  that  Mr.  Brown  has 
h.id  any  accomplices  in  the  work.  A  note,  indeed, 
which  has  hitherto  accompanied  his  Preface,  may 
very  naturally  have  been  the  origin  of  such  a  supposi- 
tion; but  that  note,  which  was  merely  tlie  coquetry 
of  an  author,  I  have,  in  the  pnisent  edition,  taken 
upon  myself  to  remove,  and  Mr.  Brown  must  there- 
fore be  considered  (like  the  mother  of  that  unique 
production,  the  Centaur,  y.ovx  x.xi  ^siov^)  as  alone 
responsible  for  the  whole  contents  of  the  volume. 

In  the  next  place  it  has  been  said,  that  in  conse- 
quence of  this  graceless  little  book,  a  certain  distin- 
guished Personage  prevailed  upon  another  distin- 
guished Personage  to  withdraw  from  the  author  that 
notice  and  kindness,  with  which  he  had  so  long  and 
so  liberally  honoured  him.  Tiiere  is  not  one  syllable 
of  truth  in  this  story.  For  the  magnanimity  of  the 
former  of  these  persons  I  would,  intleed,  in  no  case, 
answer  too  rashly  ;  but  of  the  conduct  of  the  hitter  to- 
wards my  friend,  I  have  a  proud  gratification  in  de- 
claring, that  it  has  never  ceased  to  be  such  as  he  must 
remember  with  indelible  gratitude; — a  gratitude  the 
more  cheerfully  and  warmly  paid,  from  its  not  being 
a  debt  incurred  solely  on  his  own  account,  but  for 
kindness  shared  with  those  nearest  and  dearest  to  him. 

To  the  charge  of  being  an  Irishman,  poor  Mr. 
Brown  pleads  guilty ;  and  I  believe  it  must  also  be 
acknowledged  that  he  comes  of  a  Roman  Catholic 
family :  an  avowal  which,  I  am  aware,  is  decisive  of 
his  utter  reprobation  in  the  eyes  of  those  exclusive 
patentees  of  Christianity,  so  worthy  to  have  been  the 
followers  of  a  certain  enlightened  Bishop,  Donatus,^ 
who  held  "that  (Jod  is  in  Africa,  rind  iiat  ehewhere." 
But  from  all  this  it  does  not  necessarily  follow  that 
I\Ir.  Brown  is  a  Papist ;  and,  indeed,  I  have  the 
strongest  reasons  for  suspecting  that  they  who  say  so 
are  totally  mistaken.  Not  that  I  presume  to  have  as- 
certained h!s  opinions  upon  such  subjects  ;  all  I  know 
of  his  orthodoxy  is,  that  he  has  a  Protestant  wife  and 
two  or  three  little  Protestant  children,  and  that  he 


has  been  seen  at  church  every  Sunday,  for  a  whoie 
year  together,  listening  to  the  sermons  of  his  lrul> 
reverend  and  amiable  friend.  Dr. ,  and  behav- 
ing there  as  well  and  as  orderly  as  most  pi'ople. 

There  are  a  few  more  mistakes  and  falsehoodn 
about  Mr.  Brown,  to  which  I  had  intended,  with  all 
becoming  gravity,  to  advert ;  but  I  begin  to  tliink  the 
task  is  altogether  as  useless  as  it  is  tiresome.  Calum- 
nies and  misrepresentations  of  this  sort  are,  like  ilie 
arguments  and  statements  of  Dr.  Duigenan,  not  at  all 
the  less  vivacious  or  less  serviceal.'ie  to  their  liibiica- 
tors  for  having  been  refuted  and  disproved  a  thousand 
times  over :  they  are  brought  forward  again,  as  good 
as  new,  whenever  malice  or  stupidity  is  in  want  of 
tliein,  and  are  as  useful  as  the  old  broken  lantern,  in 
Fielding's  Amelia,  which  the  watchman  always  keeps 
ready  by  him,  to  produce,  in  proof  of  riot,  against  his 
victims.  I  shall  therefore  give  up  the  fruitless  toil  of 
vindication,  and  would  even  draw  my  pen  over  what 
I  have  already  written,  had  I  not  promised  to  furnish 
the  Publisher  with  a  Preface,  and  know  not  how  else 
I  could  contrive  to  eke  it  out. 

I  have  added  two  or  three  more  trifles  to  tnis  eai- 
tion,  which  I  found  in  the  Mornmg  Chronicle,  and 
knew  tu  be  from  the  pen  of  my  mend.'  The  rest  of 
the  volume  remains^  in  its  original  state. 

April  20,  1814. 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS,  ETC. 


LETTER  I. 

FROM  THE  PR — NC — SS  CH 


]   I'iiidar,  Pytli,  i. — My  friend  cettainly  cannot  add  out" 
•2  Itisliop  ol  Casic  .Nigrae,  in  the  fourlii  century. 


THE  LADY  B — Ri! — A  A — SIIL — Y.^ 

3Iy  dear  Lady  Bab,  you'll  be  shock'd,  I'm  afraid, 
When  you  hear  the  sad  rumpus  your  ponies  have 

made ; 
Since  the  time  of  horse-consuls  (now  long  out  of  date) 
No  nags  ever  made  such  a  stir  in  the  Slate  ! 

Lord  Eld — n  first  heard — and  as  instantly  pray'd  he 
To  (5od  and  his  King — that  a  Popish  young  lady 
(For  though  you've  bright  eyes,  and  twelve  thousand 

a  year, 
It  is  still  but  too  true  you're  a  Papist,  my  dear) 
Had  insidiously  sent,  by  a  tall  Irish  groom. 
Two  priest-ridden  ponies,  just  landed  from  Rome, 
.\nd  so  full,  little  rogues,  of  pontifical  tricks. 
That  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  was  scarce  safe  fro 

their  kicks ! 

Off  at  once  to  papa,  in  a  flurry,  he  flies — 
For  papa  always  docs  what  these  statesmen  advise, 
On  condition  that  they'll  be,  in  turn,  so  polite 
As  in  no  case  whate'er  to  advise  him  too  rifiht — 


1  Tin  Trifles  liore  alluded  to,\Rnd  others,  whicii  have 
since  appeared,  will  be  fimnd  in  lliis  editi m. —  PuldisluT. 

■i  A  new  reading  has  been  susgesled  in  the  or'srinal  of  the 
Ode  of  Horace,  fieely  translated  by  Lord  Eld-  n.  In  the 
line  "  Sive  per  Syrleis  iter  lestuosiis,"  it  is  ptopngi-d,  by  a 
very  triHing  alieration,  to  read  "Surlers"  instead  of  "Syr 
leis,"  whicli  biings  the  Ode,  it  Is  said,  more  home  to  ilie 
nuble  Translator,  and  ^i/es  a  peculiar  f  irce  and  uptnees  tu 
the  epithet  "  aestuosiis."  I  merelv  throw  oul  this  eiiieriiia- 
tion  for  the  learned,  being  unah.o  myself  lo  decide  ui>on  its 
merits. 

3  This  young  T.iidy,  who  is  n  Roman  Catholic  has.  la'ei.f 
made  a  present  of  some  beautiful  p'.mies  to  the  1\ — nc— *< 


156 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"  Prettj  doings  are  here,  sir,  (he  angrily  cries. 
While  by  dint  of  dark  eyebrows  he  strives  to  look 

wise,) 
'Tis  a  scheme  of  the  Romanists,  so  help  me  God ! 
To  rjde  over  your  most  Royal  Highness  rough-shod — 
Excuse,  sir,  my  tears,  they're  from  loyalty's  source — 
Bad  enough  'twas  for  Troy  to  be  sack'd  by  a  Horse, 
Hut  for  us  to  be  ruin'd  by  Ponies,  still  worse !" 

Qiick  a  council  is  call'd — the  whole  cabinet  sits— 
The  Archbishops  declare,  frighten'd  out  of  their  wits. 
That  if  vile  Popish  ponies  should  eat  at  my  manger, 
From  that  awful  moment  the  Church  is  in  danger! 
As,  give  them  but  stabling,  and  shortly  no  stalls 
Will  suit  their  proud  stomachs  but  those  of  St.  Paul's. 

The  Doctor,  and  he,  the  devout  man  of  Leather, 
V — ns — tt — t,  now  laying  their  saint-heads  together, 
Declare  that  these  skittish  young  a-bominations 
Are  clearly  foretold  in  chap.  vi.  Revelations — 
Nay,  they  verily  think  they  could  point  out  the  one 
Which  the  Doctor's  friend  Death  was  to  canter  upon! 

Lord  H — rr — by,  hoping  that  no  one  imputes 
To  the  Court  any  fancy  to  persecute  brutes. 
Protests,  on  the  word  of  himself  and  his  cronies. 
That  had  these  said  creatures  been  Asses,  not  Ponies, 
The  court  would  have  started  no  sort  of  objection. 
As  Asses  were,  there,  always  sure  of  protection. 

"If  the  Pr-nc-ss  icill  keep  them  (says  Lord  C-stl-r-gh,) 
To  make  them  quite  harmless  the  only  true  way 
Is  (as  certain  Chief-Justices  do  with  their  wives) 
To  flog  them  within  half  an  inch  of  their  lives — 
If  they've  any  bad  Irish  blood  lurking  about. 
This  (he  knew  by  experience)  would  soon  draw  it  out." 
Or — if  this  be  thought  cruel — his  Lordship  proposes 
"  The  new  Veto-sna.ffie  to  bind  down  their  noses — 
A  pretty  contrivance,  made  out  of  old  chains. 
Which  appears  to  indulge,  while  it  doubly  restrains  ; 
Which,  however  high-mettled,  their  gamesomeness 

checks 
(Adds  his  Lordship,  humanely,)  or  else  breaks  their 

necks  1" 
This  proposal  received  pretty  general  applause 
From  the  statesmen  around — and  the  neck-breaking 

clause 
Had  a  vigour  about  it,  which  soon  reconciled 
Even  Eld — n  himself  to  a  measure  so  mild. 
So  the  snaffles,  my  dear,  were  agreed  to  noni.  con.. 
And  my  Lord  C — stl — r — gh,  having  so  often  shone 
In  xhe.  fettering  line,  is  to  buckle  them  on. 

I  shall  drive  to  your  door  in  these  Vetos  some  day. 
But,  at  present,  adieu  ! — I  must  hurry  away 
To  go  see  my  mamma,  as  I'm  suffered  to  meet  her 
For  just  half  an  hour  by  the  Q.u — n's  best  repeater. 

C E. 


LETTER  n. 

KRO.M  COLONEL  .M'M — \i — N  TO  G — LD  FR — NC — S 
L — CKIE,  ESa. 

Dear  Sir,  I've  just  had  time  to  look 
Into  your  very  learned  book,' 


1  Scu  the  Kiliiiliurjili  R(!view.No.  xl 


Wherein — as  plain  as  maii  can  speak, 
VV'hose  English  is  half  modern  Greek— 
You  prove  that  we  can  ne'er  intrench 
Our  happy  isles  against  the  French, 
Till  Royalty  in  England's  made 
A  much  more  independent  trade — 
In  short,  until  the  House  of  Guelph 
Lays  Lords  and  Commons  on  the  shell. 
And  boldly  sets  up  for  itself! 

All,  that  can  be  well  understood 
In  this  said  book,  is  vastly  good  : 
And,  as  to  what's  incomprehensible 
I  dare  be  sworn  'tis  full  as  sensible ; 

But,  to  your  work's  immortal  credit, 

The  P e,  good  sir, — the  P e  has  ivja*  ' 

(The  only  book,  himself  remarks. 
Which  he  has  read  since  Mrs.  Clarke's j 
Last  levee-morn  he  look'd  it  through 
During  that  awful  hour  or  two 
Of  grave  tonsorial  preparation, 
Which,  to  a  fond  admiring  nation, 
Sends  forth,  announced  by  truxr.p  and  drum, 
The  best-wigg'd  P e  in  Christendom ! 

He  thinks,  with  you,  the  imagination 

Of  partnership  in  legislation 

Could  only  enter  in  the  noddles 

Of  dull  and  ledger-keeping  twaddles, 

Whose  heads  on  firms  are  running  so, 

They  even  must  have  a  King  and  Co. 

And  hence,  too,  eloquently  show  forth 

On  checks  and  hahinces,  and  so  forth. 

But  now,  he  trusts,  we  are  coming  near  a 
Better  and  more  royal  era  ; 
When  England's  monarch  need  but  say, 
"  Whip  me  those  scoundrels,  C — stl — r — gh ! 
Or — "  hang  me  up  those  Papists,  Eld — n," 
And  't  will  be  done — ay,  faith,  and  well  dono 

With  view  to  which,  I've  his  command 

To  beg,  sir,  from  your  traveli'd  hand 

(Round  which  the  foreign  graces  swarm) 

A  plan  of  radical  reform; 

Compiled  and  chosen,  as  best  you  can. 

In  Turkey  or  at  Ispahan, 

And  quite  upturning,  branch  and  root, 

Lords,  Commons,  and  Burdett  to  boot ! 

But,  pray,  v/hate'er  you  may  impart,  write 
Somewhat  more  brief  than  Major  C — rtwr — ghi 

Else,  though  the  P e  be  long  in  rigging, 

'Twould  take,  at  least,  a  fortnight's  wigging,- 
Two  wigs  to  every  paragraph — 
Before  he  well  could  get  through  half. 

You'll  send  it,  also,  speedily — 
As,  truth  to  say,  'twixt  you  and  me, 
His  Highness,  heated  by  your  work, 
Already  thinks  himself  Grand  Turk! 
And  you'd  have  laugh'd,  had  you  seen  how 
He  scared  the  (^h — nc — II — r  just  now. 
When  (on  his  Lordship's  entering  puff'd)  he 
Slapp'd  his  back  and  call'd  him  "Mufli !" 

The  tailors,  too,  have  got  commands 
To  put  directly  into  hands 


All  sorts  of  dulim^ns  and  pouches, 
With  sashes,  turbans,  and  pabouches 
'While  Y — vm — ih's  sketching  out  a  plan 
Of  new  iiiouytnclieii  a  VOttomunf,) 
And  all  things  fitting  and  expedient 
To  Turkiftj  our  gracious  K — g — nl ! 

You  therefore  liave  no  time  to  waste — 
•"Jo  send  your  system. — 

Your's,  in  haste. 

PO.STSCRIPT. 

Before  I  send  this  scrawl  away, 
I  seize  a  moment,  just  to  say 
There  's  some  parts  of  the  Turkish  system 
So  vulgar,  't  were  as  well  you  miss'd  'cm. 
I'^or  instance  in  Seraglio  matters — 
Your  Turk,  whom  girlish  fondness  flatters, 
Would  lill  his  Uaram  (tasteless  fool !) 
With  tittering,  red-cheek'd  things  from  school- 
But  here  (as  in  that  fairy  land. 
Where  Love  and  Age  went  hand  in  hand  ;' 
Where  lips  till  sixty  shed  no  honey. 
And  (irandams  were  worth  any  money) 
Our  Sultan  has  much  riper  notions — 
So,  let  your  list  of  .•■■/ir-promotions 
Include  those  only,  plump  and  sage, 
Who  've  reached  the  resulntion-a.ge ; 
That  is — as  near  as  one  can  fix 
From  Peerage  dates — full  fifty-six. 

This  ri'le  '<8  Cor  fav' rifes — nothing  more — 
For,  as  to  vives,  a  Grand  Signor, 
riiongb  not  decidely  without  them, 
Need  never  care  one  curse  about  them  ! 


LETTER  m. 


FROM  G.  R.  TO  THE  lO- 


We  miss'd  you  last  night  at  the  "  hoary  old  sinner's," 
Who  gave  us,  as  usual,  the  cream  of  good  dinners — 
His  soups  scientific — his  fishes  quite  pnVne — 
Ilis  pates  supe^rb — and  his  cutlets  sublime ! 
In  short,  'twas  the  snug  sort  of  dinner  to  stir  a 

Stomachic  orgasm  in  my  Lord  E gh, 

Who  set-to,  to  be  sure,  with  miraculous  force. 

And  exclaini'd,  between  mouthfuls,  "  a  He-codk,  of 

course  ! — 
While  you  live — (what's  there   under  that   cover? 

pray,  look) — 
While  you  live — (I'll  just  taste  it) — ne'er  keep  a  She- 
cook. 
'T  is  a  sound  Salic  law — (a  small  bit  of  that  toast) — 
Which  ordains  that  a  female  shall  ne'er  rule  the  roast; 
For  ("ookery's  a  secret — (this  turtle  's  uncommoi\) — 
Jiike  Masonry,  never  found  out  by  a  woman  I" 


1  The  leiiriii'd  Uolonel  must  allude  here  to  a  I'cscriiJlion 
of  the  Myslvr.oiis  I^le,  in  the  History  of  Abdalla,  Son  of 
Hiiiiif,  whern  such  inver.-iions  of  tlie  order  of  nature  are  saiil 
to  h;ive  taken  place. — ''  .\  .'icoreof  old  women  and  the  Siime 
number  of  old  men,  played  here  and  there  in  the  court,  some 
at  ihuck-farthing,  others  at  tip-cat  or  at  cockles." — And 
apiiin,  "  Tliere  is  noihing,  believe  me,  more  ensiiging  than 
those  lovely  wrinkles,"  etc.  etc. — See  Talcs  of  the  East, 
io\  iii.  pp.  607,  ()08. 

2  This  letter,  as  the  render  will  perceive,  was  written  the 
iny  alter  a  dinner,  given  by  the  M of  H — d — t. 


The  dinner,  you  know',  was  in  gay  celebration 
Of  mi/  lirilliant  triumph  and  II — nt's  condemnation; 
A  compliment  too  to  his  Lordshi|>  the  J — e 
For  his  speech  to  the  J — y, — and  zounds  !  who  would 

grudge 
Turtle-soup,  though  it  came  to  five  guineas  a  bowl, 
To  reward  such  a  loyal  and  complaisant  soul? 
We  were  all  in  high  gig — Roman  Punch  and  Tokay 
TravclI'd  round,  till  our  heads  travell'd  just  the  same 

way,— 
And  we  cared  not  for  Juries  or  Libels — no — dam'mc ! 

nor 
Even  for  the  threats  of  last  Sunday's  Examiner  ! 

fllore  good   things  were  eaten  than  said — but  ToM 

T — RRll — T 

In  quoting  Joe  3Iiller,  you  know,  has  some  meiit. 
And,  hearing  the  sturdy  Jtisiiciary  Chief 
Say — sated  with  tuitle — "I'll  now  try  the  beef" — 
To.M.MY  whisper'd  him  (giving  his  Lordship  a  sly  hit) 
"  I  fear  't  will  be  hung-baci',  my  Lord,  if  vou  try  it !" 

And  C — MD — N  was  there,  who,  that  morning,  had 

gone 
To  fit  his  new  Marquis's  coronet  on  ; 
And  the  dish  .set  before  him — oh  dish  well-devised ! — 
Was,  what  old  Mother  Gla.sse  calls,  "  a  calf's  head 

surprised  !" 

The  brains  were  near ;  and  once  they'd  been  fine, 

But  of  late  they  had  lain  so  long  soaking  in  wine 
That,  however  we  still  might  in  cotirtesy  call 
Them  a  fine  dish  of  brains,  they  were  no  brains  at  all. 

Wien  the  dinner  was  over,  we  drank,  every  one 
In  a  bumper,  "the  venial  delights  ofOim.  Gon." 
At  which  H — D — T  with  warm  reminiscences  gloated, 
And  E — b'r — H  chuckled  to  hear  himself  quoted. 

Our  next  round  of  toasts  was  a  fancy  quite  new. 
For  we  drank — and  you'll  own  't  was  benevolent  too 
To  those  well-meaning   husbands,  cits,  parsons,  or 

peers, 
\Miom  we've  any  time  honour'd  by  kissing  their  dears ; 
This  museum  of  wittols  was  comical  rather ; 
Old  H — D — T  gave  M v,  and  /gave . 

In  short,  not  a  soul  till  this  morning  would  budge- 

We  were  all  fun  and  frolic  ! — and  even  the  J a 

Laid  aside,  for  the  time,  his  juridical  fashion, 

And  through  the  whole  night  was  nolunce  in  a  passion 

I  write  this  in  'oed,  while  my  whiskers  are  airing. 
.\nd  M — c  has  a  sly  dose  of  jalap  preparing 
For  poor  T — mmv  T — rr — T  at  breakfast  to  quafl 
As  I  feel  I  want  something  to  give  me  a  latigh. 
And  there's  nothing  so  good  as  old  T — .m  m  v,  kept  clos* 
To  his  Cornwall  accounts,  after  taking  a  dose ' 


LETTER  IV 

FRO.M  the  right  HON.  P — TR — CK   D — G — N — .N  TO 
THE  RIGHT  HON.  SIR  J — HN    N — CH — L. 

Dublin 

Last  week,  dear  N — cii — i.,  making  merry 
At  dinner  with  our  Secretary, 


1  This  letliT,  which  coutaiiied  some  very  henvy  inclo.«ureg, 
seems  to  have  been  sonl  to  London  by  a  private  hand,  and 


i58 


MOORF.'S  WORKS. 


When  all  were  drunk,  or  pretty  near 
(The  time  for  doins  business  here,) 
Says  hB  to  nie,  "  Sweet  Bully  Bottom  ! 
These  Papist  dogs— hiccup— od  rot  'em  ! 
Deserve  to  be  bespatter' d — hiccup — 
With  all  the  dirt  even  you  can  pick  up— 
But,  as  the  P e— (here  's  to  him— fill- 
Hip,  hip,  hurra  !) — is  trying  still 
To  humbug  them  with  kind  professions, 
And  as  you  deal  in  strong  expressions — 
•  Rogue' — '  trakor'— hiccup — and  all  that— 
You  must  be  muzzled,  Doctor  Pat  !— 
Vou  must  indeed — hiccup — that 's  flat." 

Yes — "  muzzled"  was  the  word.  Sir  John — 

These  fools  have  clapp'd  a  muzzle  on 

The  boldest  mouth  that  e'er  ran  o'er 

With  slaver  of  the  times  of  yore  !' — 

Was  it  for  this  that  back  I  went 

As  far  as  Latcran  and  Trent, 

To  prove  that  they,  who  damn'd  us  then, 

Ought  now,  in  turn,  be  damn'd  again  ! — 

The  silent  victim  still  to  sit 

Of  Gr— TT— iV's  fire  and  C— nn— g's  wit, 

To  hear  even  noisy  I\I— th — w  gabble  on 

Nor  mention  once  the  W — e  of  Babylon  ! 

Oh  !  'tis  too  much — who  now  will  be 

The  Nightman  of  No-Popery  ? 

What  Courtier,  Saint,  or  even  Bishop, 

Such  learned  filth  will  ever  fish  up? 

If  there  among  our  ranks  be  one 

To  take  my  place,  'tis  thou,  Sir  John — 

Thou— who  like  me,  art  dubb'd  Right  Hon. 

Like  me,  too,  art  a  Lawyer  Civil 

That  wishes  Papists  at  the  devil ! 

To  whom  then  but  to  thee,  my  friend. 

Should  Patrick-  his  Port-folio  send  ? 

Take  it — 't  is  thine — his  learn'd  Port-folio 

Witii  all  its  theologic  olio 

Of  Bulls,  half  Irish  and  half  Roman,— 

Of  Doctrines  now  believed  by  no  man — 

OfCouncils,  held  for  men's  salvation. 

Vet  always  ending  in  damnation — 

(Which  show.'-  '.hat  since  the  world's  creation. 

Your  Priests,  whate'er  their  gentle  shamming, 

Elave  alwajs  had  a  taste  for  damning;) 

And  many  more  such  pious  scraps. 

To  prove  (what  we've  long  proved  perhaps) 

That,  mad  as  Chri-tians  used  to  be 

About  the  Thirteenth  Century, 

There  's  lots  of  Christians  to  be  had 

In  this,  the  Nineteenth,  just  as  mad  ! 

Farewell — I  send  with  this,  dear  N — en — l! 
A  rod  or  two  I've  had  in  pickle 
Wherewilh  to  trim  old  Gr — tt — n's  jacket. — 
The  rest  snail  go  by  Monday's  packet. 

P.  D. 


Ih'-n  [Mil  in'o  llic  TwojKMiny  Post-Oirici,',  to  siive  troulilo. — 
5rf  iliu  A|i|H-ii(lix. 

1  tn  soridiiii;  tliiH  sli(!('t  lo  llic  Prrss,  hiiwover,  I  lo.irn  tliat 
fhfi  "  nni/.y.U-"  Ua»  lieuii  tiikcn  ofT,  iind  the  ilijjlit  Hon.  D.jc- 
liir  li'i  \o('i<-  asrniii. 

•2 This  in  a  bail  niiirK)  for  poi'lry ;  but  T) — gen — n  is  worse. — 
4.  r 'indent iufi  (lavi,  U|>o(i  a  very  different  subject — 
iiinjiiiMur  Ajiollo 
Vninino  l>i"  -.USJiia. 


Among  the  Inclosures  <n  the  foregoing  letter  was  the 
following  "  Unanswerable   Argument  against    tfie 

Papists." 

*  »  *  ♦ 

We're  told  the  ancient  Roman  nation 

Made  use  of  spittle  in  lustration.'  — 

(Vide  Lactantium  ap.  (Jallajum' — 

I.  e.  you  need  not  rend  but  see  'em.) 

Now,  Irish  Papists  (fact  surprising !) 

Make  use  of  spittle  in  baptising, 

Which  proves  them  all,  O'FiN.vs,  O'Fagans, 

Connors,  and  Toolp;s,  all  downright  Pagan    i 

This  fact  's  enough — let  no  one  tell  us 

To  free  such  sad,  salivous  fellows — 

No — no — the  man  baptised  with  spittle 

Hath  no  truth  in  him — not  a  tittle  ! 


LETTER  V. 

FROM  THE  COUNTESS  DOWAGER  OF  C —  TO 

LADY  . 

i\Iy  dear  Lady !  I've  been  just  sending  jut 

.4bout  five  hundred  cards  for  a  snug  little  R  /Ut — 
(By  the  bye,  you've  seen  Rokeby  ? — this  mv  mentgot 

mine — 
The  Mail-Coach  Edition' — prodigiously  fine  !) 
But  I  can't  conceive  how,  in  this  very  cold  weather, 
I'm  ever  to  bring  my  five  hundred  together; 
As,  unless  the  thermometer's  near  boiling  heat, 
One  can  never  get  half  of  one's  hundreds  to  meet — 
(Apropos — you'd  have   laugh'd  to  see  Townsend 

last  night. 
Escort  to  their  chair,  with  his  staff  so  polite. 
The  "three  maiden  Miseries,"  all  in  a  fright ! 
Poor  TowNSENO,  like  Mercury,  filling  two  posts, 
Supervisor  oi' thieves,  and  chief-usher  of  gho.'L^I) 


■ !  can't  you  hit  on  some 


Rut,  my  dear  Lady  - 

notion. 
At  least  for  one  night,  to  set  London  in  motion  ? 
As  to  having  the  R— o — nt — that  show  is  gone  by — 
Besides,  I've  reinark'd  that  (between  you  and  I) 
The  Marchesa  and  he,  inconvenient  in  more  ways, 
Have  taken  much  lately  to  whispering  in  door-ways ; 
Which — considering,  you  know,  dear,  the  size  of  tho 

two — 
Makes  a  block  that  one's  company  cannol  get  through  ■, 
And  a  house  such  as  mine  is,  with  door-ways  so  small, 
Has  no  room  for  such  cumbersome  love-work  at  all ! — 
(Apropos,  though,  of  love-work— you've  heard  it,  I 

hope. 
That  Nai'oi. eon's  old  3Iother  's  to  marry  the  Pope,— 
What  a  comical  pair  I) — But,  to  stick  to  my  Rout, 
'T  will  be  hard  if  some  novelty  can't  be  struck  out 
Is  there  no  Ai.<;erine,  no  Kamciiatkan  arrived? 
No  Plenipo  Pacha,  three-tail'd  and  ten-wived? 


1 lustnilibus  ante  salivis 

Kxi.ial.  Pas.  Sat.  2. 

2  I  have  taken  the  trouble  of  examining  the  Oocfor'g 
rrf«rencc  hen;,  anil  find  bun,  lor  once,  correct.  The  follow 
ing  ure  the  words  of  his  iiidigiiani  referee  (j'hII.tus— ."  Asse 
rere  non  vcrcnr.ir  sarruiii  baptismiirn  a  Pa|)istis  |)rofaiinri,  el 
spnti  usnrn  in  pecciitoruin  expiutione  a  Pagunis  non  a 
Christ  inn  is  in  an  asse.'" 

3  Sic  Mr.  Murray's  Advertisement  about  tho  M«il-Coac^ 
coDies  of  Rokebv. 


THE  TWOPENNY  POST  BAG. 


ir,9 


No  lli'ssiAN,  whose  dissonant  consonant  name 
Almost  rattles  to  fragments  tlie  trumpet  of  fame? 

I  remember  the  time,  three  or  four  winters  back, 
Wlien  -orovidetl  their  wigs  were  but  decently  black — 
A  ihw  Patriot  monsters,  from  Si'ain,  were  a  sight 
That  would  people  one's  house  for  one,  night  after 

night. 
But — whether  the  Ministers  paw'd  them  too  muclv 
And  you  know  how  they  spoil  whatever  they  touch,) 
Or,  whether  LordG — rgf.  (the  young  man  about  town) 
Has,  by  dint  of  bad  poetry,  written  them  down — 
One  has  certainly  lost  one's  peninsular  rage, 
And  the  only  stray  Patriot  seen  for  an  age 
Has  been  at  such  places  (think  how  the  tit  cools) 
As  old  Mrs.  V n's  or  Lord  L — v — rp — l's  ! 

But,  in  short,  my  dear,  names  like  Wi.ntztschits- 

TOPSCmiVZOUDHOFF 

Are  the  only  things  now  make  an  evening  go  smooth 
off— 

So,  get  me  a  Russian — till  death  I'm  your  debtor — 
If  he  brings  the  whole  Alphabet,  so  much  the  better: 
And — Lord!  if  he  would  but,  in  rlmracler,  sup 
Otf  his  fish-oil  and  candles,  he'd  quite  set  me  up! 

All  revoir,  my  sweet  girl — I  must  leave  you  in  haste — 
Little  GuNTER  has  brought  me  the  Liqueurs  to  taste. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

By  the  bye,  have  you  found  any  friend  that  can  construe 
T'hat  Latin  account,  t'  other  day,  of  a  Monster?' 
If  we  can't  get  a  Russian,  and  tlint  thing  in  Latin 
Be  not  too  improper,  I  think  I'll  bring  that  in. 


LETTER  VI. 

FROM  ABDALLAH,^  IN  LOXDON,  TO  MOHASSAN,  IN 
ISPAHAN. 

Whilst  thou,  Mohassan  (happy  thou  !) 
Dost  daily  bend  thy  loyal  brow 
Before  our  King — our  Asia's  treasure  ! 
Nutmeg  of  Comfort !  Rose  of  Pleasure! — 
And  bear'st  as  many  kicks  and  bruises 
As  the  said  Rose  and  Nutmeg  chooses  ; — 
Thy  head  still  near  the  bowstring's  borders, 
And  but  left  on  till  further  orders  ! 
Through  London  streets,  vvitli  turban  fair, 
And  caftan  floating  to  the  air, 
I  saunter  on — the  admiration 
Of  this  short-coated  population — 
This  sew'd-up  race — this  button'd  nation — 
Wlio,  while  they  boast  their  laws  so  free, 
Leave  not  one  limb  at  liberty, 
But  live,  with  all  their  lordly  speeches. 
The  slaves  of  buttons  and  tight  breeches. 


1  Alluiluig,  1  vup|i(isu,  io  the  L.ntiti  Adverti?«ment  of  a 
liusiis  Natiirat  in  llio  Newspaiiors  lately. 

2  I  liHve  nmde  many  ln(]iiiri(S  about  this  Persian  gentle- 
man, but  cannot  salisfactorily  Mscertain  who  nc  is.  From 
>iis  notions  of  Relii;ious  Ijiherty,  however,  F  oonfhide  thai 
he  i-i  an  importation  of  Ministers;  and  he  h'ls  arrived  just  in 

lime  to  assist  the  P E  and  iMr.  L — CK — K  in  Iheir  new 

Oriental  Plan  of  Reform. — See  Ihe  second  of  ihese  Letters, 
-llovv  Abdallah's  epislle  to  Ispahan  found  its  way  into  the 
l'wO|innny  Post  Bag  is  more  than  I  can  pretend  to  account 
l..r. 


Yet,  though  they  thus  their  knee-pans  fetter 

(They're  ('hristians,  and  they  know  no  belter/' 

In  some  things  they're  a  thinking  nation — 

And,  on  Religious  Toleration, 

F  own  I  like  their  notions  (juile. 

They  are  so  Persian  anrl  so  right ! 

You  know  our  Sunnite-s,'  hateful  dogs  ! 

Whom  every  pious  Siiiitk  flogs 

Or  longs  to  liog' — 't  is  true,  they  pray 

To  God,  but  in  an  ill-bred  way ; 

With  neither  arms,  nor  legs,  nor  faces 

Stuck  in  their  right,  canonic  places  !* 

'Tis  true,  they  worship  Ai.i's  name^ — 

Their  heaven  and  ours  are  just  the  same— 

(A  Persian's  heaven  is  easily  made, 

'Tis  but — black  eyes  and  lemonade.) 

Yet — though  we've  tried  for  centuries  back — 

We  can't  persuade  the  stubborn  pack, 

By  bastinadoes,  screws,  or  nippers. 

To  wear  th'  establish'd  pea-green  slippers  !* 

Then — only  think — the  libertines  ! 

They  wash  their  toes — they  comb  their  chins,' 

With  many  more  such  deadly  sins  ! 

And  (what 's  the  worst,  though  last  I  rank  itj 

Beheve  the  Chapter  of  the  Blanket! 

Yet,  spite  of  tenets  so  flagitious, 

(Which  must,  at  bottom,  be  seditious ; 

As  no  man  living  would  refuse 

Green  slippers,  but  from  treasonous  views. 

Nor  wash  his  toes,  but  with  intent 

To  overturn  the  government !) 

Such  is  our  mild  and  tolerant  way, 

We  only  curse  them  twice  a-day 

(According  to  a  form  that  's  set,) 

And,  far  from  torturing,  only  let 

All  orthodox  believers  beat  'em. 

And  twitch  their  beards,  where'er  they  meet  'em 

As  to  the  rest,  they're  free  to  do 
Wliate'er  their  fancy  prompts  them  to, 
Provided  they  make  nothing  of  it 
Tow'rds  rank  or  honour,  power  or  profit ; 
Which  things,  we  nat'rally  expect, 
Belong  to  us,  the  Establish'd  sect, 
WTio  distelieve  (the  Lord  be  thanked  !) 
Th'  aforesaid  Chapter  of  the  Blanket. 


1  "(7'est  un  bonnPie  hommc,"said  a  Turkish  governor 
of  de  Riiyter;  "  c'est  grand  doinmiige  i|u'il  soil  (,'hretien-" 

2  Suunilis  and  S/iiites  are  the  two  leading  secte  ..ito 
which  the  Mahometan  world  is  divided:  and  they  have  gone 
on  cursing  and  persecuting  each  oilier,  without  any  inter- 
tnission,  for  about  eleven  hundred  years.  The  Sunni  is  the 
established  seel  in  Turkey,  and  Ihe  Shia  in  Persia;  and  the 
differenee  between  them  turn  chiefly  upon  those  iinporiani 
pouits,  which  our  pious  friend  Abdallah,  in  the  true  spirit 
of  Shiite  .Ascendancy,  repiobates  in  this  I,ettcr. 

3  "  Les  Sunnites,  tpii  etaienl  cotnmc  les  catholiqi'es  de 
M  Usui  ma  nisnie." —  /-»'  Hrrbdot. 

4  "  In  contriKlistinction  to  the  Sounis,  who  iz.  .heir  prayera 
cross  their  hands  on  the  lower  part  of  Ihe  breusl,  llieSehiaht 
dro|>  their  arms  in  straight  lines  ;  and  as  the  Sounis,  at  cer- 
tain periods  of  the  prayer,  press  their  foreheads  on  the  ground 
or  carpet,  the  Schiiihs,"  etc.  etc. — Foster's  P'uiiase. 

5  "  Les  Turcs  nt-  d<itpstent  pas  Ali  r(^eiproi|uenieni ;  ng 
contraire  ils  le  rccooiiaisscnt,"  etc.  etc. — Chnrtlin. 

fi  "  The  Shiiles  wear  green  slippers,  which  the  Sunnil« 
cimsider  as  a  great  >ibomirratron."-^.1Mri7j. 

7  For  these  points  of  difference,  as  well  as  for  the  Chapt« 
of  the  Blanket,  I  must  refer  the  readi'r(not  having  the  boo* 
by  me)  to  Picart's  .\ccoiinl  of  the  Mnlionietan  Seem 


160 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  same  mild  views  of  Toleration 
Inspire,  I  lind,  this  button'd  nation, 
Whose  Papists  (full  as  given  to  rogue, 
And  only  Sunnites  with  a  brogue) 
Fare  just  as  well,  with  all  their  fuss, 
As  rascal  Suimites  do  with  us. 

The  tender  Gazel  I  inclose 
Is  for  my  love,  my  Syrian  Rose — 
Take  it,  when  night  begins  to  fall, 
And  throw  it  o'er  her  mother's  wall. 

GAZEL. 
Rememberest  thou  the  hour  we  past  ? 
That  hour,  the  happiest  and  the  last ! — 
Oh  !  not  so  sweet  the  Siha  thorn 
To  summer  bees  at  break  of  morn, 
Not  half  so  sweet,  through  dale  and  dell 
To  camels'  ears  the  tingling  bell. 
As  is  the  soothing  memory 
Of  that  one  precious  hour  to  me  ! 

How  can  we  live,  so  far  apart  ? 
Oh  !  why  not  rather  heart  to  heart, 

United  live  and  die  ? — 
Like  those  sweet  birds  that  fly  together, 
With  feather  always  touching  feather, 

Link'd  by  i  hook  and  eye  !' 


LCTTER  VII. 

FPOM  MESSRS.  L— CK— GT— N  AND  CO. 
TO ,  ESQ.^ 

Pef  f  GST,  6ir,  we  send  your  MS. — look  d  it  thro' — 
Very  sorry — but  can't  undertake — 't  would'nt  do. 
Clever  work.  Sir  !— would  get  up  prodigioiisly  well- 
Its  only  defect  is — it  never  would  sell ! 
And  though  Slafeamen  may  glory  in  bei.ig  unhought, 
In  an  Author,  we  think.  Sir,  that 's  rather  a  fault. 
Hard  times,  Sir— most  books  are  too  dear  to  be  read- 
Though  fJhe  gold  of  Good-sense  and  Wit's  snuzll- 

change  are  fled. 
Yet  the  paper  we  publishers  pass,  in  their  stead, 
Rises  higher  each  day,  and  ('t  is  friglitful  to  think  it) 
Not  even  such  names  as  F — TZi; — R — d's  can  sink  it! 
However,  Sir— if  you're  for  trying  again. 
And  at  somewhat  that's  vendible — we  are  your  men. 
Since  the  Chevalier  C— RR  took  to  marrying  lately, 
The  Trade  is  in  want  of  a  Traveller  greatly — 
No  job.  Sir,  more  easy — your  Country  once  plann'd, 
A  month  aboard  ship  and  a  fortnight  on  land 
Puts  your  Quarto  of  Travels  clean  out  of  hand. 

An  East-India  pamphlet's  a  thing  that  would  tell — 
And  a  lick  at  the  Pitpists  is  xure  to  sell  well. 
Or— supposing  you  have  nothing  onghtul  in  you — 
Write  Parodies,  Sir,  and  such  fame  it  will  win  you. 


You'll  ge'i  lO  the  Blue-stocking  Routs  of  Alb — N — a 

(jMind — 7iot  to  her  dinners — a  second-hand  Muse 
Mustn't  think  of  aspiring  to  viiiss  with  the  Blues. 
Or — in  case  nothing  else  in  this  world  you  can  do— 
The  deuce  is  in't.  Sir,  if  you  cannot  review  '. 

Should  you  feel  any  touch  of  poetir,al  glow. 

We've  a  scheme  to  suggest — Mr.  Sc — tt,  you  must 

know 

(Who,  we're  sorry  to  say  it,  now  works  for  the  Row,)'' 
Having  quitted  the  Borders  to  seek  new  renown, 
Is  coming,  by  long  Quarto  stages,  to  Town ; 
And  beginning  with  Rokeby  (the  job's  sure  to  pay) 
Means  to  do  all  the  Gentlemen's  Seats  on  the  way. 
Now  the  Scheme  is  (though  none  of  our  hackneys 

can  beat  him) 
To  start  a  fresh  Poet  through  Highgate  to  meet  him  ; 
Wlio,  by  means  of  quick  proofs — no  revises — long 

coaches — 
May  do  a  few  Villas  before  Sc — tt  approaches — 
Indeed  if  our  Pegasus  be  not  curst  shabby, 
He'll  reach,  without  found' ring,  at  least  WobuRN- 

Abbey. 

Such,  Sir,  is  our  plan — if  you're  up  to  the  freak, 
'Tis  a  match!  and  we'll  put  you  in  training,  ueJi 

week — 
At  present,  no  more — in  reply  to  this  Letter,  a 
Line  will  oblige  very  much 

Your's  et  cetera 
Temple  of  the  Muses. 


1  Tliiii  will  apiiKar  strange  to  Hn  r.nglisli  readier,  but  it  is 
lilfiiilly  triin.sliilcd  Iroin  AbiliillairH  Pusiaii,  anil  tlio  curious 
bird  to  wbich  he  allmles  is  tht!  Jufliik,  of  wliicli  I  tiii<l  the 
following  acfount  in  Kiclmrcisoii. — "  A  Hort  of  bird  tliat  is 
null!  to  have  bet  one  wing,  on  the  opposite  side  to  which  the 
male  ban  a  book  and  ibt:  fotnale  a  ring,  so  that,  when  they 
fly,  they  are  faHfcncd  together." 

2  From  inotivea  of  didicacy,  and,  indeed,  of  frllow-fecl- 
•ng,  I  suppress  the  name  of  the  Author,  whose  rei'i'ted  ma- 
nuscriitt  wan  inclosed  in  this  letter. — S^e  the  Appendix. 


LETTER  VIII. 


FROM  COLONEL  TH — M — S  TO 


-,  ESQ 


Come  to  our  Fete,''  and  bring  with  thee 
Thy  newest,  best  embroidery  ! 
Come  to  our  Fete,  and  show  again 
That  pea-green  coat,  thou  pink  of  men ! 
Which  charm'd  all  eyes  that  last  survey'd  it. 

When  B l's  self  inquired  "who  made  i!  V 

When  Cits  came  wondering  from  the  East, 
And  thought  thee  Poet  PvE,  at  least! 

Oh !  come — (if  haply  't  is  thy  week 
For  looking  pale) — with  paly  cheek; 
Though  more  we  love  tliy  roseate  days. 
When  the  rich  rouge  pot  pours  its  blaze 
Full  o'er  thy  face,  and,  amply  spread. 
Tips  even  thy  whisker-tops  witli  red — 
Like  the  last  tints  of  dying  Day 
That  o'er  some  darkling  grove  delay  ! 

Bring  thy  best  lace,  thou  gay  Philander  I 
(That  lace,  like  II — rry  Al — .x — nd — R, 
Too  precious  to  be  wash'd) — thy  rings. 
Thy  seals — in  short,  thy  prettiest  things ! 
Put  all  thy  wardrobe's  glories  on. 
And  yield,  in  frogs  and  fringe,  to  none 
Bat  the  great  R — g — t's  self  alone! 


1  This  alludes,  I  believe,  to  a  curious  corresjiondence 
wbi(-h  is  said  to  have  passed  lately  between  Alb — N — A. 
(^ountess  of  13 — cK — (JH — MS — K,  and  a  certain  ingenioUB 
Paro<list. 

2  Paternoster  Row. 

3  This  Letter  inclosed  a  Card  for  the  Grand  F6te  on  tlie 
.5lh  of  robruurK 


THE  TWOPENNY  POST  BAG. 


IGl 


Who,  by  particular  desire — 

For  that  night  onh/,  means  to  hire 

A  dress  from  Romeo  C — tes,  Esquire — 

Sometliing  belvveoii  (  t  were  sin  to  hack  it) 

Tiie  Ronvio  robe  and  Ilobliy  jaclict! 

Hail,  first  of  Actors!'  best  of  R — g — Ts! 

Born  for  each  otiicr's  fond  allegiance ! 

/}(;//(  gay  Lotharios — both  good  dressers — 

Of  Serious  Farce  both  learned  Professors — 

Both  circled  round,  for  use  or  show, 

With  cocks'-combs,  wlicresoe'er  they  go 

Thou  know'st  the  time,  thou  man  of  lore ! 

It  talces  to  chalk  a  ball-room  floor — 

Thou  know'st  the  time,  too,  vvoll-a-day ! 

It  takes  to  dance  that  chalk  away.^ 

The  Ball-room  opens — far  and  nigh 

Comets  and  suns  l)eneath  us  lie  ; 

O'er  snowy  moons  and  stars  we  walk, 

And  the  floor  soems  a  sky  of  chalk  ! 

But  soon  shall  fade  tlie  bright  deceit. 

When  many  a  maid,  with  busy  feet 

That  sparkle  in  the  Lustre's  ray. 

O'er  the  white  path  shall  bound  and  play 

Like  Nymphs  along  the  Milky  Way  ! 

At  every  step  a  star  is  fled. 

And  suns  grow  dim  beneath  their  tread  ! 

So  passeth  life — (thus  Sc — tt  would  write, 

And  spinsters  read  him  with  delight) — 

Hours  are  not  feet,  yet  hours  trip  on. 

Time  is  not  chalk,  yet  time 's  soon  gone  !' 

But,  hang  this  long  digressive  flight ! 
I  meant  to  say,  thou'lt  see,  that  night, 
What  falsehood  rankles  in  their  hearts, 

Who  say  the  P E  neglects  the  arts — 

Neglects  the  arts  ! — no,  St —    g  !  no  ; 
Thi/  Cupids  answer  "'tis  not  so,' 
And  every  floor,  that  night,  shall  tell 
How  q,(iick  thou  daubcst,  and  how  well ! 
Shine  as  thou  may'st  in  French  vermilion, 
Thou'rt  fte.<? — beneath  a  French  cotillion; 
And  still  comest  ofl",  whate'er  thy  faults, 
With  Jlili'ig  colours  in  a  Waltz  ! 
Nor  need'st  thou  mourn  the  transient  date 
To  thy  best  works  assigii'd  by  Fate — 
While  so/ne  cliefs-d'ceuvre  live  to  weary  one, 
Thine  boast  a  short  life  and  a  merry  one  ; 
Their  hour  of  glory  past  and  gone 
With  "  Molly,  put  the  kettle  on  !" 


1  Qiiein  tu,  Melpomene,  semel 
Niisct'iituin  jitacido  lumine,  videris,  etc.     Horat. 

The  Man,  upon  whcini  Ihoii  hast  deign'd  to  look  funny 
'I'hoa  great  Tragic  .Muse!  at  the  hour  of  liis  birUi — 

Let  them  say  what  they  will,  that 's  the  man  for  my  money. 
Give  others  thy  tenrs,  hui  let  me  have  tliy  niirih  1 

The  arsertion  t!i;it  follows,  however,  is  not  verified  in  tlie 

instance  before  us. 

Ilium 


iiou  eqiuis  impiger 

Citrru  ducet  .^chnico. 
i  To  those  who  neither  go  lo  balls  nor  read  the  Morning 
Post,  it  muy  be  necessary  to  mention  that  the  floors  of  Ball- 
rooms, in  general,  are  chalked,  for  safety  and  lor  ornament, 
with  various  fanciful  devices. 

3  Flearls  are  not  flint,  yet  flints  are  rent, 
Hearts  are  not  steel,  but  steel  is  bent. 
.Afier  all,  however,  Mr.  Se — tt  may  well  say  to  the  Colonel 
(and,  uideed,  to  much   better  wags  than  the  Colonel,)  pasK 


But,  bless  my  soul !  Pve  scarce  a  leaf 
Of  paper  left — so,  must  be  brief. 

This  festive  Fete,  in  fact,  will  be 

The  forin/^r  Fcte's  fnc-.simile;' 

The  same  long  3Iasquerade  of  Rooms, 

Trick'd  in  such  different,  quaint  costumes, 

(These,  P — rt — R,  are  thy  glorious  works 

You'd  swear  Egyptians,  Moors,  and  Turks, 

Bearing  Good-TuSte  some  deadly  malice. 

Had  clubb'd  to  raise  a  Pic-Nic  Palace  ; 

And  each,  to  make  the  oglio  pleasant, 

Had  sent  a  State- Room  as  a  present; 

The  sama  fuHteuih  and  girondoles — 

The  same  gold  Asses,'-  pretty  souls ! 

That,  in  this  rich  and  classic  dome, 

Appear  so  perfectly  at  home! 

The  same  bright  river  'mongst  the  dishes, 

But  not — ah  !  not  the  same  dear  fishes — 

Late  hours  and  claret  kill'd  the  old  ones! 

So,  'stead  of  silver  and  of  gold  ones 

(It  being  rather  hard  to  raise 

Fish  of  that  specie  now-a-days,) 

Some  sprats  have  been,  by  Y — n.M — Til's  wish. 

Promoted  into  Silver  Fish, 

And  Gudgeons  (so  V — ns — tt — T  told 

The  R — G — t)  are  as  good  as  Gold! 

So,  pr'ythee,  come — our  Fete  will  be 
But  half  a  Fete,  if  wanting  thee ! 


APPENDIX. 


Letter  IV,  Page  156. 

Amo.\g  the  papers  inclosed  in  Dr.  D — g — n— N  8 
Letter,  there  is  a  Heroic  Epistle  in  Latin  verse,  from 
Pope  Joan  to  her  Lover,  of  which,  as  it  is  rather  a 
curious  document,  I  shall  venture  to  give  some  ac- 
count. This  female  Pontiff  was  a  native  of  England 
(or,  according  to  others,  of  Germany)  who,  at  an 
early  age,  disguised  herself  in  male  attire,  and  follow- 
ed her  lover,  a  young  ecclesiastic,  to  Athens,  where 
she  studied  with  such  effect,  that  upon  her  arrival  at 
Rome  she  was  thought  worthy  of  being  raised  to  the 
Pontificate.  This  Epistle  is  addressed  to  her  Lover 
(whom  she  had  elevated  to  the  dignity  of  Cardinal,) 
soon  after  the  fatal  accouchement,  by  which  her  Fal- 
libility was  betrayed. 

She  begins  by  reminding  him  very  tenderly  of  the 
time  when  they  were  in  .Vthens — wlien 

"  By  Ilissus'  stream 
We  whispering  walk'd  along,  and  learn'd  to  speak 
The  tenderest  feelings  in  the  purest  Greek; 
Ah  I  then  how  little  did  we  think  or  hope. 
Dearest  of  men  !  that  I  should  e'er  be  Poi-E  !' 


\  "C — rl — t — n  H e  will  exhibit  u  complete /uc-.«imi7r, 

in  respect  to  interior  ornament,  to  what  it  did  at  the  hint 
F6le.  The  same  splendid  drapeiies,"  etc.  etc. — Morning 
Post. 

2  The  salt-cellars  on  the  P e's  oirn  table  were  in  ihe 

form  of  an  Ass  with  panniers. 

3  Spinheim  attributes  the  unanimity  with  which  .loan 
was  elected,  to  that  innate  and  irresistible  charm  by  whicW 


102 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


That  1 — the  humble  Joan — whose  house-wife  art 
Seem'd  just  enough  to  keep  ihy  house  and  heart 
(And  those,  alas !  at  sixes  and  at  sevens,) 
Slyjuld  soon  keep  all  the  kej's  of  all  the  Heavens !'' 

Still  less  (she  continues  to  say)  could  they  have 
foreseen,  that  such  a  catastrophe  as  had  happened  in 
Council  would  befal  them — that  she 
"Should  thus  surprise  the  Conclave's  grave  decorum 
And  let  a  Utile  Pope  pop  out  before  'em — 
I'opo  InnoceiU.'  alas,  the  only  one 
That  name  should  ever  have  been  fix'd  upon  !" 

She  then  very  pathetically  laments  the  downfal  of 
her  greatness,  and  enumerates  the  various  treasures 
:o  which  she  is  doomed  to  bid  farewell  for  ever. 

"  But  oh  !  more  dear,  more  precious  ten  times  over — 
Farewell,  my  Lord,  my  Cardinal,  my  Lover ! 
I  made  t/iee  Cardinal — thou  madest  me — ah  ! 
Thou  madest  the  Papa'  of  the  World — Mamma !" 

I  have  not  time  now  to  translate  any  more  of  this 
Epistle  ;  but  1  presume  the  argument  which  the  Right 
Hon.  Doctor  and  his  friends  mean  to  deduce  from  it, 
is  (in  their  usual  convincing  strain)  that  Romanists 
.mast  be  imworthy  of  Emancipation  jiov;,  because  they 
had  a  Petticoat  Pope  in  the  Ninth  Century — Nothing 
can  be  more  logically  clear,  and  I  find  that  Horace 
had  exactly  the  same  views  upon  the  subject : 
Roniaiiua  (eheu  posteri,  negabitis  !) 

Emanriputus  F0EMI1N.E 

Fert  vallum ! — 

Letter  VIL     Page  160. 

The  manuscript,  which  I  found  in  the  bookseller's 
letter,  is  a  melo-drama,  in  two  Acts,  entitled  "  The 
BooK,"^  of  which  the  theatres,  of  course,  had  had 
the  refusal,  before  it  was  presented  to  3Iessrs.  L — ck- 
— ngt — n  and  ('o. — This  rejected  drama,  however, 
possesses  considerable  merit,  and  I  shall  take  the 
liberty  of  laying  a  sketch  of  it  before  my  readers. 

The  iirst  Act  opens  in  a  very  awful  manner : — Time, 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning — Scene,  the  Bourbon 

Chamber''  in  C — rl — t — n  house — Enter  the  P e 

R — G — T  solus. — After  a  few  broken  sentences,  he 
thus  ex(!laims : 

A  way — away — 
Thou  haunt' St  my  fancy  so,  thou  devilish  Book  ! 
i  iiirct  thee — trace  thee,  where.soe'er  I  look 


her  Styx,  thuugli  latent,  o|n-raiL'(i  upon  tlie  iiisiinct  of  tlie 
Ccrihiials — "  Noii  vi  hIj()Uu,  sed  cuijcoiditcr,  oiiiniurn  in  se. 
C'jiivcreo  desidurio,  qux"  sunt  blaiidieiitis  sexus  arte.-',  laten- 
ics  in  liHC  qu;iiii)iiiirn  I" 

1  Tliis  is  an  aiiuclironism  ;  Cor  it  was  not  till  the  elcvenili 
ciMitcirv,  lliiii  the  liishop  of  Rome  took  llie  tilla  of  I'apa,  01 
L'licversal  Father. 

2  'I'here  ivasa  mysterious  Book,  in  the  16:h  century,  Hhidi 
yrii|iloy«d  all  the  unxiouB  curiosity  ol'  the  learned  of  that  day. 
livi/ry  one  8|)oke  of  it;  many  wrote  against  it;  tliouicli  it 
Iocs  not  appear  that  any  liody  had  ever  sc'MI  it;  ami  iii(le(:d 
IJiotiiirt  is  ot"  opinion  that  no  such  hook  ever  existed.  It  \v,is 
eniilled  "  Liherde  irihuK  irn|>ostorihiJs."  (See  Morhof.  Cap. 
de  Libris  damiia.is.) — Our  mnre  modern  niys;ery  of  "  tli(t 
Book"  .'cs'Mnliles  thiB  in  many  pnrliculars;  and,  if  the  ninn- 
ijcr  of  Uiwycrnemployeil  in  driiwliigil  iipbe  stated  correctly, 
»  slij^hl  alteration  of  the  title  into  "  (i  irihiis  inipostnritms" 
would  produce  n  coincidence  allogelhir  vi.'ry  remarkahle. 

3  The  clmmher,  I  suppose,  which  was  picpared  lor  the 
reception  of  the  Bourbons  at  the  first  Grand  Fete,  and 
which  was  orniimeiili'd  (all  "  lor  the  Oerver.ince  of  Fu- 
rone")  with  flium  dr.  lys 


I  see  thy  damned  mk  in  Eld — n's  brows — 
I  see  thy  foolscap  on  my  H — RTr — p's  spouse— 
V — Ns — T — t's  head  recalls  thy  lenthern  case, 
And  all  thy  blank-leaves  stare  from  R — d — r's  fvce! 
While,  turning  here  [laying  his  hand  on  his  heurt\  , 

find,  ah,  wretched  elf ! 
Thy  list  of  dire  errata  in  myself. 

[  Walks  the  stage  in  consirlerahle  agitation.] 
Oh  Roman  Punch  !  oh  potent  Curacoa  ! 
Oh  3Iareschino  !  Mareschino  oh  ! 
Delicious  drams  !  why  have  you  not  the  art 
To  kill  this  gnawing  book-worm  in  my  heart? 

Here  he  is  interrupted  in  his  soliloquy  by  perceiv 
ing  some  scribbled  fragments  of  paper  on  the  ground, 
which  he  collects,  and  "by  the  light  of  two  magnifi- 
cent candelabras"  discovers  the  following  unconnected 
words  : — "  Wife  neglected" — "  the  Book" — "  Wrong 
Measures" — "  </ie   Queen" — "  jl/r    Lambert" — "?Ae 

R — G — T." 

Ha  !  treason  in  my  house  ! — Curst  words,  that  wither 
My  princely  soul  [shaking  the  papers  violently,]  whaj 

demon  brought  you  hither  ? 
"My  wife!" — "the  Book,"  too! — stay — a  nearer  look — 

[Holding  the  fragv lent s  closer  to  the  candelabras,] 
Alas  !  too  plain,  B,  double  O,  K,  Book — 
Death  and  destruction  ! 

He  here  rings  all  the  bells,  and  a  whole  legion  of 
valets  enter. — A  scene  of  cursing  and  swearing  (very 
much  in  the  German  style)  ensues,  in  the  course  of 
which  messengers  are  dispatched,  in  different  direc- 
tions, for  the  L — rd  Ch — nc — ll — r,  the  D — e  of 
C — B — L — I),  etc.  etc. — The  intermediate  time  is  filled 
up  by  another  soliloquy,  at  the  conclusion  of  which, 
the  aforesaid  personages  rush  on  alarmed — the  D — e 
with  his  stays  only  half-laced,  and  the  Cii — .\c — llor 
with  his  wig  thrown  hastily  over  an  old  red  night- 
cap, "  to  maintain  the  becoming  splendour  of  his 
office."'  The  R — g — t  produces  the  appalling  frag- 
ments, upon  which  the  Cii — nc — ll — r  breaks  out 
into  exclamations  of  loyalty  and  tenderness,  and  re- 
lates the  following  portentous  dream  : — 

'Tis  scarcely  two  hours  since 

I  had  a  fearful  dream  of  thee,  my  P e  ! — 

Methought  1  heard  thee,  midst  a  courtly  crowd. 

Say  from  thy  throne  of  gold,  in  mandate  loud, 

"  Worship  my  whi:?kers  !" — [ireepf]   not  a  knee  w.i.s 

there 
But  bent  and  v/orshipp'd  the  Illustrious  Pair 
That   cttrl'd    in    conscious  majesty .    [Pulls  out  his 

handkerchief] — while  cries 
Of   "  Whiskers  !    whiskers  !''    shook    the    echoiiif 

skies  !— 
.Inst  in  that  glorious  hour,  methought,  there  came, 
With  looks  of  injured  pride,  a  princely  dame, 
And  a  young  maiden  clinging  to  her  side, 
As  if  she  feared  some  tyrant  would  divide 
The  hearts  that  nature  and  affection  tied  ! 
The  matron  came — within  her  right  hand  glow'd 
A  radiant  touch  ;  while  from  her  left  a  load 


1  " 'l"o  enable  the  individual,  who  holds  the  office  of 
Chaiici'lloi,  to  maintnin  it  in  becomiiiff  splendour."  (.f)  lnu9 
Iniiir/i.) — t.ord  CastliTca^li^s  Spm:/i  vjion  the  yier  Chan 
crlUir's  liilL 


THE  'IWOPEXNY  POST  BAG 


103 


Jl'  papers  hung — [wijifs  his  ei/es] — collected  in  her 

veil — 
Tlie  venal  evidence,  the  slanderous  tale, 
The  wounding  hint,  the  current  lies  that  pass 
From  Post  to  Courier,  form'd  the  motley  mass ; 
VV'hicli,  with  disdain,  before  the  throne  she  throws, 
And  lights  the  pile  beneath  thy  princely  nose. 

[Weeps.] 
Heavens,  how  it  blaz'd ! — I'd  ask  no  livelier  lire 
]with  animation]  To  roast  a  Papist  by,  my  gracious 

Sire  !— 
But  ah !  the  Evidence — [weeps  again]  I  mourn'd  to 

see — 
Cast,  as  it  hurn'd,  a  dcrully  light  on  thee  ! 
And  Tales  and  Hints  their  randotn  sparkles  flung 
And  hiss'd  and  crackled  like  an  old  maid's  tongue; 
While  Post  and  Courier,  faithful  to  their  fame. 
Made  up  in  stink  for  vviial  they  lack'd  in  (lame  ! 
When,  lo,  ye  gods  ! — the  lire,  ascending  brisker, 
Now  singes  one,  now  lights  the  other  whisker ! — 
Ah  !  where  was  then  the  Sylphid,  that  unfurls 
Her  fairy  standard  in  defence  of  curls  ? 
Throne,  whiskers,  wig,  soon  vanish'd  into  smoke, 
The  watchman  cried  "past  one,"  and — 1  awoke. 

Here  his  Lordship  weeps  more  profusely  than  ever, 
and  the  R — g — t  (who  has  been  very  much  agitated 
during  the  recital  of  the  dream,)  by  a  movement  as 
characteristic  as  that  of  Charles  XII.  when  he  was 
shot,  claps  his  hands  to  his  wliiskers  to  feel  if  all  be 
really  safe.  A  privy  council  is  held — all  the  servants, 
etc.  are  examined,  and  it  appears  that  a  tailor  who  had 
come  to  measure  the  R — g — t  for  a  dress  (which 
takes  three  whole  pages  of  the  best  superfine  vlin- 
qi/aiU  in  describing,)  was  the  only  person  who  had 
been  in  the  Bourbon  chamber  during  the  day.  It  is 
accordingly  deterniine<l  to  sei/.e  the  tailor,  and  the 
council  breaks  up  with  a  unanimous  resolution  to  be 
vigorous. 

Tha  commencement  of  the  second  Act  turns 
(■h;elly  upon  the  trial  and  imprisonment  of  two 
lirothers ;  but  as  this  forms  the  wider  plot  of  the 
oiania,  I  shall  content  myself  with  extracting  Irom  it 
the  following  speech,  whicli  is  addressed  to  the  two 
brothers,  as  they  "  exeunt  severally"  to  prison  : 

Go  to  your  prisons — though  the  air  of  spring 

No  mountain  coolness  to  your  cheeks  shall  bring  ; 

riiOML'h  summer  Howers  shall  pass  unseen  away, 

And  ail  your  portion  of  the  glorious  day 

Miy  be  some  solitary  beam  that  falls, 

At  morn  or  eve,  upon  your  dreary  walls — 

Some  beam  that  enters,  tremljling  as  if  awed. 

To  tell  how  gay  the  young  world  laughs  abroad  ! 

V'et  go — for  thoughts,  as  blessed  as  the  air 

Of  spring,  or  sunmier  flowers,  await  you  there ; 

Thoughts,  such  as  he,  who  feasts  his  courtly  crew 

In  rich  conservatories,  never  knew!' 

Pure  self-esteem — the  smiles  that  light  within — 

The  Zeal,  whose  circling  charities  begin 

With  the  few  I  .ved-ones  Heaven  has  placed  it  near. 

Nor  cease,  tdl  ail  mankind  are  in  its  sphere  ! — 

The  Pride,  that  suffers  without  vaunt  or  plea, 


And  the  fresh  Spirit,  that  can  warble  free. 
Through  prison-bars,  its  hymn  to  Liberty ! 

The  Scene  next  changes  to  a  tailor  s  work-shop 
and  a  fancifully-arranged  group  of  these  artists  is  dis- 
covered  upon  the  shop-board  ;  ihoir  trusk  evidenti) 
of  a  royal  nature,  from  the  profusion  of  gold-lace, 
frogs,  etc.  that  lie  about.  They  all  rise  and  come 
forward,  while  one  of  ihem  sings  the  frUowing  stan- 
zas, to  the  tune  of  "  Dcrry  Down," 

3Iy  brave  brother  tailors,  come,  straighten  your  knees, 
For  a  moment,  like  gentlemen,  stand  up  at  ease, 

While  I  sing  of  our  P e  (and  a  fig  for  his  railers,) 

The  Shop-board's  deiiglit!  the  3Ia-cenas  of  Tailors! 
Derry  down,  down,  down  derry  down. 

Some  monarchs  take  roundabout  ways  into  note, 
But  his  short  cut  to  fame  is — the  cut  of  his  coat ; 
Philip's  son  thought  the  world  was  too  small  lor  liia 

soul, 
While  our  R — g — t's  finds  room  in  a  laced  button 

hole! 

Derry  down,  etc. 

Look  through  all  Europe's  Kings — at  least,  those  who 

go  loose — 
Not  a  King  of  them  all 's  such  a  friend  to  the  Goose 
So,  Ciod  keep  him  increasing  in  size  and  renown. 

Still  the  fattest  and  best-fitted  P- e  about  town  ! 

Derry  down,  etc. 

During  the  "Derry  down"  of  this  last  verse,  a 

messenger  from  the  8 — c — t — y  of  S e's  Ofllce 

rushes  on,  and  the  singer  (who,  luckily  for  the  eflect 
of  the  scene,  is  the  very  tailor  suspected  of  the  mys- 
terious fragments)  is  interrupted  in  the  midst  of  his 
laudatory  exertions,  and  hurried  away,  to  the  no  small 
surprise  and  consternation  of  his  comrades.  The 
Plot  now  hastens  rapidly  in  its  developement — the 
management  of  the  tailor's  examination  is  highly 
skilful,  and  the  alarm  which  he  is  made  to  betray  is 
natural  without  being  ludicrous.  The  explanation, 
too,  which  he  finally  gives,  is  not  more  simple  than 
satisfactory.  It  appears  that  the  said  fragments  formed 
part  of  a  self-exculpatory  note,  which  he  had  intended 

to  send  to  Colonel  M'3I n  upon  subjects  purely 

professional,  and  the  corresponding  bits  (which  still 
lie  luckily  in  his  pocket,)  being  produced,  and  skil- 
fufly  laid  beside  the  others,  the  following  billet-doux 
is  the  satisfictory  result  of  their  juxta  position: 

Honoured  Colonel — my  Wife,  who  's  the  Queen  o 

all  slatterns, 
Negi.ecteu  to  put  up  the  Book  of  new  pattern 
She  sent  the   wrong  Measures  too — sliametiiilj 

wrong — 
They're  the  same  used  for  poor  Mr.  La.mbert,  when 

young  ; 
But,  bless  you  !    they   would'nt  go  half  round  the 

R— G— T, 

So,  hope  you'll  excuse  yours  till  death,  most  obedient 

This  fully  explains  the  whole  mystery;  the  R — g — i 
resumes  his  wonted  smiles,  and  the  drama  terniinato* 
as  usual  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  parties. 


THE  FUBCJE  FAMIIiT  IN  PARIS. 


Le  Legj:i  della  Maschera  ricliiedono  die  una  per- 
sona maecherata  non  sia  salulata  per  nome  da  uno 
clie  la  conosce  malgrado  il  suo  travestiiiiento. 

Castiglione. 


PREFACE. 


In  what  manner  the  following  epistles  came  into 
a\y  hands,  it  is  not  necessary  for  the  public  to  know. 
!t  v\ill  be  seen  by  3Ir.  Fudge's  second  letter,  that  he 
IS  one  of  those  gentlemen  whose  secret  services  in 

Ireland,  under  the  mild  ministry  of  my  Lord  C gh, 

have  been  so  amply  and  gratefully  remunerated.  Like 
his  friend  and  associate,  Thomas  Reynolds,  Esq. 
he  had  retired  upon  the  reward  of  his  honest  indus- 
tr]  ,  but  has  lately  been  induced  to  appear  again  in 
active  life,  and  superintend  the  training  of  that  Dela- 
torion  Cohort,  which  Lord  S— dm— Tii,  in  his  wisdom 
and  benevolence,  has  organized. 

Whether  Mr.  Fudge,  himself,  has  yet  made  any 
discoveries,  does  not  appear  from  the  following 
p-iges  ; — but  much  may  be  expected  from  a  person  of 
nis  zeal  and  sagacity,  and,  indeed,  to  him,  Lord  S — d- 
j, — XII,  and  the  Greenland-bound  ships,  the  eyes  of 
all  lovcrj  of  dkcoveries  are  now  most  anxiously  di- 
rected. 

I  regret  that  I  have  been  obliged  to  omit  Mr.  Bob 
Fud(;e's  third  letter,  concluding  the  adventures  of 
his  l)ay,  witn  the  Dinner,  Opera,  etc.  etc. — but,  in 
consi;quence  of  some  remarks  upon  Marinette's  thin 
drapery,  which,  it  was  thought,  might  give  oi^ence  to 
certain  well-meaning  persons,  the  manuscript  was 
sent  back  to  Paris  for  his  revision,  and  had  not  re- 
turned when  the  last  sheet  was  put  to  press. 

!t  will  not,  I  hope,  be  thougiit  presumptuous,  if  1 
take  this  opportunity  of  complaining  of  a  very  serious 
injustice  1  have  suffered  from  tlie  public.  Dr.  King 
wrot-r^a  treatise  to  prove  that  Re.nti.ev  "was  not  the 
authot  of  his  own  book,"  and  a  similar  absurdity  has 
been  K«-er;ed  of  mr,  in  almost  all  the  best  informed 
literary  circles.  With  the  name  jf  the  real  author 
staring  them  in  the  face,  tliey  have  yet  persisted  in 
.iilributing  my  works  to  other  people;  and  the  fame  of 
the  'I'wopenny  Post  Bag — such  as  it  is — having  ho- 
vered doubtfully  over  various  persons,  has  at  last 
settled  upon  the  head  of  a  certain  little  gentleman, 
who  wears  it,  I  understaiid,  as  complacently  as  if  it 
rtctnally  belonged  to  him  ;  without  even  the  honesty 
of  avowing,  with  his  own  favourite  author,  (he  will 
excuse  the  pun) 

Eyw  S'  O  M'.'!TOE  x.px( 
ES(;c-«jU»iv  fjLtT'Mrr'j}, 

I  can  only  add,  that  if  any  lady  or  gentleman,  cn- 
•  \i>in.  in  such  matter.s.  « ill  take  the  trouble  of  calling 
104 


at  my  lodgings,  245,  Piccadilly,  I  shall  have  the  \io 
nour  of  assuring  them,  in  propria  persona,  that  I  am— 
his,  or  her, 

Very  obedient  and  very  humble  servant, 

THOMAS  BROWN,  THE  YOUNGER 
April  17,  1818. 


FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


LETTER  L 

FROM  MISS  BIDDY  FUDGE  TO  MISS  DOROTHY  

OF  CLONSKILTY,  IN  IRELAND. 

Amiens. 
Dear  Doll,  while  the  tails  of  our  horses  are  plaiting 

The  trunks  tying  on,  and  Papa,  at  the  door. 
Into  very  bad  French  is,  as  usual,  translating 
His  English  resolve  not  to  give  a  son  more, 
I  sit  down  to  write  you  a  line — only  think ! — 
A  letter  from  France,  with  French  pens  and  French 

ink. 
How  delightful!  though,  would  you  believe  it,  mj 

dear? 
I  have  seen  nothing  yet  very  wonderful  here ; 
No  adventure,  no  sentiment,  far  as  we've  come, 
But  the  corn-fields  and  trees  quite  as  dull  as  at  home. 
And,  hut  for  the  post-boy,  his  boots  and  his  queue, 
I  might  juM  as  well  be  at  Clonskilty  with  you  \ 
In  vain,  at  Dessein's,  did  I  take  from  my  trunk 
That  divine  fellow,  Sterne,  and  fall  reading  "The 

Monk !" 
In  vain  did  I  think  of  his  charming  dead  Ass, 
And  remember  the  crust  and  the  wallet — alas  ! 
No  monks  can  be  had  now  for  love  or  for  money 
(All  owing,  Pa  says,  to  that  infidel  Boney  ;) 
And,  though  one  little  Neddy  we  saw  in  our  drive 
Out  of  classical  Nampont,  the  beast  was  alive ! 

By  the  bye,  though,  at  Calais,  Papa  had  a  toucii 
Of  romance  on  the  pier,  which  affected  me  much. 
At  the  sight  of  that  spot,  where  our  darling  ***** 
Set  the  first  of  his  own  dear  legitimate  feet' 
(ModcH'd  out  so  exactly,  and — God  bless  tiie  mark!- 
'Tis  a  foot,  Dolly,  worthy  so  Grand  a  J»P***9«e,) 


1  Tu  CO  iiinenioiale  the  liindiiig  of  *****  *♦  *****  froiB 
Eimlaml,  the  iiiipn^esioii  of  his  fool  is  marked  on  tlie  pier  at 
CuImis,  mill  a  pillar  wiili  un  inscription  raised  opposite  te 
Ihu  spilt. 


THE  FUDGE  FA3I1LY  IN  FAKlis. 


lOJ 


He  exclaim' (1  "  Oh  mon  R** !"  and,  with  tear-drop- 
ping eye, 
Stood  to  giize  on  the  spot — while  some  Jacobin,  nigh, 
Mutter'd  out  with  a  shrug  (wiiat  an  insolent  thing!) 
■'  Mil  foi,  he  be  right — 'tis  de  iMiglisiiman's  K**g; 
And  dat  gros  pied  de.  codioii — bejiar,  me  vil  oay, 
I):it  de  foot  look  mosli  better,  if  turn'd  todcr  way." 
'i'hcre  's  the  pillar,  too — Lord  i   I  had  neari}-  iorgot — 
VVIiat  a  charming  idea! — raised  close  to  the  spot; 
The  mode  being  now  (as  you've  heard,  I  suppose) 
To  build  tombs  over  legs,'  and  raise  pillars  to  toes. 

This  is  all  that 's  occurr'd  sentimental  as  yet ; 
Except,  indeed,  some  little  flower-nyinphs  we've  met, 
VVlio  disturb  one's  romance  with  pecuniary  views. 
Flinging  flowers  in  your  path,  and  then  bawling  for 

soils  I 
And  some  picturesque  beggars,  whose  multitudes  seem 
'I'o  re(%ill  the  gooil  days  of  the  aiicien  regime. 
All  as  ragged  and  brisk,  you'll  be  happy  to  learn. 
And  as  thin  as  they  were  in  the  time  of  dear  Stkrxe. 

Our  party  consists,  in  a  neat  Calais  job. 

Of  papa  and  myself,  IMr.  Connor  and  Rob. 

Vou  remember  how  sheepisli  Bob  look'd  at  Kilrandy, 

But,  Lord  !  he  's  quite  alter' d — they've  made  him  a 

Dandy 
A  thing,  you  know,  whisker'd,  great-coated,  and  laced, 
Like  an  hour-glass,  exceedingly  small  in  the  waist: 
Quite  a  new  sort  of  creatures,  unknown  yet  to  scho- 
lars, 
With  heads  so  immoveably  stuck  in  shirt-collars, 
That  seats  like  our  rnusic-stools  soon  must  be  found 

them. 
To  twirl,  when  the  creatures  may  wish  to  look  round 

them  ! 
In  short,  dear,  "a  Dandy"  describes  what  I  mean. 
And  Bob  's  far  the  best  of  the  genus  I've  seen  : 
An  improving  young  man,  fond  of  learning,  ambitious, 
And  goes  now  to  Paris  to  study  French  dishes._ 
Whose  names — think,  how  quick  ! — he  already  knows 

pat, 
A  la  braise,  pelits  patels,  and — what  d'ye  call  that 
They  inflict  on  potatoes  ?  oh  !  maitre  dlwtel — 
I  assure  you,  dear  Dolly,  he  knows  them  as  well 
As  if  nothing  but  these  all  his  life  he  had  ate. 
Though  a  bit  of  them  Bobby  has  never  touch'd  yet; 
But  just  knows  the  names  of  French  dishes  and  cooks, 
As  dear  Fa  knows  tiie  titles  and  authors  of  books. 

As  to  Pa,  what  d'ye  think? — mind  it's  all  entre  nous. 
But  you  know,  love,  T  never  keep  secrets  from  you — 
Why  he's  writing  a  book — what !  a  tale?  a  romance? 
N")  ye  gods,  would  it  were! — but   his   Travels  in 

France ; 
At  the  special  desire  (he  let  out  t'  other  day) 
Of  his  friend  and  his  patron,  my  Lord  C — tl — R — gh. 
Who  said,  "3Iy  dear  Fudge "  I  forget  th'  exact 

words. 
And,  it's  strange,  no  one  ever  remembers  my  Lord's; 
But  'twas  sometliing  to  say,  mat,  as  all  must  allow, 
A  good  orthodox  work  is  much  wanting  just  now. 
To  expound  to  the  world  the  new — thingummie — 

science. 
Found  out  by  the — what's-its-name — Holy  A*****ce, 


I  Ci-git  la  j;imbe  de,  etc.  etc. 


And  prove  to  mankind  that  their  rights  are  but  folly. 
Their  freedom  a  joke  (which  it  /',<:,  you  know,  Doi^uv) 
"There's  none,"  said   his  Lordship,  "if  /  may  be 

j"dge, 
Half  so  fit  for  this  great  undertaking  as  Fudge  !" 

The  matter's  soon  settled — Pa  flies  to  tlie  Row 
(The  first  stage  your  tourists  now  usually  go,) 
Settles  all  for  his  quarto — advertisements,  praises — 
Starts  post  from  the  door,  with  his  tablets — French 

phrases — 
"Scott's  Visit,"  of  course — in  short,  every  thing  he 

has 
An  author  can  want,  except  words  and  ideas  : — 
And,  lo  !  the  first  thing  in  the  spring  of  tiie  year, 
Is  Phil.  Fudge  at  the  front  of  a  Quarto,  my  deai ! 

Bat,  bless  me,  my  paper  's  near  out,  so  I'd  better 
Draw  fast  to  a  close  : — this  exceeding  long  letter 
You  owe  to  a  dejeuner  a  la  Fourrhclte, 
Which  BocBY  would  have,  and  is  hard  at  it  yet. — 
What 's  next  ?  oh,  the  tutor,  the  last  of  the  party, 
Young  CoNXOR  : — they  say  he's  so  like  Ron****te, 
His  nose  and  his  chin, — which  Papa  rather  dreads. 
As  the  B*****n's,  you  know,  are  suppressing  all  heads 
That  resemble  old  Nap's,  and  who  kin,ivs  but  their 

honours 
May  think,  in  their  fright,  of  suppressmg  poor  Con 

NCR's? 

Au  reste  (as  we  say,)  the  young  lad  's  well  enough. 
Only  talks  much  of  Athens,  Rome,  virtue,  and  stuff; 
A  third  cousin  of  ours,  by  the  way — poor  as  Job 

(Though  of  royal  descent  by  the  side  of  iVlamnaa,) 
And  for  charity  made  private  tutor  to  Bob  - 

Entre  nous,  too,  a  Papist — how  liberal  of  Pa  ! 

This  is  all,  dear, — forgive  me  for  breaking  ofTthus; 
But  Bob  's  dejeuner's  done,  and  Papa  's  in  a  fuss. 

B.  F. 
P.  S. 
How  provoking  of  Pa  I  he  will  not  let  me  stop 
Just  to  run  in  and  rummage  some  milliner's  shop; 
And  my  dvhut  in  Paris,  I  blush  to  think  on  it, 
IMust  now,  Doll,  be  made  in  a  hideous  low  bonnet 
But  Paris,  dear  Paris — oh,  (here  will  be  joy. 
And  romance,  and  high  bonnets,  and  Madame  Le 
Roi!' 


LETTER  n. 

FROM  PHIL.  FUDGE,  ESQ.  TO  THE  LORD  VISCOUNT 


At  length,  my  Lord,  I  have  the  bliss 
To  date  to  you  a  line  from  this 
"  Demoralized"  metropolis  ; 
Where,  by  plebeians  low  and  scurvy, 
The  throne  was  turn'd  quite  topsy-turvy, 
And  Kingship,  tumbled  from  its  seat, 
"Stood  prostrate"  at  the  people's  feet; 
Where  'still  to  use  your  Lordship's  tropes) 
The  level  of  obedience  slopes 
Upward  and  downward,  as  the  stream 
Of  hydra  faction  kicks  the  beam  P 


Par 


1  A  cejpbrattul  inanliia-inakiT  in  Paris. 

2  This  evcnilent  'mit:iiion  of  llu;  noble  Lord's  styli'show* 
how  deeiily  Mr.  Fudge  must  liavn  studied  liie  great  orisitiii! 


166 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Where  the  poor  palace  changes  masters 

Quicker  than  a  snake  its  skin, 
Aiid  *****  is  rolled  out  on  castors 

While  *****  's,  borne  on  shoulders  in : 
But  where,  in  every  change,  no  doubt, 

One  special  good  your  Lordship  traces, — 
That  't  is  ihe  Kings  alone  turn  out. 

And  Mmufters  still  keep  their  places. 


How  oft,  dear  Viscount  C gh, 

I've  thought  of  thee  upon  the  way. 
As  in  my  job  (what  place  could  be 
Slore  apt  to  wake  a  thought  of  thee  ?) 
Or,  oftener  far,  when  gravely  sitting 
L'pon  my  dickey  (as  is  fitting 
For  him  who  writes  a  Tour,  that  he 
Jlay  more  of  men  and  manners  see,) 
I've  thought  of  thee  and  of  thy  glories. 
Thou  guest  of  Kings,  and  King  of  Tories ! 
Reflecting  how  thy  fame  has  grown 

And  spread,  beyond  man's  usual  share, 
At  home,  abroad,  till  thou  art  known. 

Like  3Iajor  Semple,  every  where  ! 
And  marvelling  with  what  powers  of  breath 
Your  Lordship,  liaving  speech'd  to  death 
Some  hundreds  of  your  fellow-men. 
Next  speech'd  to  Sovereigns'  ears, — and  when 
All  sovereigns  else  were  dozed,  at  last 
Speech'd  down  the  Sovereign'  of  Belfast. 
Oh  !  'mid  the  praises  and  the  trophies 
Thou  gain'st  from  PJorosophs  and  Sophis, 
'3Iid  all  the  tributes  to  thy  fame. 

There's  one  tliou  shouldst  be  chiefly  pleased  at— 
That  Ireland  gives  her  snuff  thy  name, 

And  C gh's  the  thing  now  sneezed  at ! 

Cut  hold,  my  pen  !— a  truce  to  praising— 

Tliough  even  your  Lordship  will  allow 
The  theme's  temptations  are  amazing ; 

But  time  and  ink  run  short,  and  now 
(As  titou  would'sl  say,  my  guide  and  teacher 

In  these  gay  metaphoric  fringes,) 
I  must  embark  into  the  feature 

On  which  this  letter  chiefly  hinges  ;^ — 
My  Hook,  the  Book  that  is  to  prove — 
And  vjUI,  so  help  me  Sprites  above. 
That  sit  on  clouds,  as  grave  as  judges. 
Watching  the  labours  of  the  Fudges  ! — 
Will  prove  that  all  the  world,  at  present, 
Is  in  a  state  extremely  pleasant: 
That  Europe — thanks  to  royal  swords 

And  bayonets,  and  the  Duke  commanding — 


Irisli  oratory,  indeed,  alKiinuls  with  such  starlhng  peculiari 

lies.     'I'hiis    the    eln(|uent    Cnunsellor   B ,    in    do- 

scrihiiig  some  hy|iocrilii;al  pietender  to  charity,  said — "  Me 
pill  his  hand  in  his  hreeches  pocket,  like  a  crocodile,  and." 
etc.  etc. 

1  The  title  of  the  chief  magistrate  of  Belfast,  before 
whom  his  Lordship  ('.vith  the  "studiiiin  im'mane  loqueudi" 
Btlributed  hyf)vid  to  thnl  chiitteriiig  and  ra|iaci<)U3  class  of 
birds,  the  pies)  di  liviirid  sundry  long  and  self-grntnlatory 
orations,  on  his  return  from  the  Continent.  It  was  at  one 
uf  these  Irish  dinnirs  that  his  gallant  brother  Lord  S.  pro- 
posed the  health  of  "  The  bi;st  cavalry  oHicer  in  Europe— 
tho  Regent !" 

0  Verbatim  from  one  of  the  noble  Viscnnin's  speeches — 
"  And  now,  Sir,  I  must  embark  into  the  feuiuie  on  which 
tlij*  queition  chiefly  hinjres." 


Enjoys  a  peace  which,  like  the  Lord's, 

Passeth  all  human  understanding: 
That  F  '  *  '  ce  prefers  her  go-cart  *  *  *  * 
To  such  a  cov/ard  scamp  as  •****; 
Though  round,  with  each  a  leading-string, 

There  standeth  many  a  U*y*l  crony, 
For  fear  the  chubby,  tottering  thing 

Should  fall,  if  left  there  loney-pont,y : 
That  England,  too,  the  more  her  debts, 
The  more  she  spends,  the  richer  gets; 
And  that  the  Irish,  grateful  nation  ! 

Remember  when  by  thee  reign'd  over, 
And  bless  thee  for  their  flagellation, 

As  Hei^oisa  did  her  lover!' 

That  Poland,  left  for  Russia's  lunch. 

Upon  the  side-board  snug  reposes  • 

While  Saxony  's  as  pleased  as  Punch, 

And  Norway  "on  a  bed  of  roses!'' 

That,  as  for  some  few  million  souls, 

Transferr'd  by  contract,  bless  the  clods  ! 
If  half  were  strangled — Spaniards,  Poles, 

And  Frenchmen — 't  would  n't  make  much  odd* 
So  Europe's  goodly  Royal  ones 
Sit  easy  on  their  sacred  thrones  ; 
So  Ferdinand  embroiders  gaily, 
And  *****  eats  his  salmia!'  daily  ; 
So  time  is  left  to  Emperor  Sandy 
To  be  halfC-£sa.r  and  half  Dandy  ; 

And  G ge  the  R — g — t  (who'd  forget 

That  doughtiest  chieftain  of  the  set?) 
Hath  wherewithal  for  trinkets  new. 

For  dragons,  after  Chinese  models, 
And  chambers  where  Duke  IIo  and  Soo 

Might  come  and  nine  times  knock  their  noddles  !• 
All  this  my  Quarto  '11  prove — much  more 
Than  Quarto  ever  proved  before — 
In  reasoning  with  the  Post  I'll  vie. 
My  facts  the  Courier  shall  supply. 
My  jokes  V — ns — T,  P — le  my  sense, 
And  thou,  sweet  Lord,  my  eloquence  ! 

My  Journal,  penn'd  by  fits  and  starts. 
On  Biddy's  back  or  Bobby's  shoulder, 

(My  son,  my  Lord,  a  youth  of  parts. 
Who  longs  to  be  a  small  place-holder,) 

Is — though  I  say  't  that  should  n't  say — 

E,Ktremely  good  ;  and,  by  the  v/ay. 

One  extract  from  it — only  one — 

To  show  Its  spirit,  and  I've  done. 

•'  Jul.  thirty-first.  Went,  after  snack, 

To  the  cathedral  of  St.  Deimy  ; 
Sigh'd  o'er  the  kings  of  ages  back. 

And — gave  the  old  concierge  a  penny ! 
{Mem. — Must  see  Rheinis,  much  famed,  'tis  said. 
For  making  kings  and  gingerbread.) 
Was  shown  the  tomb  where  lay,  so  stately, 
A  little  B***bon,  buried  lately. 
Thrice  high  and  puissant,  we  were  told, 
Though  only  twcMty-foiir  hours  old!^ 
Hear  this,  thought  I,  ye  jacobins; 
Ye  Burdetts  tremble  in  your  skins  ! 


1  See  her  Letters. 

3  So  described   on   the  cotlin. 
Priiicosse,  i"lg6e  d'un  iipiir." 

-  Sao-iMjSf. 

Mumrr,  Oili/s.'!.  3. 
tres-haute  ei  pulssanle 

THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS 


1G7 


ff  R**eilty,  but  aged  a  d.iy, 
Can  boast  such  high  and  puissant  sway, 
What  impious  iiand  its  power  would  tix, 
Full  Hedged  and  wigg'd,'  at  titty-six?" 

The  argument  's  quite  new,  you  see, 
And  proves  exactly  Q.  F,.  D. — 
So  now,  with  duty  to  the  R — g — t, 
I  am,  dear  Lord, 

Your  most  obedient, 

Ho'el  Brcieuil,  Rue  RivoU. 
Neat  lodgings — rather  dear  for  me  ; 
But  Biddy  said  she  thought  't  would  look 
Genteeler  thus  to  dale  my  book, 
And  Biddy's  right — besides,  it  curries 
Some  favour  with  our  friends  at  3Iurray.'s, 
Who  scorn  what  any  man  can  say, 
That  dates  from  Rue  St.  llonore.^ 


P.  F. 


LETTER  III. 


FROM  MR.  BOB  I^UIxa-:  TO  RICHARD  ■ 


-,  Esa. 


O  Dick  !  you  may  talk  of  your  writing  and  reading. 
Your  logic  and  (ircek,  but  there  is  nothing  like  feeding; 
And  fhi.'i  IS  the  place  for  it,  Dicky,  you  dog. 
Of  all  places  on  earth — the  licad  quarters  of  prog. 
Talk  of  England, — her  tamed  Magna  Charta,  I  swear,  is 
A  humbug,  a  H.im,  to  the  Carte-"  at  old  Very's ; 
And  as  for  your  Juries — wJw  would  not  set  o'er  'em 
A  jury  of  tasters,*  with  woodcocks  before  'em? 
Give  Cartwright  his  parliaments  fresh  every  year — 
Bu*  those  friends  of  *7ior<  Commons  would  never  do 

here  ; 
And  let  Romilly  speak  as  he  will  on  the  question. 
No  digest  of  law  's  hke  the  laws  of  digestion  ! 

By  the  bye,  Dick,  I  fatten — but  n'importe  for  that, 
'T  is  the  mode — your  legitimates  always  get  fat; 
There  's  the  R — r. — T,  there  's  +**+'s — and  B*n*y 

tried  too ; 
But,  though  somewhat  imperial  in  paunch,  'twouldn't 

do: 
He  improved,  indeed,  much  in  this  point  when  he  wed. 
But  he  ne'er  grew  light  r*y*lly  fat  in  the  head. 

Dick,  Dick,  what  a  place  is  this  Paris  ! — but  stay — 
As  my  raptures  may  bore  you,  I'll  just  sketch  a  day, 
As  we  pass  it,  myself,  and  some  comrades  I've  got. 
All  thorough-bred  Gnustks,  who  know  what  is  what. 

After  dreaming  some  nours  of  the  land  of  Coeaigne, 
That  Elysium  of  all  that  is/riaiid  and  nice, 


1  There  is  a  luimss  a>.iil  breudtli  in  tliis  jiorirau  of  Royal- 
ty, «  hicli  reminds  us  of  wliai  Pliny  says,  in  s^iieakiiig:  ol  Tra- 
jan's great  ciualities: — "  nonne  longe  tateque  Principem 
ostenlant  V 

i  Sue  the  Quarterly  Review  lor  May,  I8lfi,  where  Mr. 
HohliDUse  is  accused  of  having  written  his  book  "  in  a  bacli 
Jn^t't  of  the  French  capital." 

3  The  hill  of  Kare. — Very,  a  well-known  Restaurateur. 

4  Mr.  Bob  alhides  particularly,  1  presume,  to  the  famous 
Jury  Degujtaleur,  which  used  to  assemble  at  the  Hotel  of 
M.  Grimod  de  la  Reyniere,  and  of  which  this  modern 
Archestratus  has  given  an  account  in  his  Almanach  des 
Gonrnjands,  ciiKiuieme  ann6e,  p.  78. 

5  The  lairy-land  vt'  cookery  and  sourmairdise ;  "  Pays,  oil 
le  ciel  (ifFre  lesviandis  toutes  cuiti*,  et  ou,ciimnie  on  |iarle, 
'es  aloueltes  tombei.t  toules  roties.  Du  Latin,  coquere." — 
Oachal. 


Wliere  for  hail  they  have  liunxJions,  and  claret  for  rain 
And  the  skaiters  in  winter  show  olf  on  cniim-'ico; 
W^here  so  ready  all  nature  its  cookery  yields. 
Macaroni  uu  parmesun  grows  in  the  fields  ; 
I/ittle  birds  fly  about  with  the  true  pheasant  taint. 
And  the  geese  are  all  born  with  a  liver  complaint ! 
I  rise — put  on  neck-cloth — stitf,  tight  as  can  be — 
For,  a  lad  who  goes  into  the  world,  Dick,  like  me, 
Should  have  his  neck  tied  up,  you  know — there's  no 

doubt  of  it — 
Almost  as  tight  as  some  lads  who  go  out  ofh. 
With  whiskers  welloil'd,  and  with  boots  that"  hold  u'^ 
The  mirror  to  nature" — so  bright  you  could  sup 
Off  the  leather  like  china;  with  coat,  too,  that  draws 
On  the  tailor,  who  suffers,  a  martyr's  applause ! — 
W'ith  head  bridled  up,  like  a  four-in-hand  leader, 
And  stays — devil's  in  them — too  tight  for  a  feeder, 
I  strut  50  the  old  Cafe  Hardy,  which  yet 
Beats  the  field  at  a  dcje'nicr  I'l  la  fourchelle. 
There,  Dick,  what  a  breakfast ! — oh,  not  like  yourghosi 
Of  a  breakfast  in  England,  your  curst  tea  and  toast: 
But  a  side-board, you  dog,  where  one's  eye  roves  about. 
Like  a  Turk's  in  the  Ilaram,  and  thence  singles  out 
One's /jv/e  of  larks,  just  to  tune  up  the  throat 
One's  small  limbs  of  chickens,  done  en  papiUote, 
One's  erudite  cutlets,  drest  all  ways  but  plain. 
Or  one's  kidney — imagine,  Dick — done  with  cham- 
pagne ! 
Then  some  glasses  of  Beaune,  to  dilute — or,  mayhap, 
Chiimliertin,"  which  you  know  's  the  pet  tipple  of  Nap, 
And  which  Dad,  by  the  by,  that  legitimate  stickler. 
Much  scruples  to  taste,  but  fm  not  so  partic'lar. — 
You  coffee  comes   ne.iit,  by  prescription  ;  and  then 

Dick,  's 
The  coffee's  ne'er-failing  and  glorious  appendix — 
(If  books  had  but  such,  my  old  Grecian,  depend  on  't 
I'd  swallow  even  W — tk — .n's,  for  sake  of  the  end 

on  't)— 
A  neat  glass  of  parfait-amour,  which  one  sips 
.lust  as  if  bottled  velvet^  tipp'd  over  one's  lips! 
This  repast  being  ended,  and  paid  for — (how  odd! 
Till  a  man  's  used  to  paying  there  's  something  so 
queer  in  it) — 
The  sun  now  well  out,  and  the  girls  all  abroad, 
And  the  world  enough  air'd  for  us.  Nobs,  to  ap- 
pear in  't. 
We  lounge  up  the  Boulevards,  where — oh  Dick,  the 

phizzes, 
The  turn-outs,  we  meet — what  a  nation  of  quizzes  ! 
Here  toddles  along  some  old  figure  of  fun. 
With  a  coat  you  might  date  Anno  Domini  One; 
A  laced  hat,  worsted  stockings,  and — noble  old  soul  I — 
A  fine  ribbon  and  cross  in  his  best  button-hole  ; 
Just  such  as  our  Pr — E,  who  nor  reason  nor  fun  dreads, 
Inflicts,  without  even  a  court-martial,  on  hundreds.* 


1  The  |)roci'SS  by  w  hich  the  liver  of  the  unforlunalc  goose 
is  eidargid,  in  order  to  produce  that  riciiest  of  all  dainties, 
the  foie  ffras,  of  which  such  renowned  piites  are  made  at 
Sirasbourg  and  Toulouse,  is  thus  de.-crilied  in  the  Cour$ 
finstronouiiquc: — On  displume  festoniac  des  oies;  on 
attaihe  ensuile  ces  animaux  au.x  cliencls  d'unecliemiiiee,  el 
on  le.^nourritdevantlefeii.  Lacaptivilfiet  larhaleui  donnent 
a  ces  volaiiles  une  maladie  h^patique,  qui  fait  gonllHr  leUT 
foie,"  etc.  p.  20G. 

SJ  Thi!  favourite  wine  of  Napoleon. 

3  Velours  en  boutrille. 

4  It  was  said  bv  Wirqucfort,  more  than  a  hundred  yean 
ago,  "  Le   Roi  d'Anglelerre  fail  seul  plus  de  chwvalierB  nijp 


fleie  trips  a  griseite,  with  a  fond,  roguish  eye 
(Rather  eatable  things  these  griseltes  by  the  by;) 
And  there  an  old  demoii-elh,  almost  as  fond, 
In  a  silk  that  his  stood  since  the  time  of  the  Fronde. 
There  goes  a  French  dandy — ah,  Dick  !  unlike  some 

ones 
We've  sepn  about  White's — the  3Ioanseers  are  but 

rum  ones ; 
ouch  hats  ! — fit  for  monkeys — I'd  back  3Irs.  Draper 
To  cut  neater  weather-boards  out  of  brown  paper  : 
And  coats — Y        I  wish,  if  it  wouldn't  distress  'em, 
Tliey'd  club  for  old  B — m — l,  from  Calais,  to  dress  'oni: 
Tiie  collar  sticks  out  from  the  neck  such  a  space, 
That  you'd  swear  'twas  the  plan  of  this  head-lop- 
ping nation. 
To  leave  there  behind  them  a  snug  little  place 
For  the  head  to  drop  into,  on  decapitation  ! 
In  short,  what  with  mountebanks,  Counts  and  friseurs, 
StmiP  mummers  by  trade,  and  the  rest  amiteurs — 
What  with  captains  in    new  jockey-boots  and  silk 
breeches, 
Old  dustmen  with  swinging  great  opera-hats, 
And  shoeblacks  rechning  by  statues  in  uif^cs. 
There  never  was  seen  such  a  race  of  J.v.ck  Sprats. 

From  the  Boulevards — but  hearken  !-  yes — as  I'm'a 

sinner. 
The  clock  is  just  striking  the  half-hour  for  dinner  . 
So  no  more  at  present — short  time  for  adorning — 
My  day  must  be  finish'd  some  other  fine  morning. 
fSow,  hey  for  old  Beauvilliers''  larder,  my  boy  ! 
And,  once  thr.re,\'i\he  goddess  of  beauty  and  joy 
Were  to  write  "Come  and  kiss  me,  dear  Bob!"  I'd 

not  budge — 
Not  a  stf  ),  Dick,  as  sure  as  my  name  is 

R.  Fui>GE. 


LETTER  IV. 


FROM  PHELIM  CONNOR  TO . 

"  Return  !" — no,  never,  while  the  withering  hand 
Of  bigot  power  is  on  that  hapless  land  : 
While  for  the  faith  my  fathers  held  to  God, 
Even  in  the  fields  where  free  those  fatiiers  trod 
I  am  proscribed,  and — like  the  spot  left  bare 
In  Israel's  halls,  to  tell  the  proud  and  fiir 
Amidst  their  mirth  that  slavery  had  been  there^ — 
On  all  I  love — home,  parents,  friends, — I  trace 
Tiie  mo"-nful  mark  of  bondage  and  disgrace  ! 
No  ! — '">'  them  stay,  who  in  their  country's  pangs 
See  noug?it  but  food  for  factions  and  harangues  ; 
Who  yearly  kneel  before  their  master's  (ioors, 
.\nd  hawk  their  wrongs  as  beggars  qo  tncir  sores  ; 
Still  let  your         ^  *  *  *  * 


.iiirt   les  aulres  Rois  de  la  Chr6tient6  ensemble." — What 
wouii!  lie  ssy  now  ? 

1  A  fel(;l)riilml  Restaurateur. 

2  "  'riioy  ii«;d  to  leave  a  yiird  square  of  the  wall  of  the 
hoMsn  un|il:iHleri'd,  on  whirh  Ihcy  write,  in  larg^!  letters, 
eiilior  the  foni-nienlioiied  verse  of  tlu'  Psalmist  ('  If  I  forget 
Ihce,  O  Jerusalem, 'etr.)  or  the  words — '  The  memory  of  the 
deHoliilion.'  " — l.rn  of  Miiihna. 

.'t  I  linve  ihoiighl  it  prudent  to  omit  some  parts  of  Mr. 
PlifHirn  Cunnor's  letter.  He  is  evidently  nn  inli'mperiite 
'oiinir  man,  and  has  associated  with  his  cousins,  the  Fiidgts, 
t>  very  little  )>nrpoHe. 


Still  hope  and  suffer,  all  who  can  ! — but  I, 
Who  durst  not  hope,  and  cannot  bear,  must  fly. 

But  whither? — every  where  the  scourge  pursues! — 
Turn  where  he  will,  the  vv'retched  wanderer  views 
In  the  bright  broken  hopes  of  all  his  race. 
Countless  reflexions  of  the  oppressor's  face  ' 
Every  where  gallant  he;irts,  and  spirits  true, 
Are  served  up  victims  to  the  vile  and  few ; 
While  E******,  every  where — the  general  foe 
Of  truth  and  freedom,  wheresoe'er  they  glow- 
Is  first,  when  tyrants  strike,  to  aid  the  blow ' 

O  E****** !  could  such  poor  revenge  atone 

For  wrongs  that  well  might  claim  the  deadhest  one 

Were  it  a  vengeance,  sveet  enough  to  sate 

The  wrench  who  flies  from  thy  intolerant  hate, 

To  hear  his  curses,  on  such  barbarous  sway, 

Echoed  where'er  he  bends  his  cheerless  way ; — 

Could  this  content  him,  every  lip  he  meets 

Teems  for  his  vengeance  with  such  poisonous  sweets 

Were  thUi  his  luxury,  never  is  thy  name 

Pronounced,  but  he  doth  banquet  on  thy  shame ; 

Hears  maledictions  ring  from  every  side 

Upon  that  grasping  power,  that  selfish  pride, 

Which  vaunts  its  own,  and  scorns  all  rights  beside ; 

That  low  and  desperate  envy,  which,  to  blast 

A  neighbour's  blessings,  risks  the  few  thou  hast ; — 

That  monster,  self,  too  gross  to  be  conceal'd. 

Which  ever  lurks  behind  thy  profler'd  shield ; 

That  faithless  craft,  which,  in  thy  hour  of  need, 

Can  court  the  slave,  can  swear  he  shall  be  freed, 

Yet  basely  spurns  him,  when  thy  point  is  gain"d, 

Back  to  his  masters,  ready  gagg'd  and  chain'd  ! 

Worthy  associate  of  that  band  of  kings, 

That  royal,  ravening  flock,  whose  vampire  wings 

O'er  sleeping  Europe  treacherously  brood, 

And  fan  her  into  dreams  of  promised  good. 

Of  hope,  of  freedom — but  to  drain  her  blood ! 

If  thus  to  hear  thee  branded  be  a  bliss 

That  vengeance  loves,  there's  3'et  more  sweet  than 

this, — 
That  'twas  an  Irish  head,  an  Irish  heart, 
Made  thee  the  fallen  and  tarnish'd  thing  thou  art; 
That,  as  the  Centaur'  gave  the  infected  vest, 
In  which  he  died,  to  rack  his  conqueror's  breast, 

We  sent  thee  C gh  : — as  heaps  of  dead 

Have  slain  their  slayers  by  the  pest  they  spread, 
So  haih  our  land  breath'd  out- — thy  fiine  to  dim, 
Thy  strength  to  w;iste,  and  rot  thee,  soul  and  limb- 
Iler  worst  infections  all  condensed  in  him ' 

****** 

When  will  the  world  shake  off  such  yokes  !  oh,  whci 
Will  that  redeeming  day  shine  out  on  men, 
That  shall  behold  tliem  rise,  erect  and  free 
As  Heaven  and  Nature  meant  mankind  should  be 
When  Reason  shall  no  longer  blindly  bow 
To  the  vil(!  pngod  things,  that  o'er  her  brow, 
Like  him  of  J;igheriiaut,  drive  trampling  now; 
Nor  Contpiest  dare  to  desolate  God's  earth ; 
Nor  drunken  Victory,  with  a  Nero's  mirth, 
Strike  her  lewd  harp  amidst  a  people's  groans  ;— 
But,  built  on  love,  the  world's  e.xalted  thrones 


1  Membra  et  Herculens  toros 

Uiit  lues  Nesseii. 

Ille.  ille  victor  vincitur. — Heme.  Ilcrcul.  (Ki 


THE  [■lUGK  FA.MlJ.i    L\  PARIS. 


1G9 


Shall  to  the  virtuous  and  the  wise  be  given — 
Those  bright,  those  »  •!«  legitimates  of  Heaven  ! 

When  will  this  be  ? — or,  oh  !  is  it  in  truth, 
[Jjt  one  of  those  sweet  diiy-break  dreams  of  youth, 
In  which  the  soul,  as  round  her  morning  springs, 
"I'wixt  sleep  and  waking,  sees  such  dazzling  things  ! 
And  must  the  hope,  as  vain  as  it  is  bright. 
Be  all  given  up  ? — and  arc  Ihei/  only  right, 
Who  say  this  world  of  thinking  souls  was  made 
To  be  by  kings  partitioned,  imck'd,  and  weigh'd 
In  scales  that,  ever  since  the  world  begun. 
Have  counted  millions  but  as  dust  to  one  ? 
Are  tliei/  the  only  wise,  who  laugh  to  scorn 
riie  rigiits,  the  freedom  to  which  man  was  born ; 
Who  ****** 
****** 

Who,  proud  to  kiss  each  separate  rod  of  power. 
Bless,  while  he  reigns,  the  minion  of  the  hour; 
Worship  each  would-be  god,  that  o'er  them  moves, 
And  take  the  thundering  of  his  brass  for  Jove's ! 
If  this  be  wisdom,  then  farewell  my  books, 
Farewell,  ye  shrines  of  old,  ye  classic  brooks. 
Which  fed  my  soul  with  currents,  pure  and  fair. 
Of  living  truth,  that  now  must  stagnate  there  ! — 
Instead  of  themes  that  touch  the  lyre  with  light. 
Instead  of  Greece,  and  her  immortal  light 
For  Liberty,  which  once  awak'd  my  strings. 
Welcome  the  Grand  Conspiracy  of  Kings, 
The  High  I.*git**ates,  the  Holy  Band, 
Who,  boUle"-  even  than  he  of  Sparta's  land. 
Against  whom  millions,  panting  to  be  free, 
W'ould  guard  the  pass  of  right-line  tyranny  ! 
Instead  of  him,  the  Athenian  baid,  whose  blade 
Had  stood  the  onset  which  his  pen  pourtray'd. 
Welcome       ***** 


And,  'stead  of  Aristides — woe  the  day 
Such  names  should  mingle  I — welcome  C- 


:h! 


Here  break  we  off,  at  this  unhallow'd  name. 
Like  priests  of  old,  when  words  ill-ornen'd  came. 
Uly  next  shall  tell  thee,  bitterly  shall  tell. 
Thoughts  that  *  +  *  * 

****** 

Thoughts  that — could  patience  hold — 't  were  wiser  far 
To  leave  still  hid  and  burning  where  they  are ! 


LETTER  V. 

KROM  MISS  BIIJDY  FUDGE  TO  MISS  nOROTllY  . 

What  a  time  since  I  wrote ! — I'm  a  sad  naughty 

girl- 
Though,  like  a  tee-totum,  I'm  all  in  a  twirl, 
Yft  even  (as  you  wittily  say)  a  tee-totum 
Between  all  its  twirls  gives  a  Irtter  to  note  'em. 
But,  Lord,  such  a  place  !  and  tnen,  Dolly,  my  dresses, 
IMy  gowns,  so  divine  I — there's  no  language  expresses, 
t^xcept  just  the  tu-o  words  "supcrbe,"  "  magnifique," 
The  trimmings  of  that  which  1  had  home  last  week  ! 
It  is  call'd — 1  forget — '''  la — something  which  sounded 
Like  filiannpaiie — but,  in  truth,  I'm  confounded 
And  boilier'd,  my  dear,  'twixt  that  troublesome  boy's 
(Bob's)  cookery  language,  and  Madame  Le  Roi's: 
What  with  fillets  of  roses,  and  fillets  of  veal. 
Things  garni  with  lace,  and  things  garni  with  eel, 


One's  hair,  and  one's  cutlets  both  en  jtuyillole. 
And  a  thousand  more  things  I  shall  ne'er  have  by  rote, 
I  can  scarce  tell  the  diHerence,  at  least  as  to  phrase, 
Between  beef  a  lu  Psi/ilie  and  curls  "  Id  braise. — 
But,  in  short,  dear,  I'm  irick'd  out  quite  a  la  Fravcai.te 
With  my  bonnet — so  beautiful  I — high  up  and  poking 
Like  things  that  are  put  to  keep  cliimneys  from 
smoking. 

Where  shall  1  begin  with  the  endless  delights 
Of  this  Eden  of  milliners,  monkeys,  and  sights — 
This  dear  busy  place,  where  there  's  nothing  trar.s- 

acting, 
But  dressing  and  dinnering,  dancing  and  acting  7 

Imprimis,  the  Opera — mercy,  my  cars  ! 

Brother  Bobby's  remark  l'  other  night  was  a  true 
one ; 
"This  must  be  the  music,"  said  he,  "of  the  spears. 

For  I'm  curst  if  each  note  of  it  doesn't  run  through 
one !" 
Pa  says  (and  you  know,  love,  his  book 's  to  make  out,) 
'Tvvas  the  Jacobins  brought  every  mischief  about ; 
That  this  passion  for  roaring  has  come  in  of  late, 
Since  the  rabble  all  tried  fur  a  voice  in  the  State. 
What  a  frightful  idea,  one's  mind  to  o'erwhchn ! 

What  a  chorus,  dear  Dolly,  would  soon  be  let  loose 
of  it ! 
If,  when  of  age,  every  man  in  the  realm 

Had  a  voice  hke  old  Lais,'  and  chose  to  make  use 
of  it ! 
\o — never  was  known  m  this  riotous  sphere 
Such  a  breach  of  the  peace  as  their  singing,  my  dear 
So  bad  too,  you'd  swear  that  the  god  of  both  arts, 

Of  Music  and  Physic,  had  taken  a  frohc 
For  setting  a  loud  fit  of  asthma  in  parts. 

And  composing  a  fine  rumbling  base  to  a  chohc ! 

But,  the  dancing — ah  parlez  vioi,  Dolly,  de  ra — 
There,  indeed,  is  a  treat  that  charms  all  but  Papa. 
Such  beauty — such  grace — oh  ye  sylphs  of  romance' 

Fly,  fly  to  Titania,  and  ask  her  if  she  has 
One  light-footed  nymph  in  her  train,  that  can  dance 

Like  divine  Bigottini  and  sweet  Fanny  Bias! 
Fanny  Bias  in  Flora — dear  creature! — you'd  sweai. 
When  her  delicate  feet  in  the  dance  twinkle  round. 
That  her  steps  are  of  light,  that  her  home  is  the  air. 

And  she  only  par  cojnphiisance  touches  the  ground 
And  when  Bigottini  in  Psyche  dishevels 

Her  black  flowing  hair,  and  by  d;cmons  is  driven. 
Oh  !  who  does  not  envy  those  rude  little  devils. 

That  hold  her,  and  hug  her,  and  keep  her  from 
heaven  ? 
Then,  the  music — so  softly  its  cadences  die, 
So  divinely — oh,  Dolly  !  between  you  and  I, 
It 's  as  well  for  my  peace  that  there's  nobody  nigh 
To  make  love  to  me  then — you've  a  soul,  and  cac 

judge 
What  a  crisis  't  would  be  for  your  friend  Biddy  Fudge' 

The  next  place  (which  Bobby  has  near  lost  his  heart 

in,) 
They  call  it  the  Play-house — I  think — of  Saint  Mar- 

tin;2 


1  Tlio  o  dest,  must  celebrated,  and  must  nuisy  of  Ibesin; 
ers  at  llie  I'reuch  Opera. 

2  Tilt!  Tli6:itre  de  la  I'orte  St. Martin, which  was  biiill  when 
the  Opera-house  in  the  Palais  Kov;tl  was  burned  down,  t 


170- 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


tiuite  charming — and  very  religious — what  folly 
To  say  that  the  French  are  not  pious,  dear  Uoiiy, 
When  here  one  beholds,  so  correctly  and  riglitly, 
The  Testament  turn'd  into  melo-dratnes  nightly  ; 
And,  doubtless,  so  fond  they're  of  scriptural  facts, 
They  will  soon  get  the  Pentateuch  up  in  five  acts. 
Here  Daniel,  in  pantomime,'  bids  bold  defiance 
To  Nebuchadnezzar  and  all  his  stuff'd  lions, 
\Miile  pretty  young  Israelites  dance  round  the  Prophet, 
In  very  thin  clothing,  and  hut  little  of  it ; — 
Here  Begrand,-  who  shines  in  this  scriptural  path, 

As  I  he  lovely  Susanna,  without  even  a  relic 
Of  drapery  round  her,  comes  out  of  the  bath 

In  a  manner,  that,  Bob  says,  is  quite  Eve-angelic  ! 

But,  in  short,  dear,  't  would  take  me  a  month  to  recite 
All  the  exquisite  places  we  're  at,  day  and  night; 
And,  besides,  ere  I  finish,  I  think  you'll  be  glad 
Just  to  hear  one  delightful  adventure  I've  had. 

Last  night,  at  the  Beaujon,-*  a  place  where — I  doubt 
If  I  well  cafi  describe — there  are  cars  that  set  out 
From  a  lighted  pavilion,  high  up  in  the  air, 
And  rattle  you  down,  Doll — you  hardly  know  where. 
These  vehicles,  mind  me,  in  which  you  go  through 
This  delightfully  dangerous  journey,  hold  two. 
Some  cavalier  asks,  with  humility,  vv'hether 

You'll  venture  down  with  Mm — you  smile — 'tis  a 
match ; 
In  an  inst  int  you're  seated,  and  down  both  together 

Go  thundering,  as  if  you  went  post  to  old  Scratch  !"* 
Well,  it  was  but  last  night,  as  I  stood  and  remark'd 
On  the  looks  and  odd  ways  of  the  girls  who  embark'd, 
The  impatience  of  some  for  the  perilous  flight, 
The  forc'd  giggle  of  others,  'twixt  pleasure  and  fright, 
That  there  came  up — imagine,  dear  Doll,  if  you  can — 
A  fine  sallow,  sublime,  sort  of  Werter-fac'd  man, 
With  mustachios  that  gave  (what  we  read  of  so  oft,) 
The  dear  Corsair  expression,  half  savage,  half  soft. 
As  Hyaenas  in  love  may  be  fancied  to  look,  or 
A  something  between  Abelard  and  old  Blucher ! 
Up  he  came,  Doll,  to  me,  and  uncovering  his  head, 
'Rather  bald,  but  so  warlike  !)  in  bad  English  said,    . 
"  Ah  !  my  dear — if  Ma'mselle  vil  be  so  very  good — 
Just  for  von  little  course" — though  I  scarce  under- 
stood 
What  he  wisli'd  me  to  do,  I  said,  thank  him,  I  would. 
Olf  we  set — and,  though  'faith,  dear,  I  hardly  knew 
whether 

My  head  or  my  heels  were  the  uppermost  then, 


1781.  A  few  (lays  after  this  Hruadful  firi^,  whieli  lasted  inore 
than  a  week,  and  in  whicli  several  persons  perished,  the  Pa- 
risian iUsa'ntcs  displayed  flamc-cnloured  dresses,  "  couleur 
feu  de  rOp6ra !" — JJulaure,  Curiositcs  de  Paris. 

1  A  piece  very  popular  last  year,  called  "  Daniel,  on  la 
Fosse  an.ic  Lions."  The  following  scene  will  give  an  idea 
of  the  darins  suhlimily  of  these  scriptural  paniorniines. 
".Scfnc20. — La  foiiriiaise  devient  un  berceau  de  nuages 
azures,  an  fond  diupiej  est  un  groiipe  de  nnages  plus  Inmi- 
neiix,  et  au  milieu  'Jehovah'  an  centri  d'lin  cerele  de  ray- 
ons brillans,  (pii  annonec  la  pr(';8enre  de  rEli^rnel." 

2  Mndarno  Begraml,  a  finelv  formed  woman,  who  aets  in 
"  Susanna  and  the  Riders. "  "  L'amour  ot  la  Folii;,"  etc.  etc. 

'.i  The  Promenades  .^Criennes,  or  French  Mountains. — 
tjco  a  (leBcriplion  of  this  singnlar  and  fantastic  place  of 
amusement,  in  a  pamphlet,  truly  worlhy  of  it,  by  F.  F.  Cot- 
'crel,  M(';deein,  Docteur  d?  !a  F'aculMi  de  Paris,  etc.  etc. 

1  Accordinc  to  T)r.  Cotterel,  ttio  cars  go  al  the  rate  of 
firlv-ei»hl  miles  an  hour 


For  't  was  like  heaven  and  earth,  Dolly,  coming  to 
gether, — 

Yet,  spite  of  the  danger,  we  dared  it  again. 
And  oh !  as  I  gazed  on  the  features  and  air 

Of  the  man,  who  for  me  all  this  peril  defied, 
I  could  fancy  almost  he  and  I  were  a  pair 

Of  unhappy  young  lovers,  who  thus,  side  by  side 
Were  taking,  instead  of  rope,  pistol,  or  dagger,  a 
Desperate  dash  down  the  falls  of  Niagara ! 

This  achiev'd,  through  the  gardens'   we   saunter'o 

about, 
Saw  the  fire-works,  exclaim'd  "  magnifique !"  al 

each  cracker. 
And,  when  t'  was  all  o'er,,the  dear  man  saw  us  out 
With  the  air,  1  tuill  say,  of  a  prince,  to  onr  fiacre. 
Now,  hear  me — this  stranger — it  may  be  mere  folly— 
But  ii7(0  do  you  think  we  all  think  it  is,  Dolly? 
Why,  bless  you,  no  less  than  the  great  King  of  Prussia, 
Who  's  here  now  incog.'^ — he,  who  made  such  a  fuss, 

you 
Remember,  in  London,  with  Blucher  and  Platoff, 
^Vhen  Sal  was  near  kissing  old  Blucher's  cravat  off"! 
Pa  says  he  's  come  here  to  look  after  his  money 
(Not  taking  things  now  as  he  used  under  Boney,) 
Which  suits  with  our  friend,  for  Bob  saw  him,  he 

swore. 
Looking  sharp  to  the  silver  received  at  the  door. 
Besides,  too,  they  say  that  his  grief  for  his  Queen 
(Which  was  plain  in  this  sweet  fellow's  face  to  be  seen) 
Requires  such  a  stimulant  dose  as  this  car  is, 
Used  three  times  a  day  with  young  ladies  in  Paris. 
Some  Doctor,  indeed,  has  declared  that  such  grief 
Should — unless  'twould  to  utter  despairing  its  follj 

push — 
Fly  to  the  Beaujon,  and  there  seek  relief 

By  rattling,  as  Bob  says,  "like  shot  through  a  holly- 

bus^h." 

I  must  now  bid  adieu — only  think,  Dolly,  think 

If  this  should  be  the  King — 1  have  scarce  slept  a  wink 

With  imagining  how  it  will  sound  in  the  papers, 

And  how  all  the  Misses  my  good  luck  will  grudge. 
When  they  read  that  Count  Ruppin,  to  drive  awaj 
vapours. 

Has  gone  down  the  Beaujon  with  Miss  Biddy  Fudge 

Nota  Bene. — Papa's  almost  certain  't  is  he — 
For  he  knows  the  L  git* '^ ate  cut,  and  could  see. 
In  the  way  he  went  poising,  and  managed  to  tower 
So  erect  in  the  car,  the  true  Balunce  of  Power. 


LETTER  VI. 

FROM  PHIL.  FUDGE,  ESQ.  TO  HIS  BROTHER  TIM 
FUDGE,  ESQ.  BARRISTER  AT  LAW. 

Yours  of  the  12th  received  just  now — 
Thanks  for  the  hint,  my  trusty  brother ! 


1  In  the  ("a'c  attached  to  these  garllen^  there  are  to  br 
(as  Dr.  Cotterel  informs  ns,)  "  douze  negres,  tres-alertes 
qni  contrasieront,  par  I'^bene  do  leur  peau  avec  la  teint  At 
lis  el  do  roses  de  nos  belles.  Les  glaces  ot  les  sorbets  servii 
nnr  uno  main  bien  noire,  fera  davantagc  ressorii'  i'albatri 
des  bras  arrondis  .',?.  celles-ci." — P.  22 

2  His  Majesty,  who  was  at  Paris  under  the  trnvellin| 
name  of  (^onnt  Ruppin,  is  known  to  have  yone  down  thf 
Beaujon  very  frcquentlv 


rilE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


171 


T  IS  truly  pleasing  to  see  liow 

We  Fudges  stand  by  one  another. 
But  never  fear — 1  know  my  chap, 
And  he  knows  wf,  too — wihiun  sap. 
3Iy  Lord  and  I  are  kindred  spirits, 
l^ike  in  our  ways  as  two  young  ferrets  ; 
Both  fasiiion'd,  as  that  supple  race  is, 
To  twist  into  all  sorts  of  places ; — 
Creatures  lengthy,  lean,  and  hungering, 
Fond  of  blood  and  iMrroai-mongcring. 

As  to  my  Book  in  91, 

Call'd  "  Down  with  Kings,  or  Wlio'd  liave  thought 
it  ?" 
Bless  you,  the  Rook  's  long  dead  and  gone, — 

Not  even  th'  Attorney-General  bought  it. 
And,  though  some  few  seditious  tricks 
I  play'd  in  95  and  6, 
As  you  remind  me  m  your  letter, 
His  Lordship  likes  mc  all  the  better; 
We,  proselytes,  that  come  with  news  full, 
Are,  as  he  says,  so  vastly  useful ! 
Reynolds  and  \ — (you  know  Tom  Reynolds — 

Drinks  his  claret,  keeps  his  chaise — 
I  ucky  the  dog  that  first  unkennels 

Traitors  and  Luddites  now-a-days ; 
Or  who  can  help  to  htisr  a  few. 

When  S — d th  wants  a  death  or  two;) 

Reynolds  and  I,  and  some  few  more. 

All  men  like  us  of  information. 
Friends,  whom  his  Lordship  keeps  in  store, 

As  «7i(iey--saviours  of  the  nation — ' 
Have  form'd  a  Club  this  season,  where 
His  Lordship  sometimes  takes  the  chair, 
In  praise  of  our  sublime  vocation  ; 
And  gives  us  many  a  bright  oration 
Tracing  it  up  to  great  King  Midas, 
Who,  though  in  fable  typified  as 
A  royal  Ass,  by  grace  divine 
And  right  of  ears,  most  asinine. 
Was  yet  no  more,  in  fact  historical, 

Than  an  exceeding  well-bred  tyrant; 
And  these,  his  eari;,  but  allegorical. 

Meaning  Informers,  kept  at  high  rent — '^ 
Gemmen,  who  touch'd  the  Treasury  glistenera. 
Like  us,  for  being  trusty  listeners  ; 
And  picking  up  each  tale  and  fragment. 
For  royal  Midas's  green  bag  meant. 
"And  wherefore,"  said  this  best  of  Peers, 
Should  not  the  R — g — t  too  have  ears,' 
To  reach  as  far,  as  long  and  wide  as 
Those  of  his  model,  good  King  Midas  ?" 
This  speech  was  thought  extremely  good. 
And  (rare  for  him)  was  understood — 


1  Lord   C.'s  tribute  to  the  cliantcier   ot'  liis  friend,   Mr. 
Reynolds,  will  long  be  remembered  with  equal  credit  to  botli. 

2  This  interpretation  of  the  fable  of  Midas's  ears  seems 
he  most  probable  of  any,  ond  is  thus  slated  in  Hotfimtn:— Mac 

allegoria  sigtiificalum,  Midain,  nl  pote  tyrannum,  subauseul 
tatores  dimittere  solitum,  per  quos,  quiei-unque  per  oinnem 
-egionem  vel  fiereni,  vel  dicerentur,  cognosceret,  nimirum 
Uis  utens  anriuni  vice." 

3  Brosseite,  in  a  note  on  this  line  of  Boileau, 

"  Midas,  le  roi  Midas  a  des  oreiUes  d'ane," 
tells  us,  that  "  M.  Perrault  le  M6decin  voulul  faire  a  notre 
ttuteur  un  crime  d'6tat  de  ce  vers,  comme  d'une  miili^ne  al- 
usion  an  Roi."     T  trust,  however,  that  no  one  will  suspect 
he  line  in  the  text  of  anv  such  indecorous  allusion. 


Instanr  we  drank  "  The  R — c — t's  Ears," 
With  tnree  times  three  illustrious  cheers, 

That  mcide  the  room  resound  like  thunder 
"The  R — G — T  s  Ears,  and  may  he  ne'er 
From  foolish  shame,  like  Midas,  wear 

Old  paltry  v)igs  to  keep  them  under  !"' 
This  touch  at  our  old  friends,  the  Whigs, 
Made  us  as  merry  all  as  grigs. 
In  short  (I'll  thank  you  not  to  mention 

These  things  aga'i)  we  get  on  gaily  ; 
And,  tha.iks  to  pension  and  Suspension, 

Our  little  (^lub  increases  daily. 
Castles,  and  Oliver,  and  such. 
Who  don't  as  yet  full  salary  touch, 
Nor  keep  their  chaise  and  pair,  nor  buy 
Houses  and  lands,  like  Tom  and  I, 
Of  course  don't  rank  with  us,  salvators,^ 
But  merely  serve  the  Club  as  waiters. 
Like  Knights,  too,  we've  our  collar  days 
(For  us,  I  own,  an  awkward  phrase,) 
When,  in  our  new  costume  adorn'd, — 
The  R — o — t's  bulT-and-blue  coal 's  turn'd — 
We  have  the  honour  to  give  dinners 

To  ihe  chief  rats  in  upper  stations  ;' 
Your  W vs,  V Ns — half-fledged  sinners, 

Who  shame  us  by  their  imitations ; 
Who  turn,  'tis  true — but  whal  of  that? 
(Jive  me  the  useful  prcachiug  Rat ; 
Not  things  as  mute  as  Punch,  when  bought. 
Whose  vvooaen  heads  are  all  they've  brought, 
W^ho,  false  enough  to  shirk  their  friends, 

But  too  faint-hearted  to  betray. 
Are,  after  all  their  twists  and  bends, 

But  souls  in  Limbo,  damn'd  half  way. 
No,  no, — we  nobler  vermin  are 
A  genus  useful  as  we're  rare; 
'Midst  all  the  things  miraculous 

Of  which  your  natural  histories  brag, 
The  rarest  must  be  Rats  like  us. 

Who  Ut  the  cat  out  of  the  hag. 
Yet  still  these  Tyros  in  the  cause 
Deserve,  I  own,  no  small  applause ; 
And  they're  by  us  received  and  treated 
With  all  due  honours — only  seated 
In  the  inverse  scale  of  their  reward, 
The  merely  promised  next  my  Lord  ; 
Stnall  pensions  then,  and  so  on,  down, 

Rat  after  rat,  they  graduate 
Through  job,  red  ribbon,  and  silk  gown, 

To  Chancellorship  and  Marquisaie. 
This  serves  to  nurse  the  ratting  spirit , 
The  less  the  bribe  the  more  the  tnerii 

Our  music 's  good,  you  may  be  sure ; 
My  Lord,  you  know,  's  an  amateur — * 


1  It  was  not  undi  r  wigs,  but  tiaras,  Ihul  King  Midas  en 
deavonred  to  conceal  these  appendages: 

Tempoia  purpureis  lentat  velars  tiaris. — Ovid. 

The  noble  giver  of  the  toast,  however,  had  evidently 
with  his  usual  clearness,  confounded  King  Midas,  Mr.  Lit 
tor.,  and  the  P e  R — g — t  together. 

"2  Mr.  Fudiie  and  his  friends  should  go  by  Ibis  name — ai 
tne  man  who,  some  years  since,  s  ved  Ihe  late  Right  Hon 
(Jeorge  Rose  from  drowning,  was  ever  aflercbi.cd  Suteaiji 
Rosa. 

3  This  intimicy  between  the  Rats  and  Informers  is  just  aj  it 
should  be — "  vero  diil'-e  sodalitium." 

4  Hii  Lordship,  during  one  of  the  busiest  uermdii  of  h«f 


172 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


I'akes  e\<:vy  purt  witli  perfect  ease, 

Thoiioli  lo  the  Base  by  nature  suited, 
And,  form  d  for  all,  as  best  may  please. 
For  wliips  and  bolts,  or  chords  and  keys, 
Turns  from  his  victim  to  his  glees. 

And  has  them  both  well  executed. 
H T u,  who,  though  no  Rat  himself, 

Delights  in  all  such  liberal  arts. 
Drinks  largely  to  the  House  of  Guelph, 

And  superintends  the  Corni  parts. 
While  C — x.\ — G,'  who'd  hejirst  by  choice, 
Consents  to  take  an  under  voice  ; 

And  G s,-  who  well  that  signal  knows, 

Watches  the  Volti  Subitos.' 

In  short,  as  I've  already  hinted. 

We  take,  of  late,  prodigiously  ; 
But  as  our  Club  is  somewhat  stinted 

For  Genlhmen,  like  Tom  and  me. 
We'll  take  it  kind  if  you'll  provide 
A  few  Squireens,"  from  t'other  side  ; — 
Some  of  those  loyal,  cunning  elves 

( We  often  tell  the  tale  with  laughter) 
Who  used  to  hide  the  pikes  themselves. 

Then  hang  the  fools  who  found  them  after. 
I  doubt  not  you  could  find  us,  too. 
Some  Orange  Parsons  that  would  do; 
Among  the  rest,  we've  heard  of  one. 
The  Reverend — something — Hamilton, 
Who  stuH^'d  a  figure  of  himself 

(Delicious  thought  I)  and  had  it  shot  at. 
To  bring  some  Papists  to  the  shelf. 

That  could'nt  otherwise  be  got  at — 
If  he  '11  but  join  the  Association, 
We'll  vote  him  in  by  acclamation. 

And  now,  my  brother,  guide,  and  friend. 
This  somewhat  tedious  scrawl  must  end. 
I've  gone  into  this  long  detail, 

Because  I  saw  your  nerves  were  shaken 
With  anxious  fears  lest  I  should  fail 

In  this  new,  loi/al,  course  I've  taken. 
But,  bless  youi  heart!  you  need  not  doubt — 
We  Fudges  know  what  we're  about. 
Look  round,  and  say  if  you  can  see 
A  much  more  thriving  family. 
There  's  Jack,  the  Doctor — night  and  day 

Hundreds  of  patients  so  besiege  him. 
You'd  swear  that  all  the  rich  and  gay 

Fell  sick  on  purpose  to  oblige  him. 
And  while  they  think,  the  precious  ninnies. 

He's  counting  o'er  their  pulse  so  steady, 


Ministerial  career,  took  lessons  three  times  a-week  from  a 
celebrated  niusic-niastcr,  in  L'lec-BJnging. 

1  This  Ri;lit  Hon.  Gc-nileman  ou;^ht  to  give  up  his  pre- 
innt  iilliance  with  Lord  V  if  upon  no  other  princijile  lh:in 
.hat  which  is  inculcated  in  Ihe  following  arrangement  be- 
tween two  Ladies  of  Fashion : 

Says  Clarindii,  "thongh  tears  it  may  cost, 
it  is  time  wc  shouUi  part,  my  dear  Sue; 

For  ijDur  charai'ler 's  l<iially  lost, 
And  /  have  not  snflicient  for  two!" 

2  The  ra,)idily  of  this  Noble  Lord's  transformation,  at 
'.he  same  insiHiil,  inio  a  Lord  of  the  Bed-chamber  and  an 
ipponent  of  the  Catholic  Claims,  was  truly  miraculous. 

'i   Turn  inxtantly — a  frequent  direction  in  music  books. 
«  The  Irisli  diminutive  of  Squire. 


The  rogue  but  counts  how  many  jruineps 
He's  fobb'd,  for  that  day's  work,  alrea/** 

I'll  ne'er  forget  the  old  maid's  alarm. 
When,  feeling  thus  Miss  Sukey  Flirt,  he 

Said,  as  he  dropp'd  her  shrivell'd  arm, 

"  Damn'd  bad  tiiis  morning — only  thirty '" 

Your  dowagers,  too,  every  one. 

So  generous  are,  when  they  call  him  in, 
That  he  might  now  retire  upon 

The  rheumatisms  of  three  old  women. 
Then,  whatsoe'er  your  ailments  are. 

He  can  so  learnedly  explain  ye  'em — 
Your  cold,  of  course,  is  a  catarrh, 

Your  head-ache  is  a  hemi-cranium : — 
His  skill,  too,  in  young  ladies'  lungs. 

The  grace  with  which,  most  mild  of  men 
He  begs  them  to  put  out  their  tongues. 
Then  bids  them — put  them  in  again ! 
In  short  there  's  nothing  now  like  Jack  ; — 

Take  all  your  doctors,  great  and  small. 
Of  present  times  and  ages  back, 

Dear  Doctor  Fudge  is  worth  them  all 

So  much  for  physic — then,  in  law  too, 

Counsellor  Tim  !  to  thee  we  bow  ; 
Not  one  of  us  gives  more  eclat  to 

The  immortal  name  of  Fudge  than  thou 
Not  to  expatiate  on  the  art 
With  which  you  play'd  the  patriot's  part. 
Till  something  good  and  snug  should  offer. 

Like  one,  who,  by  the  way  he  acts 
The  enlightening  part  of  candle-snuffer, 

The  manager's  keen  eye  attracts, 
And  is  promoted  thence  by  him 
To  ntrut  in  robes,  like  thee,  my  Tim  ! 
Who  shall  describe  thy  powers  of  face, 
Thy  well-fee'd  zeal  in  every  case. 
Or  wrong  or  right — but  ten  times  warmer 
(As  suits  thy  calling)  in  the  former — 
Thy  glorious,  lawyer-like  delight 
In  puzzling  all  that  's  clear  and  right. 
Which,  though  conspicuous  in  thy  youth. 

Improves  so  with  a  wig  and  band  on, 
That  all  thy  pride  's  to  way-lay  Truth, 

And  leave  her  not  a  leg  to  stand  on. — 
Thy  patent,  prime,  morality, — 

Thy  cases,  cited  from  the  Bible — 
Thy  candour,  when  it  falls  to  thee 

To  help  in  trouncing  for  a  libel  : — 
"God  knows,  I,  from  my  soul,  profess 

To  hate  all  bigots  and  benighters  ! 
God  knows,  1  love,  to  even  excess. 
The  sacred  Freedom  of  the  Press, 

My  only  aim  's  to — crush  the  writers, ' 
These  are  the  virtues,  Tim,  that  draw 

The  briefs  into  thy  bag  so  fast ; 
And  these,  oh,  Tim — if  Law  be  Law — 

Will  raise  thee  to  the  Bench  at  last. 

I  blush  to  see  this  letter's  length, 
But  't  was  my  wish  to  prove  to  thee 

IIow  full  of  hope,  and  wealth,  and  strengtk 
Are  all  our  precious  family. 

And,  should  affairs  go  on  as  pleasant 

As,  thank  the  Fates,  they  do  at  presen' 


THE  FUDGE  FA3IILV  IN  PARIS. 


173 


Jihonid  we  but  still  enjoy  the  sway 

Of  S — DM — II  and  ofC «n, 

I  Iiope,  ere  long,  to  see  the  day 

^'hen  Knglaiul's  wisest  statesmen,  judges, 

Lawyers,  peers,  will  all  be — Ft;DUES  ! 

Rood  bye — my  paper  's  out  so  nearly, 
I've  only  room  for 

Yours  sincerely 


LETTER  VII. 


FROM  PHELIM  CONNOR  TO 


Rkfore  we  sketch  the  Present — let  us  cast 
A  few  short  rapid  glances  to  the  Past. 

When  he,  who  had  defied  all  Europe's  strength, 
Beneath  his  own  wsak  rashness  sunk  at  length  ; — 
When  loosed,  as  if  by  magic,  from  a  ciiain 
That  seeni'd  like  Fate's,  the  world  was  free  again. 
And  Europf.  saw    rejoicing  in  the  sight, 
The  cause  of  Kings,  /or  once,  the  cause  o""  Right ; 
Then  was,  indeed,  an  hour  of  joy  to  those 
Who  sigh'd  for  justice — liberty — repose. 
And  hoped  the  fall  ot  one  great  vulture's  nest 
Would  ring  its  warning  round,  and  scare  the  rest. 
And  all  was  bright  with  promise ; — Kings  began 
To  own  a  s3'npathy  with  suft'ering  Man, 
And  Man  was  grateful — Patriots  of  the  South 
Caught  wisdom  from  a  Cossack  Emperor's  mouth. 
And  heard,  like  accents  thaw'd  in  Northern  air, 
Unwonted  words  of  freedom  burst  forth  there  ! 

Who  did  not  hope  in  that  triumphant  time. 
When  monarclis,  after  years  of  spoil  and  crime. 
Met  round  the  shrine  of  Peace,  and  Heaven  look'd  on, 
Who  did  not  hope  the  lust  of  spoil  was  gone; — 
That  that  rapacious  spirit,  which  had  play'd 
The  game  of  Pilnitz  o'er  so  oft,  was  laid. 
And  Europe's  Rulers,  conscious  of  the  past, 
W^ould  blush,  and  deviate  into  right  at  last? 
But  no — the  hearts  that  nursed  a  hope  so  fair 
Had  yet  to  learn  what  men  on  thrones  can  dare  ; 
Had  yet  to  know,  of  all  earth's  ravening  things. 
The  only  quite  untameable  are  K'   gs! 
Scarce  had  they  met  when,  to  its  nature  true, 
The  instinct  of  their  race  broke  out  anew; 
Promises,  treaties,  charters,  all  were  vain, 
And  "Rapine  I — rapine  I"  was  the  cry  again. 
How  quick  they  carved  their  victims,  and  how  well. 
Let  Saxony,  let  injured  Genoa  tell, — 
Le»  all  the  human  stock  that,  day  by  day. 
Was  at  the  Royal  slave-mart  truck'd  away, — 
The  million  souls  that,  in  the  face  of  Heaven, 
Were  split  to  fractions,'  barter'd,  sold,  or  given 
To  swell  some  despot  power,  too  huge  before. 
And  Nveigh  down  Europe  with  one  Mammoth  more! 
How  safe  the  faith  of  K"  'gs  let  F***ce  decide; — 
Her  charter  broken,  ere  its  ink  had  dried — 


1  "  Whilst  the  Ciinnress  was  re-constructing  Europe — not 
according  lo  riglits,  natnral  affiances,  hiiifruage,  hahils,  or 
'aws,  hut  by  labU;s  ol'  finaricp,  which  divalfd  and  subdivi- 
ded her  population  into  souls,  demi-souls,  and  even  frac- 
Ijuns,  accci'iling  to  a  scale  of  th>-  direct  duties  or  taxes 
which  couiri  he  levied  by  the  acquiring  state,"  etc. — Skr/ch 
of  the  Military  and  Political  Power  of  Russia. — The 
words  on  the  Protocol  are  ames,  demi-ames,  elc. 


Her  Press  enthrall'd — her  Reason  mork'd  again 
With  all  the  monkery  it  had  spurn'd  in  vaiu — 
Her  crown  disgraced  by  one,  wlio  dared  to  own 
He  thank'd  not  F   '  ce  but  E   '* '"d  for  h:s  throne— 
Her  triumphs  c;ist  into  the  shade  by  those 
Who  had  grown  old  among  her  bitterest  foes, 
And  now  return'd,  beneath  her  conquerors'  shields, 
Unblushing  slaves  !  to  claim  her  heroes'  fields, 
To  tread  down  every  trophy  of  her  fame, 
And  curse  that  glory  which  to  them  was  shame  !- 
Let  these — let  all  the  damning  deeds,  that  then 
\\  ere  dared  through  Europe,  cry  aloud  to  men, 
With  voice  like  that  of  crashing  ice  that  rings 
Round  Alpine  huts,  the  perfidy  of  K  '  gs  ; 
And  tell  the  world,  when  hawks  shall  harmless  bear 
The  shrinking  dove,  when  wolves  shall  learn  to  spart 
The  helpless  victim  for  whose  blood  they  lusted, 
Then,  and  then  only,  monarchs  may  be  trusted  ! 

It  could  not  last — these  horrors  could  not  last — 

F'*  ce  would  herself  have  risen,  in  might,  to  cast 

The  insulters  off— and  oh  !  that  then,  as  now, 

Chain'd  to  some  distant  islet's  rocky  brow, 

N   '  OL  *N  ne'er  had  come  to  force,  to  blight, 

Ere  half  matured,  a  cause  so  proudly  bright ; — 

To  palsy  patriot  hearts  with  doubt  and  shame. 

And  write  on  Freedom's  Hag  a  despot's  name  ; 

To  rush  into  the  lists,  unask'd,  alone. 

And  make  the  stake  oCall  the  game  of  one? 

Then  would  the  world  have  seen  again  what  powci 

A  people  can  put  forth  in  Freedom's  hour ; 

Then  would  the  fire  of  F***ce  once  more  have  blazed , 

For  every  single  sword,  reluctant  raised 

In  the  stale  cause  of  an  oppressive  throne. 

Millions  would  then  have  leap'd  forth  in  her  own; 

And  never,  never  had  the  unholy  stain 

Of  H  ■  ' '  b  n  feet  disgraced  her  shores  again  ' 

But  Fate  decreed  not  so — the  Imperial  Bird, 
That,  in  his  neighbouring  cage,  unfear'd,  unstirr  u. 
Had  seem'd  to  sleep  with  head  beneath  his  wing. 
Yet  watch'd  the  moment  for  a  daring  spring; — 
Well  might  he  watch,  when  deeds  were  done  that  made 
His  own  transgressions  whiten  in  their  shade; 
W'eil  might  he  hope  a  world,  thus  trampled  o'er 
By  cl'imsy  tyrants,  would  be  lus  once  more: 
Forth  from  its  cage  that  eagle  burst  to  light. 
From  steeple  on  to  steeple'  wing'd  its  Hight, 
With  calm  and  easy  grandeur,  to  that  throne 
From  which  a  royal  craven  just  had  flown  : 
And  resting  there,  as  in  its  aerie,  furl'd 
Those  wings,  whose  very  rustling  shook  the  worid 

What  was  your  fury  then,  ye  crown'd  array. 
Whose  feast  of  spoil,  whose  plundering  holiday 
Was  thus  broke  up  in  all  its  greedy  mirth. 
By  one  bold  chieftain's  stamp  on  G*ll*c  earth  ! 
Fierce  was  the  crj-  and  fulminant  the  ban, — 
"  Assassinate,  who  will — enchain,  who  can, 
The  vile,  the  faithless,  oiitlaw'd,  low-born  man ! 
'  Faithless  !" — and  this  from  i/oii — from  you,  forsooih, 
Ye  pious  K**gs,  pure  paragons  of  truth, 
Whose  honesty  all  knew,  for  all  had  tried  ; 
Whose  true  Swiss  zeal  had  served  on  every  side , 


1  "  L'nis'e  volcra  de  clocher  en  clocher,  .jusqu'anx  toun 
de  Nolii-Uanie." — N**ol**ii's  Proelainatiou  on  Is-.diiij 
from  Elba. 


174 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Whose  fame  for  breaking  faith  so  long  was  known, 

WpII  might  ye  claim  the  craft  as  all  your  own, 

And  hsh  your  lordly  tails,  and  fume  to  see 

Such  low-born  apes  of  royal  perfidy ! 

Ves — yes — to  you  alone  did  it  belong 

To  sin  for  ever,  and  yet  ne'er  do  wrong — 

The  frauds,  the  lies  of  lords  legitimate 

Are  but  fine  policy,  deep  strokes  of  state  ; 

But  let  some  upstart  dare  to  soar  so  high 

In  K**gly  craft,  and  "  outlaw"  is  the  cry  ! 

What,  though  long  years  of  mutual  treachery 

Had  peopled  full  your  diplomntic  shelves 

With  ghosts  of  treaties,  murder'd  'mong  yourselves; 

Though  each  by  turns  was  knave  and  dupe — what 

then  ? 
A  Holy  League  would  set  all  straight  again ; 
Like  Juxo's  virtue,  which  a  dip  or  two 
In  some  bless'd  fountain  made  as  good  as  new  !' 
Most  faithful  Russia — faithful  to  whoe'er 
Could  plunder  best,  and  give  him  amplest  share  ; 
Who,  even  when  vaiiquisn'd,  sure  to  gain  his  ends. 
For  want  of  foes  to  rob,  made  free  whh  friends,'^ 
And,  deepening  still  by  amiable  gradations. 
When  foes  are  stript  of  ail,  then  fleeced  relations'.' 
Most  mild  and  saintly  Prussia — steep'd  to  the  ears 
In  persecuted  Poland's'  blood  and  tears. 
And  now,  with  all  her  harpy  wings  outspread 
O'er  sever'd  Saxony's  devoted  head  ! 
Pure  Austria  too, — whose  history  nought  repeats 
But  broken  league;    ind  subsidized  defeats  ; 
Whose  faith,  as  Prince,  extinguish'd  Venice  shows, 
Whose  faith,  as  man,  a  widow'd  daughter  knows  ! 
And  thou,  oh  Flnglnnd  ! — who,  though  once  as  shy 
As  cioister'd  maids,  of  shame  or  perfidy. 

Art  now  hrnhe  in,  and,  thanks  to  C gh, 

In  all  that's  worst  and  falsest  lead'st  the  way ! 

Such  was  the  pure  divan,  whose  pens  and  wits 

The  escape  from  E'  *a  frighten'd  into  fits; 

Such  were  the  saints  who  doom'd  N**ol**n's  life. 

In  virtuous  frenzy,  to  the  assassin's  knife ! 

Disgusting  crew  ! — who  would  not  gladly  fly 

To  open,  downright,  bold-faced  tyranny. 

To  honest  guilt,  that  dares  do  all  but  lie. 

From  the  false,  juggling  craft  of  men  like  these, 

Their  canting  crimes  and  varnish'd  villaiiies  ; — 

These  Holy  Leaguers,  who  then  loudest  boast 

Of  faith  and  honour,  when  they've  stain'd  them  most; 

From  whose  affection  men  should  shrink  as  loili 

As  from  their  hate,  for  tliey'll  be  fleeced  by  both  ; 

Who,  even  while  plundering,  forge  Religion's  name 

To  frank  their  spoil,  and,  without  fear  or  shame, 

Call  down  the  Holy  Trinity"  to  bless 

Partition  leagues,  and  deeds  of  devilishness! 

1  Siiijiiili-i  annisinqundain  Atlic-n  Ibritc  lola  virginitiiloiij 
fi'cii|i.  rasHE  firigitu/. 

•2  At  till!  Peace  of  Tilsit,  where  In-  Hbamloned  his  ally, 
I'nis-i  ■,  to  Kihnrc,  :inil  rnceiveil  a  poiiion  of  lier  territory. 

S  Thi'  Hfi/iiri,'  of  Finianil  rnwii  hiH  ri'lalive  of  Sweden. 

4  The  usual  prca'tiljli;  of  Ihi-se  tlaf^ilioiis  compiicts.  In 
the  Hiiiiie  Bfiirit,  Catiicrine,  nfler  the  ilrcadfnl  inas.sacro  of 
Wiir<aw,  ordered  a  i-ol''i)iii  "  thaiiksKivini;  loOnd  in  all  the 
•.hun-he",  for  the  hlesninsn  eonforred  upon  the  Poles  ;"  ant! 
Kom'nnndi'd  ihiil  oiieli  of  ihetn  should  "swear  fidelity  and 
toy;>lty  to  her,  Hnd  to  shed  in  her  defence  the  la-t  drop  of 
Ihitir  idood,  R«  tliev  should  answer  for  it  to  God,  iiud  his 
lerrildi'  judgment,  kissing  the  holy  word  and  cross  of  tlicur 
»«vw.ur''' 


But  hold — enough — soon  would  this  swell  of  rage. 
O'erflow  the  boundaries  of  my  scanty  page,— 
So,  here  I  pause — farewell — another  day 
Return  we  to  those  Lords  of  prayer  and  prey, 
Whose  loathsome  cant,  whose  frauds  by  right  divin? 
Deserve  a  lash  —oh  .  weightier  far  than  mine  . 


LETTER  VIII. 

FROM  MR.  BOB  FUDGE,  TO  RICHARD" 


-,  ESQ 

Dear  Dick,  while  old  Donaldson's'  mending  mi 

stays, — 
Which  I  knew  would  go  smash  with  me  one  of  these 

days, 
And,  at  yesterday's  dinner,  when,  full  to  the  throttle 
We  lads  had  begun  ourdessertwith  a  bottle 
Of  neat  old  Constantia,  en  mi/  leaning  back 
Just  to  order  another,  by  love  I  went  crack ! 
Or,  as  honest  Tom  said,  in  his  nautical  phrase, 
"  D — n  my  eyes.  Bob,  in  doiihUng  the  Cape  you  ve 

7niss''d  stays''^ 
So,  of  course,  as  no  gentleman 's  seen  out  without  them. 
They're  now  at  the  Schneider's'' — and,  while  he's 

about  them. 
Here  goes  for  a  letter,  post-haste,  neck  and  crop — 
Let  us  see — in  my  last  I  was — where  did  I  stop  ? 
Oh,  I  know — at  the  Boulevards,  as  motley  a  road  as 

Man  ever  would  wish  a  day's  lounging  upon ; 
With  its  cafes  and  gardens,  hotels  and  pagodas, 

Its  founts,  and  old  Counts  sipping  beer  in  the  sun  . 
With  its  houses  of  all  architectures  you  please, 
From  the  Grecian  and  (Tothic,  Dick,  down  by  degrees 
To  the  pure  Hottentot,  or  the  Brighton  Chinese ; 
Where,  in  temples  antique,  you  may  brca'sfast  or  din- 
ner it. 
Lunch  at  a  mosque,  and  see  .Punch  frorn  a  minaret. 
Then,  Dick,  the  mi.xture  of  bonnets  and  bower?, 
Of  foliage  and  tr^ppery,  fiacres  and  flowers. 
Green-grocers,    green-gardens — one    hardly   knows 

whether 
'Tis  country  or  town,  they're  so  mcss'd  up  together ! 
And  there,  if  one  loves  the  romantic,  one  sees 
Jew  clothes-men,  like  shepherds,  recliii'd  under  trees  . 
Or  Quidnuncs,  on  Sunday,  just  fresh  from  the  barber's, 
Enjoying  their  news  and  groseiUe"  in  those  arbours. 
While  gaily  their  wigs,  like  the  tendrils,  are  curling; 
And  founts  of  rod  currani-juice'  round  them  are  purl 
ing. 

Here,  Dick,  arm  in  arm,  as  we  chattering  stray. 
And  receive  a  few  civil  "God-dcms"  by  the  way.— 
For  'tis  odd,  these  mounseers, — though  we've  wasted 
our  wealth 
And  our  strength,  till  we've  thrown  ourselves  into 
a  phthisic. 


1  An  F2n<5li.sh  tailor  at  Paris. 

2  A  ship  is  siiid  to  miss  stays,  when  she  does  not  obey  the 
holm  in  tackins;. 

3  The  dandy  term  for  a  tailor. 

4  "  Lemonade  and  eau-dc-groseillr.  are  measured  out  at 
every  rorner  of  every  street,  from  funtiistic  vessels,  jingling 
vviih  bells,  to  thirsty  tradesmen  or  wearied  messengers" — 
See  Lady  Morsnn's  lively  description  of  the  streets  of  Paris, 
in  her  very  ainusitig  work  upon  France,  book  6. 

.")  These  gay,  portiihle  fountains,  from  which  the  groseille 
water  is  administered,  are  among  the  most  characteristic 
ornaments  of  the  streets  of  Paris. 


THE  FUDGE  FA^IILY  IN  PARIS. 


175 


To  cram  down  their  throats  an  old  K**g  for  their 

health. 
As  we  whip  little  children  to  make   them   take 

physic ; — 
Vet,  spite  of  our  good-natiir'd  money  and  slaughter, 
Thoy  hate  us,  as  JJeel/.ebub  hates  lioly  water ! 
liiit  who  the  deuce  cares,  Dick,  as  long  as  they 

nourish  us 
Neatly  as  now,  and  good  cookery  flourishes — 
Long  as,  by  bayonets  protected,  we  Natties 
May  have  our  full  lling  at  their  mlmii  and  pates  ? 
And,  truly,  I  always  declared  't  would  be  pity 
To  burn  to  the  ground  such  a  choice-feeding  city : 
Had  Dud  buf  liis  W'ay,  he  'd  have  long  ago  blown 
The  whole  batch  to  Old  Nick — and  the  pi-opk^l  own, 
If  for  no  other  cause  than  their  curst  monkey  looks. 
Well  deserve  a  blow-up — but  then,  damn  it,  their 

cooks ! 
As  to  Marshals,  and  Statesmen,  and  aU  their  whole 

lineage. 
For  aught  that  /  care,  you  may  knock  them  to  spinage ; 
But  then,  Dick,  their  cooks — what  a  loss  to  mankind ! 
What  a  void  in  the  world  would  their  art  leave  behind! 
Their  chronometer  spits — their  intense  salamanders — 
Their  ovens — tlieir  pots,  that  can  soften  old  ganders. 
All  vanish'd  for  ever — their  miracles  o'er. 
And  the  Mannite  Perpeluelk^  bubbling  no  more! 

Forbid  it,  forbid  it,  ye  Holy  Allies, 

Take  whatever  ye  fancy — take  statues,  take  money— 
But  leave  them,  oh  leave  them  their  Perigueus  pies, 

Theirglorious  goose-livers,  and  high  pickled  tunny  !'^ 
Though  many,  I  own,  are  the  evils  they've  brought  us, 

Though  R**al  y  's  here  on  her  very  last  legs. 
Yet,  who  can  help  loving  the  .and  that  has  taught  us 

Six  hundred  and  eighty-five  ways  to  dress  eggs  ?' 

You  see  Dick,  in  spite  of  their  cries  of  "God-dem," 
"  Coquin  Anglais,"  et  ca^t'ra — how  generous  I  am  ! 
And  now  (to  return,  once  again,  to  my  "  Day," 
\Miich  will  take  us  all  night  to  get  through  in  this  way) 
From  the  Boulevards  we  saunter  thro'  many  a  street, 
Crack  jokes  on  the  natives — mine,  all  very  neat — 
Leave  the  Signs  of  the  Times  to  political  fops. 
And  find  twice  as  much  fun  in  the  Signs  of  the  Shops; — 
Here,  a  L   '  s  D*x-h''t — there,  a  Martinmas  goose 
(IMuch  in  vogue  since  j-our  eagles  are  gone  out  of  use) — 
Henri  Quatres  in  shoals,  and  of  gods  a  great  many, 
But  SainiH  are  the  most  on  hard  d;ity  of  any  : — 
St.  Tony,  who  used  all  temptaiion,s  to  spuiii, 
Here  hangs  o'er  a  beer-shop,  and  tempts  in  his  turn  ; 
Wiile  there  St.  Venecia''  sits  hemming  and  frilling  her 
Holy  mouchoir  o'er  the  door  of  some  milliner ; — 
St.  Austin  'b  the  "  outward  and  visible  sien 


Of  an  inward"  cheap  dinner  and  pint  of  small  wine 
While  St.  Denis  hangs  out  o'er  some  hatter  of  ton, 
And  possessing,  good  bishop,  no  head  of  his  own,' 
Takes  an  interest  in  Dandies,  who  've  got — next  to 

none. 
Then  we  stare  into   shops — read  the  e'x.ning'a  af 

Ji(  hcs — 
Or,  if  some,  who 're  Lotharios  in  feeling,  should  wish 
Just  to  flirt  with  a  luncheon  (a  devilish  bad  trick, 
As  it  takes  off  the  bloom  of  one's  appetite  Dick,) 
To  the  Pu.'fsage  oJes — what  d'ye  call  't — dcs  Panora- 
mas,^ 
We  quicken  our  pace,  there  heartily  cram  as 
Seducing  ynnng  pules,  as  ever  could  co/en 
One  out  of  one's  appetite,  down  by  the  dozen. 
We  vary  of  course — petits  pules  do  one  day, 
The  next  we've  our  lunch  with  the  Gauffrier  Ilollan- 

dais,^ 
That  popular  artist,  who  brings  out,  like  Sc — tt, 
His  delightful  productions  so  quick,  hot  and  hot ; 
Not  the  worse  for  the  exquisite  comment  that  follows, 
Divine  marcsquino,  which — Lord,  how  one  swallows! 

Once  more,  then,  we  saunter  forth  after  our  snack,  oi 
Subscribe  a  few  francs  for  the  price  of  a.  fiacre. 
And  drive  far  away  to  the  old  Montagues  Russes, 
Where  we  find  a  few  tw-irls  in  the  car  of  much  use 
To  regenerate  the  hunger  and  thirst  of  us  sinners. 
Who  've  lapsed  into  snacks — the  perdition  of  dinners 
And  here,  Dick — in  answer  to  one  of  your  queries, 
About  which  we  GouiTnands,  have  had  much  dis 
cussion — 
I've  tried  all  these  mountains,  Swiss,  French,  and 
Ruggieri's, 
And   think,  for  digestion,'^    there's  none  like  the 
Russian ; 
So  equal  the  motion — so  gentle,  though  fleet — 

It,  in  short,  such  a  light  and  salubrious  scamper  is, 

That  take  whom  you  please — take  old  L****  £)'**"** 

And  stuff  him — ay,  up  to  the  neck — with  stew'd 

lampreys,'' 

So  wholesome  these  ]\Iounts,  such  a  solvent  I've  foimu 

them, 
That,  let  me  but  rattle  the  3Ionarch  well  down  them 
The  fiend.  Indigestion,  would  lly  far  away. 
And  the  regicide  lampreys''  be  foil'd  of  their  prey  I 


1  Cette  merveilN'U.se  Marmite  PerpCluelle,  sur  le  feu  de- 
•mis  pres  d'un  sii'-cle ;  ([ui  a  dnnnt;  le  jour  a  plus  <ie  300,000 
chapons." — Alinnn.  dcs  Gourmands,  (iuatrienie  Amine, 
p.  152. 

2  Lethon  mariD6,one  ofthe  most  favourite  and  indigesti- 
ble Aor.t-i^'iruDrf.t.  Tills  fisli  is  tiikoii  chiefly  in  tlic  Oolfe 
do  Lyon.  "  La  iftle  el  lo  dessous  du  ventre  soni  les  parties 
Ifl  plus  reclierciites  des  gourmets." — Couis  Gastrononiicjue, 
■I.  5.i2 

3  Tne  exact  numoer  mentioned  by  M.  de  la  Reyriiere — 
'  On  i-onnoit  en  France  085  manieres  dilKrentes  d  aceom- 
moder  les  ueufs;  sans  compter  cellfs  que  nos  savnns  imagi- 
aeiit  chaque  jour." 

4  Veronica,  tin-  Saint  of  the  Holy  Handkerchief,  is  also, 
nnder  ilie  name  of  Venisse  or  Venecia,  the  tutelary  s.iint  of 
milliners. 


1  St.  Denis  v  alked  ihrce  miles  alter  h  s  head  was  cntofl. 
T  .0  niot.o\'  ii  "o:min  of  «  il  upon  tins  Ii-l-,  ml  is  well  ki.own' 
",le  le  crois  bum;  on  partiil  i;as,  il  n'y  a  iji.e  le  premier  pas 
(pli  ciil'lte." 

2  Off  the  Roulevards  I'aliens. 

3  In  the  Palais  Royal;  successor,  I  believe,  to  the  Fla- 
mand,  so  Ion;;  ctlcbniletl  for  the  woclleui  of  his  GauflTrcs. 

4  Doctor  t'ottitel  recommends,  for  this  purpose,  the  B>'«u- 
jon,  or  French  mountains,  anil  chMs  them  "  une  mt'decine 
aerienne,  coiileui  de  rose;"  but  lown  I  prefer  the  aulhority 
(if  Mr.  Bob,  who  seems,  from  the  followin!;  note  found  in  his 
own  liand-wriiin;;,  to  have  studied  all  these  mountains  very 
carelully. 

.Mrmnranda. — The  Swiss  little  notice  deserves, 

While  the  fall  at  Knsffieri's  is  death  to  weak  nerves; 

.^nd  (whale'er  Ooclor  ('otterel  may  write  on  'he  quuslton. 

The  turn  at  the  Beaujon  's  loo  sharp  for  digestion. 

I  doubt  whether  Mr.  Boh  is  quite  correct  in  accenting  fie 

second  syllable  of  Rnecieri. 

5  ,\  dish  so  indijestible,  that  a  late  novelist,  at  the  enit  t\ 
his  book,  Cimid  ima<rine  no  innre  summary  moilc  of  jetl  ij 
rid  <if  all  his  heoes  and  heroines  than  by  a  hearty  supper  nl 
stewed  lampreys. 

'     6  They  killed  Henry  T.  of  F.nsland. — ".A  food  'jnvs  Hum' 


176 


3IOORE'S  WORKS. 


Such,  Dick,  :»re  the  classical  sports  that  content  us, 
T.ll  five  o'clock  brings  on  that  hour  so  momentous. 
That  epoo but  woa  !  my  lad — here  comes  the 

Schneider, 
And,  curse   him,  has  made  the  stays  three  inches 

wider — 
Too  wide  by  an  inch  and  a  half— what  a  Guy  ! 
But,  no  matter— 't  will  all  be  set  right  by-and-by— 
As  we've  3Iassinot's'  eloquent  carte  to  eat  still  up. 
An  inch  and  a  half's  but  a  trifle  lo  fill  up. 

So — not  to  lose  time,  Dick — here  goes  for  the  task ; 
An  revoir,  my  old  boy — of  the  gods  I  but  ask. 
That  my  life,  like  "  the  Leap  of  the  (icnnan,"-'  may  be, 
"  Du  lit  a  la  table,  de  la  table  au  lit !" 

R.  F. 


LETTER  IX. 

mOM  PHIL.  FUDGE,  ESa.  TO    THE    LORD   VISCOUNT 
C — ST GH. 

My  Lord,  the  Instructions,  brought  to-day, 
"I  shall  in  all  my  best  obey." 

Your  Lordship  talks  and  writes  so  sensibly  I 
And — whatsoe'er  some  wags  may  say — 

Oh  i  not  at  all  incomprehensibly 

I  feel  the  inquiries  in  your  letter 

About  my  health  and  French  most  flattering ; 
Thank  ye,  my  French,  though  somewhat  better, 

Is  un  the  whole,  but  weak  and  smattering : 
Nothing,  of  course,  that  can  compare 
With  his  who  made  the  Congress  stare  ; 
'A  certain  Lord  we  need  not  name,) 

Who,  Ci'O.n  in  French,  would  have  his  trope 
And  talk  of  "6o</r  un  systcme 

Sur  requiUhre  de  I'Europe  i" 
Sweet  metaphor  I — and  then  the  epistle 
Which  tid  the  .Saxon  King  go  whistle, 
That  tev.tler  letter  to  "  I\Ion  Prince,"' 
Which  show'd  alike  thy  French  and  sense  ; — 
Oh,  no,  my  Lord,  there  's  none  can  do 
Or  say  un-Enfflish  things  like  you  ; 
And,  if  the  schemes  that  fill  thy  breast 

Could  but  a  vent  congenial  seek, 
And  use  the  tongue  that  suits  them  best. 

What  charmiiig  Turkish  would'st  thou  speak! 
But  as  for  mr,  a  Frenchless  grub, 

At  Congress  never  born  to  stammer, 
Nor  learn,  like  thee,  my  Lord,  to  snub 

Fallen  monarchs,  out  of  Chambaud's  grammar — 
Bless  you,  you  do  not,  cannot  know 
Mow  far  a  little  French  will  go  ; 
For  all  one's  stock,  one  need  but  draw 

On  some  half  dozen  words  like  these — 
Cfimmfi  CO-  -par-la — la-has — ah  !  all ! 

They'll  take  you  all  through  France  with  ease. 


(jravcly,)  wliicli  iilwaya  agrcod  better  with  liis   palulc-  tlinii 
hirt  constiliitioii." 

1  A  famous  Restiiurateur — now  Dii|>ont. 

2  .An  old  French  saying: — "  Faire  lu  saiit  do  rAllemand, 
ilu  lit  a  la  table,  cl  de'lu  tuble  au  lit." 

It  The  celihralcd  letter  lo  Prince  Ilardcnburgh  (wrillen, 
However,  \  believe,  originnlly,in  Knglish,)  in  which  his  I^nrd- 
uliip,  profoHKin;,'  lo  «ee  "no  moral  or  |)olilical  objection"  to 
lb.!  dinmeirdiernie'il  of  Saxony,  denounced  llio  nnfornnnile 
Kine,  a«  "not  only  the  most  devoted,  but  the  niost  favoured 
rif  Buonnparie'*  vaasali.  ' 


Your  Lordship's  praises  of  the  scraps 

I  sent  you  from  my  journal  lately, 
(Enveloping  a  few  laced  caps 

For  Lady  C.)  delight  me  greatly. 
Her  flattering  speecii — 'Hvhal  pretty  things 

One  finds  in  Mr.  Fudge's  pages'" 
Is  praise  which  (as  some  poet  sings) 

Would  pay  one  for  the  toil  of  ages 

Thus  flatter'd,  I  presume  to  send 
k  few  more  extracts  by  a  friend  ; 
And  I  should  hope  they'll  be  no  less 
Approved  of  than  my  last  MS  — 
The  former  ones,  I  fear,  were  creas'd. 

As  Biddy  round  the  caps  would  pin  them, 
But  these  will  come  to  hand,  at  least 

Unrumpled,  for — there's  nothing  in  them. 


Extracts  from  Mr.  Fu(U!re''s  Journal,  addri,ssed  U 
Lord  C. 

Aug.  10 
Went  to  the  Mad-house — saw  the  man' 

Who  thinks,  poor  wretch,  that,  while  the  Fiend 
Of  Discord  here  full  riot  ran, 

He  like  the  rest  was  guillotined  : — 
But  that  when,  under  BoiVEv's  reign 

(A  more  discreet,  though  quite  as  strong  one) 
The  heads  were  all  restored  again. 

He,  in  the  scramble,  got  a  wrong  one. 
Accordingly,  he  still  cries  out 

This  strange  head  fits  him  mo'-:  unpleasantly; 
And  always  runs,  poor  devil,  about. 

Inquiring  for  his  own  incessantly  ! 

While  to  his  case  a  tear  I  dropp'd. 

And  saunter'd  home,  thought  I — ye  gods! 
How  inany  heads  might  thus  be  swopp'd, 

And,  after  all,  not  make  much  odds ! 
For  instance,  there  's  V — s — tt — r's  head — 
("Tam  carum'"^  it  may  well  be  said) 
If  by  some  curious  chance  it  came 

To  settle  on  Bill  Soames's''  shoulders, 
The  etfect  would  turn  out  much  the  same 

On  all  respectable  cash-holders  : 
Except  that  while  in  its  nein  socket. 

The  head  was  planning  schemes  to  win 
A  zigzag  way  into  one's  pocket. 

The  hands  would  plunge  directly  in. 

Good  Viscount  S — d.m — ii,  too,  instead 
Of  his  own  grave  I'.cspccted  head. 
Might  wear  (for  ought  I  see  that  bars) 

Old  Lady  WiLHELMJNA  Fhump'.s- 
So,  while  the  hand  sign'd  Circulars, 

Tlie  head  might  lisp  out  "What  is  trumps?"— 
The  R — G — t's  brains  could  we  transfer 
To  some  robust  mau-milli(ier. 
The  shop,  the  shears,  the  lace,  and  ribbon 
Would  go,  i  doubt  not,  quite  as  glib  on; 
And,  vice  versa,  take  the  pains 
To  give  the  P — CE  the  shopman's  brains, 


1  This  cxtriiordmiiry  iniidman  is,  I  bebeve,  in  Ihe  Bicf  trp 
lie  imuftiup-'',  exiiclly  iis  Mr.  Fnd^e  slates  it,  that,  when  thi' 
beads  of  lliose  wlio  bad  been  guillotined  were  restored,  be 
by  mi>tuke  got  somi^  other  person's  instead  of  his  own 

'i  Tuni  ciiri  cajiitis. —  Horat. 

:i  A  celebrated  pickpocke* 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


177 


One  nnly  change  from  thence  would  flow — 
Ribbons  woiild  not  be  wasted  so ! 

T  was  thus  1  ponder'd  on,  my  Lord ; 

And,  even  at  niglit,  when  laid  in  bed, 
I  found  myself,  before  I  snored. 

Thus  chopjilng,  swopping  head  for  head. 
At  lungtli  I  thougiil,  fantastic  elf! 
IIow  sucli  a  change  would  suit  myself. 
'Twixt  sleep  and  waking,  one  by  one. 

With  various  pericraniums  saddled, 
At  last  I  tried  your  Lordship's  on, 

And  then  I  grew  completely  addled — 
Forgot  all  other  heads,  od  rot  'em! 
And  slept,  and  dreamt  that  I  was — Bottom. 

Aug.  21. 
Walk'd  out  with  daughter  Bid — was  show 
The  House  of  Commons  and  the  Throne, 
Whose  velvet  cushion  's  just  the  same' 
N — POL — N  sat  on — what  a  shame  ! 
Oh,  can  we  wonder,  best  of  spcechera 

When  L s  sealed  thus  we  see, 

That  France's  "fundamental  features" 

Are  much  the  same  they  used  to  be ! 
However, — God  preserve  the  throne. 

And  cushion  too — and  keep  them  free 
From  accidents  which  hace  been  known 

To  happen  even  to  Royalty  !^ 

Aug.  23. 
Read,  at  a  stall  (for  oft  one  pops 
On  something  at  these  stalls  and  shops. 
That  does  to  quotf,  and  gives  one's  book 
A  classical  and  knowing  look. — 
Indeed  I've  found,  in  Latin,  lately, 
A  course  of  stalls  improves  me  greatly.) 
'Twas  thus  I  read,  that,  in  the  East, 

A  monarch's  fnt  's  a  serious  matter ; 
And  once  in  every  year,  at  least. 

He's  weigh'd  —to  see  if  he  gets  fatter:' 
Then,  if  a  pound  or  two  he  be 
Increased,  there  's  quite  a  jubilee  !^ 

Suppose,  my  Lord, — and  far  from  me 
To  treat  such  things  with  levity — 
But  just  suppose  the  R — g — t's  weight 
Were  made  thus  an  affair  of  state; 
And,  every  sessions,  at  the  close, — 
'Stead  of  a  speech,  which,  all  can  see,  is 


1  'Pile  only  cliange,  if  I  recollect  rijlit,  is  the  siibsliliition 
of  lilies  fur  bees.  Tliis  war  U|iori  tin;  h.es  is,  ot"coiiise,  uni- 
versal; "exitium  misere  apibus,"  like  tlie  angry  nymphs  in 
Virgil : — but  may  not  new  swarms  arise  out  of  the  victims 
of  KegilinKicy  yef? 

2  I  am  afraid  that  Mr.  Furlge  ulluileshere  to  a  veryavvk- 
wiiril  aiciiU'iit,  which  is  well  known  to  have  happ'  neil  to 
poor  L — s  Ir  D — s — 6,  some  y<-:irs  since,  al  one  of  the 
U — g — I's  Ftites.  Ho  was  sitting  ne.\t  our  gracious  tiueen 
at  the  time. 

3  "Tne  ihiril  (l:iy  of  the  Feast  the  King  causeth  himself 
to  be  weij;hecl  with  great  care." — F.  Bcrnier's  yvyage  to 
Surat,  itc. 

4  "  I  remember,"  says  Bernier,  "  that  all  the  O.nralis  ex 
pressed  great  joy  that  the  king  weijlieil  iwo  pounds  more 
now  than  the  year  preceding." — .'\nol!ier  auihor  tells  us  Ihiit 
"  Fatness,  as  well  as  a  very  large  head,  is  considered, 
throughout  India,  ns  one  of  the  most  precious  gifts  of  Hea- 
ven. An  enormous  skull  is  absolutely  revenrd,  and  the  hap- 
py owner  is  h)oko(l  np  to  as  a  superior  being.  To  a  Prince 
a  lonlter  head  is  invaluable." — Oriental  Field  Sports. 

M 


Heavy  and  dull  enough,  God  knows — 

We  were  to  try  how  hi^avy  Le  is. 
Much  would  it  glad  all  hearts  to  hear 

That,  while  the  N.ition's  Revenue 
Loses  so  many  pounds  a-year. 

The  P E,  God  bless  him  !  gains  a  few 

With  bales  of  muslins,  chintzes,  spices, 

I  see  the  Fasterns  weigh  their  kings; — 
But,  for  the  R — t; — t,  my  advice  is, 

Wc  should  throw  in  much  hmviv.r  things  : 
For  instance 's  quarto  volumes, 

Which,  though  not  spices,  serve  to  wrap  them , 
Dominie  St — UD — t's  daily  columns, 

"  Prodigious  I'" — in,  of  course,  we'd  clap  them^ 

Letters,  that  C — rtw t's  pen  indites, 

In  which,  with  logical  confusion. 
The  Major  like  a  Minor  writes, 

And  never  comes  to  a  ronclusimi : — 
Lord  S — M — Rs'  pamphlet^or  his  head — 
(Ah,  that  were  worth  its  weight  in  lead  !) 
Along  with  which  we  in  may  whip,  sly. 
The  Speeches  of  Sir  Jom.n  C — ,\  H — pp — sly* 
That  Baronet  of  many  words. 
Who  loves  so,  in  the  house  of  Lords, 
To  whisper  Bishops — and  so  nigh 

Tnto  their  wigs  in  whispering  goes. 
That  you  may  always  know  him  by 

A  patch  of  powder  on  his  nose! — 
If  this  won't  do,  v/e  in  must  cram 
The  "Reasons"  of  Lord  B — ck — gh — M: 
(A  book  his  Lordship  means  to  write. 

Entitled  "Reasons  for  my  Ratting:") 
Or,  should  these  prove  too  small  and  light. 

His '.s  a  liost — we'll  bundle  t/iat  in ! 

And,  .itill  should  all  these  masses  fail 
To  stir  the  R — g — t's  ponderous  scale, 
Why  then,  my  Lord,  in  Heaven's  name, 

Pitch  in,  without  reserve  or  stint, 
The  whole  of  R — gi- — y's  beauteous  Dame — 

If  that  won't  raise  him,  devil 's  in't  I 

Aug.  31 
Consulted  Murphv's  Tacitus 

About  those  famous  spies  at  Rome,' 
Whom  certain  Whigs — to  make  a  fuss — 
Describe  as  much  resembling  us,* 

Informing  gentlemen,  at  home. 
But,  bless  the  fools,  they  run'l  be  serious, 
To  say  Lord  S — dm — th's  like  Tiberius 
What !  he,  the  Peer,  that  injures  no  man, 
Like  that  severe  blood-thirsty  Roman  ! 
'Tis  true,  the  Tyrant  lent  an  ear  to 
All  sorts  of  spies — so  doth  the  Peer,  too. 
'T  is  true,  my  Lord's  Elect  tell  tibs. 
And  deal  in  perjury — ditto  Tib's. 


1  The  name  of  the  first  worthy  who  set  up  the  Irniie  of 
informer  at  Home,  (to  whom  our  Oliveis  and  CnslUsej 
ou<;hi  to  erect  a  statue)  was  Romanus  Hispo; — "qui  for 
mam  vine  iniit,  quam  postea  celebrein  miseri*  lemporum  e' 
andaciiB  homiiiinii  fecermit." — Tacit,  .innnl.  1.  74. 

2  They  Certainly  possessi'd  the  same  art  of  itistiirating 
their  victim*,  which  the  Report  of  the  Secret  Committee  at- 
tributes to  Lord  Sidmouth's  agenu  : — "  .-■ociu.'s  (says  Ticitut 
of  one  of  them)  libidinum  et  nectssitalum,  quo   nltirib) 
iniliciis  illiiriiret." 


178 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


T  is  true  the  Tyrant  screen'd  and  hid 
His  rogues  from  justice' — diUo  Sid. 
'T  is  true,  the  Peer  is  grave  and  glib 
At  moral  speeches — d'lllo  Ti b.^ 
'Tis  true,  the  feats  the  tyrant  did 
Were  in  his  dotage — ditto  Sid. 

So  far,  I  own,  the  parallel 

'Twixt  Tib.  and  Sid.  goes  vastly  well; 

But  there  are  points  in  Tib.  that  strike 

My  humble  mind  as  much  more  like 

Yoiiryelf,  my  dearest  Lord,  or  him 

Of  the  India  Board — that  soul  of  whim! 

Like  him,  Tiberius  loved  his  joke,^ 

On  matters  too  where  few  can  bear  one; 
E.  g.  a  man,  cut  up,  or  broke 

L^pon  the  wheel — a  devilish  fair  one  ! 
Your  common  fractures,  wounds,  and  fits, 
Are  nothing  to  such  wholesale  wits  • 
But,  let  the  sufferer  gasp  for  life, 

The  joKB  is  then  worth  any  money ; 
And,  if  he  writhe  beneath  a  knife, — 

Oh  dear,  that 's  something  (/uitc  too  funny. 
In  this  respect,  my  Lord,  you  see 
The  Roman  wag  and  ours  agree  : 
Now,  as  to  your  resemblance — mum — 
This  parallel  we  need  not  follow;" 
Thougti  "t  is,  in  Ireland,  said  by  some 

Your  Lordship  beats  Tiberius  hollow  ; 
Whips,  chains, — but  these  are  things  too  serious 

For  me  to  mention  or  discuss  ; 
Whene'er  your  Lordship  acts  Tibekius, 

Phil.  Fudge's  part  is  Tacitus! 

Sept.  2. 
Was  thinking,  had  Lord  S — dm — th  got 
Up  any  decent  kind  of  plot 
Against  the  winter-time — if  not, 
Alas,  alas,  our  ruin  's  fated  ; 
All  done  up,  and  spijlimted! 
Ministers  and  all  their  vassals, 
Down  from  C — tl — on  to  Castles, — 
Unless  w<5  can  kick  up  a  riot. 
Ne'er  can  hope  for  peace  or  quiet ! 

Wliat's  to  be  done? — Spa-Fields  was  clever; 

But  even  that  brought  gibes  and  mockings 
Upon  our  heads — so,  mem. — must  never 

Kf'p  ammunition  in  old  stockings, 
For  ftJir  .some  wag  should,  in  his  curst  head, 
Take  V  to  say  our  force  was  worsted. 
Mem  too — when  Sii).  an  army  raises, 
It  niust  not  be  "incog."  like  Bayes's; 


]  "  .N'iMiiii'  tainiii  id  Sireno  noxtc  fiiit,  )/uKm  odium  puh- 
linini  tuliiirciii  f'U.ichat.  Nam  lit  qais  ill^trictior  accusator 
velal  sacrd.ianctiis  anil." — .liinal.  lili.  4,  !i(). — Or,  us  it  is 
traiislateil  t)y  Mr.  Fudge's  frieinl,  .Mui]ihy; — "Tliis  (iariiu; 
accll^er  liad  Ilic  curses  ot'tlin  pru/il';  and  ihe  protirtiim  ol' 
llie  ICtiiperiir.  Iiifiirmern,  in  proiiortion  as  tlioy  rosii  in 
guilt,  bixainr,  siir.rril  characters." 

'2  .\liir|>liy  ev.ii  coiiHth  iiiion  one  of  hi'i  speeches  the  epi- 
Oic:'  "riinstitu'ioMiil."  Mr.  [-'nd:.'!!  might  have  added  to  hix 
parallel  thai  Til)  rius  was  a  irinid  pn'ihitc  chaiucler: — 
eKresrinni  vila  liiniii|ne  r/iioail  pripatiis." 

.1  "  /.Hililirin  scrhs  pirrmiscere  solitns." 

{  Th(rre  i»  on''  point  of  reseintd-nce  hutween  'I'lherins  and 
L.rir(l  C  whi'di  .Mr.  Pnd^e  miir'il  have  ineiitione<l — "sw.i- 
iKvun  spinpir  ct  ulisciira  vtfrba.^' 


Nor  must  the  iieneral  be  a  hobbling 
Professor  of  the  art  of  Co!)bIing; 
Lest  men,  who  perpetrate  such  puns, 

Should  say,  with  Jacobitic  grii*, 
He  felt,  from  soleing  Wellington's,' 

A  Wellington's  great  soul  within  ! 
Nor  must  an  old  Apothecary 

Go  take  the  Tower,  for  lack  of  pence, 
With  (what  these  wags  would  call,  so  merry; 

Phi/sieal  forc:e  and  phial-ence  ! 
No — no — our  Plot,  my  Lord,  must  be 
Next  time  contrived  more  skilfully. 
John  Bull,  1  grieve  to  say,  is  growing 
So  troublesomely  sharp  and  knowing, 
So  wise — in  short,  so  Jacobin — 
'Tis  monstrous  hard  to  take  him  in. 

Sept.  6 
Heard  of  the  fate  of  our  ambassador 

In  China,  and  was  sorely  nettled; 
But  think,  my  Lord,  we  should  not  pass  it  o'er 

Till  all  this  matter's  fairly  settled; 
And  here  's  the  mode  occurs  to  me: 
As  none  of  our  nobility 
(Though  for  their  ou;n  most  gracious  King 
They  would  kiss  hands,  or — any  thing) 
Can  be  persuaded  to  go  through 
This  farce-like  trick  of  the  Ko-tou; 
And  as  these  3Iandarins  won't  bend. 

Without  some  mumming  exhibition, 
Suppose,  ray  Lord,  you  were  to  send 

Grimaldi  to  them  on  a  mission  : 
As  Legate,  Joe  could  play  his  part, 
And  if,  in  diplomatic  art, 
The  "volto  sciolto"-'  's  meritorious, 
I^t  Joe  but  grin,  he  has  it,  glorious ! 

A  title  for  him  's  easily  made  ; 

And,  by  the  by,  one  Christmas  time, 
If  I  remember  right,  he  play'd 

Lord  MoiSLEV  in  some  pantomime; — ' 
As  Earl  of  31 — -Ri. — v,  then,  gazette  him, 
U  t'other  Earl  of  M — Rl. — V  'II  let  him. 
(And  why  should  not  the  world  be  blest 
With  two  such  stars,  for  East  and  West  ?) 
Then,  when  before  the  Yellow  Screen 

lie  's  brouglit — and,  sure,  the  very  essence 
Of  etiquette  would  be  that  scene 

Of  Joe  ill  the  ('cIcsimI  Presence! — 
He  thus  should  say  : — "  Duke  Ho  and  Soo, 
I'll  play  what  tricks  you  please  for  you. 
If  you'll,  in  turn,  but  do  for  me 
A  few  small  tricks  you  now  shall  see. 
If  I  consult  t/our  Emperor's  liking. 
At  loast  you'll  do  the  same  for  mi/  King." 
He  then  should  give  them  nine  such  grins 
As  would  astound  even  ftlandarins; 


1  Siir)rl  hools,  fio  called. 

2  The  opi  II  coiintrnance,  recommended  by  Lord  Che*- 
terfiidd. 

3  Mr.  Fudge  i.i  a  little  mistaken  here.     It  was  nut  Gri- 
naldi,  Init  some  very  inferior  performer,  who   played   thii 

part  of  "  Ijord  Morley"  in  tin'  pantomime, — so  much  to  tlio 
liiirror  of  Ihe  distingiiislKul  l^arl  of  that  name.  The  ex|)os 
tiilatury  letters  of  iTie  Nohle  F.arl  to  Mr.  Il-rr-is,  upon  this 
vnlgiir  profanation  of  his  sjiic-and-span-new  title,  will  J 
Inisl,    onie  time  or  other,  bo  given  to  the  worW. 


THE  FUUCiE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


179 


And  throw  such  somersets  before 

The  pictiiie  of  King  Gb;oiige  (God  bless  him  !) 
As,  should  Duke  Ho  but  try  them  o'er, 

Would,  by  CoiNi'ucius,  inuch  distress  him  ! 

I  start  this  merely  as  a  hint, 
Uut  think  you'll  liiid  some  wisdom  in  't ; 
And,  sliouid  you  follow  up  'he  job, 
My  son,  my  Lord  (you  know  poor  Bob,) 
Would  in  the  suite  be  glad  to  go, 
And  help  his  Excellency  Joe  ; — 
At  least,  like  noble  Amii — rst's  son, 
The  lad  will  do  to  practise  on.' 


LETTER  X. 

FROM  MISS  BIDDY  FUDGE  TO  MISS  DOROTHY  . 

Well,  it  is  ii't  the  King,  after  all,  my  dear  creature  ! 
But  doii't  you  go  laugh,  now — there's  nothing  to 

quiz  in  't — 
For  grandeur  of  air  and  for  grimness  of  feature. 
He  might  be  a  King,  Doll,  though,  hang  him,  he 

is  n't. 
At  first  I  felt  hurt,  for  I  wish'd  it,  I  own. 
If  for  no  other  cause  than  to  vex  Miss  Malone, — 
'The  great  heiress,  you  know,  of  Shandangan,  who  's 

here. 
Showing  off  with  such  airs  and  a  real  Cashmere,* 
While  mine's  but  a  paltry  old  rabbit-skin,  dear  !) 
But  says  Pa,  after  deeply  considering  the  thing, 
"1  am  just  as  well  pleased  it  should  not  be  the  King; 
As  I  think  for  my  Biddy,  so  gentille  and jolic, 
VVhose  charms  may  their  price  in  an  honest  way 

fetch. 
That    a    Brandenburg — (what    is    a    Brandenburg, 

Dolly?)— 
Would  be,  after  all,  no  such  very  great  catch. 
If  the  R — G — T,  indeed — "  added  he,  looking  sly — 
(You  remember  that  comical  squint  of  his  eye) 
But  I  stopp'd  him — "  La,  Pa,  how  am  you  say  so. 
When  the  R — g — t  loves  none  but  old  women  you 

know  !" 
Which  is  fart,  my  dear  Dolly — we,  girls  of  eighteen. 
And  so  slim — Lord,  he'd  think  us  not  fit  to  be  seen  ; 
And  would  like  us  much  better  as  old — ay,  as  old 
As  that  Countess  of  Desmond,  of  whom  I've  been  told 
That  she  lived  to  much  more  than  a  hundred  and  ten, 
And  was  kill'd  by  a  fall  from  a  cherry-tree  then  ! 
What  a  frisky  old  girl  I  but — to  come  to  my  lover. 

Who,  though  not  a  king,  is  a  hero  I'll  swear, — 
You  sh'UI  hear  all  that  's  happen'd  just  briefly  run 

over. 
Since  that  happy  night,  when  we  whisk'd  through 

the  air ! 

Let  me  see — 't  was  on  Saturday — yes,  Dolly,  yes — 
•''rom  that  evening  I  date  the  lirst  dawn  of  my  bliss  ; 
When  we  both  rattlea  ofl'in  that  dear  little  carriage, 
Whose  journey,  Bob  says,  is  so  like  love  and  marriage, 


1  See  Mr.  Ellis's  arcouni  of  tlie  Emba.^sy. 

2  See  Laiiy  .MDrgim's  "  Fraricu"  lor  llie  anecilote,  told 
hi  t  hy  MaHame  de  Gi'nlis,  of  the  youn;;  genflfnian  whose 
love  was  cured  by  finding  that  liia  mistress  wore  a  s/taicl 
"  neau  de  lupin." 


"  Beginning  gay,  desperate,  dashing  Jown-hilly; 

And  ending  as  dull  as  a  six-inside  Uilly  !"' 

Well,  scarcely  a  wink  did  i  sleep  the  night  through 

And,  next  day,  having  scribbled  my  letter  to  you. 

With  a  heart  full  of  hope  this  sweet  fellow  to  meet, 

Set  out  with  Papa,  to  see  L****  D****** 

Make  his  bow  to  some  half-dozen  women  and  boys. 

Who  get  up  a  small  concert  of  shrill  Vive  le    "*  — 

And  how  vastly  g<!nteeler,  my  dear,  even  this  js. 

Than  vulgar  Pall-Mall's  oratorio  of  hisses! 

The  gardens  seem'd  full — so,  of  course,  we  walk'd 

o'er  'em, 
'Mong  orango-trees,  clipp'd  into  town-bred  decorum.. 
And  Daphnes,  and  vases,  and  many  a  slaluc 
There  staring,  with  not  even  a  stitch  on  them,  at  you  ! 
The  ponds,  too,  we  view'd — stood  awhile  on  the  brink 
To   contemplate  the   play   of  those   pretty   gold 

fishes — 
"Live  Bullion,"  says  merciless  Bob,  "which  I  think, 
Would,  if  coin'd,  with  a  l.tile  ?niiit  sauce,  be  deli 

cious !" 

But  what,  Dolly,  what  is  the  gay  orange-grove, 

Or  gold  lishes,  to  her  that  's  in  search  of  her  love  T 

In  vain  did  I  wildly  explore  every  chair 

Where  a  thing  like  a  man  was — no  lover  sat  there  . 

In  vain  my  fond  eyes  did  I  eagerly  ciist 

At  the  whiskers,  mustachios,  and  wigs  that  went  past. 

To  obtain,  if  I  could,  but  a  glance  at  that  curl. 

But  a  glimpse  of  those  whiskers,  as  sacred,  my  girl, 

As  the  lock  that.  Pa  says,-'  is  to  Mussulmen  given. 

For  the  angel  to  hold  by  that  "  lugs  them  to  heaven!" 

\las,  there  went  by  me  full  many  a  quiz. 

And  mustachios  in  plenty,  but  nothing  like  his  ! 

Disappointed,  1  found  myself  sighing  out "  well-a-day, 

Thougijtofthe  words  of  T — m  M — kk's  Irish  melody. 

Something  about  the  "green  spot  of  delight,"^ 

(Which  you  know.  Captain  Macintosh  sung  to  us 
one  day  :) 
\h,  Dolly  !  /iiy  "  spot"  was  that  Saturday  night. 

And  its  verdure,  how  fleeting,  had  wither'd  by  Sun 
day! 

We  dined  at  a  tavern — La,  what  do  I  say  ? 

If  Bob  was  to  know  I — a  Ret<tuuraleur^s,  dear; 
Where  your  propercsl  ladies  go  dine  every  day. 

And  drink  Burgundy  out  of  large  tumblers,  likt 
beer. 
Fine  Bob  (for  he  's  really  grown  si/per-Rne) 

Condescended,  for  once,  to  make  one  of  the  party , 
Of  course,  though  but  three,  we  had  dinner  for  nine. 

And,  in  spite  of  my  grief,  love,  I  own  I  ate  hearty 


1  The  cars,  on  the  return,  are  dragged  uj)  slowly  by  a 
chain. 

2  For  this  scrap  o!'  knowledge  "  Pa"  was,  1  suspect,  in- 
debted to  anoteupon  Voliiey"s  Knijis:  a  book  which  ii.-iUallv 
I'orins  part  of  a  .luoobin's  libriry,  and  with  whicli  Mr 
I'uilge  must  have  been  well  aci|uaiiited  nl  the  time  when  he 
wrote  Ills  "  Down  with  Kings,  '  etc.  Tlie  note  in  Vohiev 
is  as  I'olliiws: — "  It  is  by  this  lutt  of  hair  (on  the  crown  o) 
liie  Ixrad,)  worn  by  the  majority  of  Mnssuhnans,  Ihnt  Ihs 
.Angel  of  the  Tomb  is  to  lake  the  elect  und  carry  them  Ui 
Paradise." 

.'i  The  young  lady,  whose  memory  is  not  very  eorrv^ 
must  allude,  I  think,  ti>  (he  I'ollowing  lines: 

Oh  I  that  Tiiry  form  is  ne'er  forgot, 

Whicli  Kll^l  Love  traced  ; 
Still  It  lingering  haunts  the  greenest  spol 

On  Memory's  wa-fit' ' 


180 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Indeed,  Doll,  I  know  not  how  't  is,  but  in  grief, 
f  have  always  found  eating  a  wondrous  relief; 
And  Bob,  who's  in  love,  said  he  felt  the  same  quite — 
"  My  sighs,"  said  he  "  ceased  with  the  first  glass  I 
drank  yoii  ; 
The  himh  made  me  tranquil,  the  pufs  made  me  light. 
And  now  that  's  all  o'er — why,  I'm — pretty  well, 
thank  j'ou  !" 

To  my  great  annoyance,  we  sat  rather  late ; 
For  Bobby  and  Pa  had  a  furious  debate 
About  singing  and  cookery, — Robby,  of  course. 
Standing  up  for  the  latter  Fine  Art  in  full  force  ; 
And  Pa  saying,  "  God  only  knows  which  is  worst, 

The  French  singers  or  cooks,  but  I  wish  us  well 
over  it — 
What  with  old  Lais  and  Very,  I'm  curst 

If  TO?/  head  or  my  stomach  will  ever  recover  it !" 
'T  was  dark  when  we  got  to  the  Boulevards  to  stroll. 

And  in  vain  did  I  look  'mong  the  street  Macaronis, 
When  sudden  it  struck  me — last  hope  of  my  soul — 

That  some  angel  might  take  the  dear  man  to  Tor- 
toni's!' 
We  enter'd — and  scarcely  had  Bob,  with  an  air. 

For  a  sirappe  a  la  jardiniere  call'd  to  the  waiters. 
When,  oh  !  Doll,  I  saw  him — my  hero  was  there 

(For  I  knew  his  white  small-clothes  and  brown 
leather  gaiters,) 
A  group  of  fair  statues  from  Greece  smiling  o'erhim,^ 
And  lots  of  red  currant-juice  sparkling  before  him ! 
Oh  Dolly,  these  heroes — what  creatures  they  are  ! 

In  the  boudoir  the  same  as  in  fields  full  of  slaughter ; 
As  cool  in  the  Beaujon's  precipitous  car 

As  when  safe  at  Tortoni's,  o'er  iced  currant-water! 
He  join'd  us — imagine,  dear  creature  my  ecstasy — 
Join'd  by  the  man  I'd  have  broken  ten  necks  to  see  ! 
Bob  wish'd  to  treat  him  with  punch  a  lo  glace, 
But  the  sweet  fellow  swore  that  my  heauie,  my  a-race. 
And  my  je-iie-sais-qiiol  (then  his  whiskers  he  twirl'd) 
Were,  to  Jiim,  "onde  top  of  all  ponch  inde  vorld." — 
riow  pretty  ! — though  oft  (as,  of  course,  it  must  be) 
Both  his  French  and  his  English  are  Greek,  Doll,  to 

me. 
But,  in  short,  T  felt  happy  as  ever  fond  heart  did  ; 
And,  happier  still,  when  't  was  fix'd,  ere  we  parted, 
That,  if  the  next  day  should  be  pastoral  weather. 
We  all  would  set  off  in  French  buggies,  together. 
To  see  Moiifmoreiicy — that  place  which,  you  know, 
Is  solimous  for  cherries  and  .lean  Jacques  Rousseau. 
His  card  then  he  gave  us — the  yiomi;  rather  creased — 
But  't  was  Calicot — something — a  colonel,  at  least ! 
After  which — sure  there  never  was  hero  so  civil — he 
Saw  us  safe  home  to  our  door  in  Rue  Rivnli, 
Where  his  last  words,  as,  at  parting,  he  threw 
A  soft  look  o'er  his  shoulders,  were — "  how  do  you 
do  !"-^ 

Hut,  Lord, — there  's  Papa  for  the  post — I'm  so  vex'd — 
Montmorencii  must  now,  love,  be  kept  for  my  next. 
That  dear  Sunday  night ! — I  was  charmingly  dress'd. 
And — so  providential — was  looking  my  best; 


1  A  rnshional)lo  cafe gtacicr  on  the  Itnliiin  lioiilevnrils. 

2  "  You  cat  your  I^t  .il  Tortonl'.s,"  says  Mr.  Scott,  "  uii- 
JT  a  Gri'rian  groiin." 

'  Not  an  unusual  mistrtke  with  foreigners. 


Such  a  sweet  muslin  gown,  with  a  flounce — and  uij 

frills, 
You've  no  notion  how  rich — (though  Pa  has  by  the 

bills)— 
And  you'd  smile  had  you  seen,  when  we  sat  rathe: 

near. 
Colonel  Calicot  eyeing  the  cambric,  my  dear. 
Then  the  flowers  in  my  bonnet — b-it,  la, it's  in  vani— 
So,  good  bve,  my  sweet  Doll — I  shall  soon  write  again 

B.  F. 
Nota  hcna — our  love  to  all  neighbours  about — 
Your  papa  in  particular — how  is  his  gout  ? 

P.  S. — I've  just  open'd  my  letter  to  say. 
In  your  next  you  must  tell  me  (now  do.  Doily,  pray 
For  I  hate  to  ask  Bob,  he  's  so  ready  to  quiz) 
What  sort  of  a  thing,  dear,  a  Brandc/ihurgh  is. 


LETTER  XI. 


FROM  PHELIM  CONNOR  TO  ■ 


Yes — 't  was  a  cause,  as  noble  and  as  great 

x\s  ever  hero  died  to  vindicate — 

A  nation's  right  to  speak  a  nation's  voice, 

And  own  no  power  but  of  the  nation's  choice! 

Such  was  the  grand,  the  glorious  cause  that  now 

Hung  trembling  on  N  p  l**n's  single  brow, 

Such  the  sublime  arbitrement,  that  pour'd, 

In  patriot  eyes,  a  light  around  his  sword, 

A  glory  then,  which  never,  since  the  day 

Of  his  young  victories,  had  illum'd  its  way  !     . 

Oh  't  was  not  then  the  time  for  tame  debates. 
Ye  men  of  Gaul,  when  chains  were  at  your  gates; 
When  he  who  fled  before  your  chieftain's  eye, 
As  geese  from  eagles  on  Mount  Taurus  fly  !■ 
Denounced  against  the  land  that  spurn'd  his  chain. 
Myriads  of  swords  to  bind  it  fast  again — 
Myriads  of  fierce  invading  swords,  to  track 
Through  your  best  blood  his  path  of  vengeance  back 
When  Europe's  kings,  that  never  yet  combined 
But  (like  those  upper  stars,  that,  when  conjoin'd, 
Shed  war  and  pestilence)  to  scourge  mankind, 
Gather'd  around,  with  hosts  from  every  shore, 
Hating  N*p  1     n  much,  but  freedom  more, 
And,  in  that  coming  strife,  appall'd  to  see 
The  world  yet  left  one  chance  for  liberty ! — 
No,  't  was  not  then  the  time  to  weave  a  net 
Of  bondage  round  your  chief;  to  curb  and  fret 
Your  veteran  war-horse,  pawing  for  the  fight. 
When  every  hope  was  in  his  speed  and  might — 
To  waste  the  hour  of  action  in  dispute. 
And  coolly  plan  how  Freedom' sbougkx  should  shoo. 
When  your  invader's  axe  was  at  the  roo*  ! 
No,  sacred  Liberty  !  that  God,  who  throvvs 
Thy  light  around,  like  his  own  sunshine,  knows 
IIow  well  1  love  tiiee,  and  how  deeply  hate 
All  tyrants,  upstart  and  legitimate — 
Yet  in  that  hour,  were  F  ^   ce  my  native  land, 
I  would  have  follow'd,  with  quick  heart  and  hand, 


1  See  i^^lian,  lib.  5.  ru|).  29 — who  lells  us  llmt  these  jjeese, 
from  11  consciousness  of  their  own  joijiiiieity,  alwiiys  crosi 
Moiini  Taurus  witli  s'ones  in  lln'ir  bil's,  to  |)iovent  any  un- 
liickv  enrklc  from  betraying  ihein  to  the  eagles — Jix^rsi  ovr«, 


TrtE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


181 


N'r'L*^o.v,  Nkro — ay,  no  matter  wlioin — 
To  snatcii  my  country  from  that  damning  doom, 
That  deadliest  curse  that  on  the  conquered  waits — 
A  conqueror's  satrap,  tlironed  within  her  gales  ! 

True,  he  was  false — despotic — all  you  please — 
Had  trampled  down  man's  holiest  liberties — 
Ilud,  by  a  genius  Ibrni'd  for  nobler  things 
Than  lie  within  the  grasp  of  vulgar  kings. 
But  raised  the  liopes  of  men — as  eaglets  lly 
With  tortoises  alotl  into  the  sky — 
To  dash  them  down  again  more  shatteringly  ! 
All  this  I  own— but  still'         *  *  * 


LETTER  XII. 

FROM  MISS  BIDDY  FUDGE  TO  MISS  DOROTHY  

At  last,  DoLi.Y, — thanks  to  a  potent  emetic 
VVhicli  Bo  BUY  and  Pa,  with  grimace  sympathetic. 
Have  swallowed  this  morning,  to  balance  the  bUss 
Of  an  eel  mutvlote  and  a  liisque  cTecrevisseit — 
I've  a  morning  at  home  to  myself,  and  sit  down 
To  describe  you  our  heavenly  trip  out  of  town. 
How  agog  you  must  be  for  this  letter,  iny  dear ! 
Lady  J.A.NE,  in  the  novel,  less  languish'd  to  hear 
If  that  elegant  cornet  she  met  at  Lord  Neville's 
Was  actually  dying  with  love  or — blue  devils. 
But  love,  DoLi.v,  love  is  the  theme  /  pursue; 
With  blue  devils,  thank  heaven,  I've  nothing  to  do — 
E.\cept,  indeed,  dear  Colonel  C.-m.icot  spies 
Any  imps  of  that  colour  in  certain  blue  eyes. 
Which  he  stares  at  till  /,  Doll,  at  his  do  the  same  ; 
Then  he  simpers — 1  blush — and  would  often  exclaim 
If  I  knew  but    the  French    for  it,    "  Lord,  Sir,  for 
shame  I" 

Well,  the  morning  was  lovely — the  trees  in  full  dress 
For  the  happy  occasion — the  sunshine  express — 
Had  wc  order'd  it  dear,  of  the  best  poet  going. 
It  scarce  could  be  furiiish'd  more  golden  and  glowing 
Though  late  when  we  started,  the  scent  of  the  air 
Was  like  Gattie's  rose-water — and  bright,  here  and 

there, 
On  the  grass  an  odd  dew-drop  was  glittering  yet. 
Like  my  aunt's  diamond  pin  on  her  green  tabbinet ! 
And  the  birds  seem'd  to  warble  as  blest,  on  the  boughs, 
As  if  ench  a  plumed  Calicot  had  for  her  spouse, 
And  the  grapes  were  all  blushing  and  kissing  in  rows, 
And — in  short,  need  I  tell  you,  wherever  one  goes 
With  the  creature  one  loves,  'tis  all  coulntr  de  rose; 
And  ah,  I  shall  ne'er,  lived  I  ever  so  long,  see 
A  day  such  as  that  at  divine  3Iontmorency ! 

There  was  but  o/ie  drawback — at  first  when  we  started, 

The  (Colonel  and  I  were  inhumanly  parted; 

How  cruel — young  hearts  of  such  moments  to  rob  ! 

He  went  in  I'a's  buggy,  and  I  went  with  Bob  ; 

And,  1  own,  I  felt  spitefully  happy  to  know 

That  Papa  and  his  comrade  agreed  but  so-so. 


For  the  Colonel,  it  seems,  is  a  stickler  of  BoxFy't; — 
Served  with  him,  of  course — nay,  I'm  sure  they  were 

cronies 

So  martial  his  features!  dear  Doll,  you  can  trace 
Ulm,  Austerlitz,  Lodi,  as  plain  in  his  face 
As  you  do  on  that  pillar  of  glory  and  brass' 
Which  the  poor  Due  de  B     ri  must  hate  so  to  pass 
It  appears,  too,  he  made — as  most  foreigners  do — 
About  English  affairs  an  odd  blunder  or  two. 
For  example — misled  bj-  the  names,  I  dare  say — 

He  confounded  Jack  Castles  with  LordC gii 

And — such  a  mistake  as  no  mortal  hit  ever  on — 
Fancied  ihe  present  Lord  C — .MD — N  the  clever  one  ! 

But  politics  ne'er  were  the  sweet  fellow's  trade ; 
'T  was  for  war  and  the  ladies  my  Colonel  was  made. 
And,  oh,  had  you  heard,  as  together  we  walk'd 
Througii  that  beautiful  forest,  how  sweetly  he  talk'd  : 
And  how  perfectly  well  he  appear'd,  Doll,  to  know 
All  the  life  and  adventures  of  Jean  Jacque-s  Rous- 
seau ! — 
"  'T  was  there,"  said  he — not  that  his  words  1  can 

state — 
'T  was  a  gibberish  that  Cupid  alone  could  translate ; — 
But  "  there,"  said  he  (pointing  where,  small  and  re- 
mote, 
The  dear  Hermitage   rose,)   "there  his  Julie   he 

wrote, 
Upon  paper  gilt-edged,  without  blot  or  erasure  • 
Then  sanded  it  over  with  silver  and  azure. 
And — oh,  what  will  genius  and  fancy  not  do  ? — 
Tied  the  leaves  up  together  with  nomparitUe  blue !"" 
What  a  trait  of  Rousseau  !  what  a  crowd  of  emotions 
From  sand  and  blue  ribbons  are  conjured  up  here! 
Alas,  that  a  man  of  such  exquisite''  notions 

Should  send  his  poor  brats  to  the  Foundling,  my 
dear ! 

"  'Twas  here,  too,  perhaps,"  Colonel  Calicot  said-  ■ 
As  down  the  small  garden  he  pensively  led — 
(Though  once  I  could  see  his  sublime  forehead  wrinkle 
With  rage  not  to  find  there  the  loved  periwinkle)* 
"  'T  was  here  he  received  from  the  fair  D'Epinav 
(Who  call'd  him  so  sweetly  her  Bear,''  every  day,) 
That  dear  tlannel  petticoat,  pull'd  olf  to  form 
A  waistcoat  to  keep  the  enthusiast  warm  !"" 

Such,  DoLL,were  the  sweet  recollections  we  ponder' d, 
As,  full  of  romance,  through  that  valley  wewander'd. 


1  Somebody  (FiiiltMiilIt',  I  buiieve,)  li.is  said,  llmt  if  he 
\tn'.  Iiis  hand  lull  '>f  tnillis,  he  would  open  l)Ui  ociu  finger  at 
d  time;  and  I  find  it  neci'-ss^iry  to  use  the  same  sort  of 
reserve  willi  respect  to  Mr.  Phidini  Connor's  very  plain- 
tpoken  letters.  The  remainder  of  this  Epistle  is  so  full  of 
unsafe  malter-of-fact,  ihtit  it  must,  for  tlio  present  at  leasl, 
lie  withheld  from  the  public. 


1  The  coU'.nin  in  the  Place  Vendome. 

2  "  Enijiloyant  pour  ccla  la  phis  beau  papiei  dor6,  s^cliant 
recrilure  avto  de  la  i)oudre  d'uzur  et  d'aigciil,  ei  cou>anl 
rnes  caliiers  avec  de  la  nurai)areille  bleue." — Les  Coiifts- 
siuns,  Pan  2.  liv. .). 

3 'I'his  word,  "  exquisite,"  is  evidently  a  favouiiteof  Misa 
Pu<lgi!'s  :  and  I  understand  she  was  not  a  little  angry  wlien 
her  brother  Bob  committed  a  pun  on  the  lust  two  syllablex 
of  it  in  tlu^  following  couplet: — 

"  I'd  fain  praise  your  poem  -but  tell  nie,  how  is  it, 
When  /  cry  out  "  Exquisite,"'  Echo  cries  "  i/uiz  it!" 

4  The  flower  which  Rousseau  brought  into  such  fashmn 
among  ilic  Parisians,  by  exclalinMg  one  day,  "  Ah,  voila  de 
la  pervi-nche!" 

5  "  MoH  ours,  voila  votre  asyle-  -et  vous,  mon  ours  iie 
viendrezvous  pas  aussi  V etc.  etc. 

6  "  Un  jour,  qu'il  gelait  trts-fort,  en  ouvrant  un  pnqii'!C 
qu'elle  m'envoyail,  je  Irouvai  un  petit  jupon  de  flanelie 
d'An^'leterre,  qu'elle  me  marquait  avoir  poric,  et  dont  elln 
voul  lit  que  je  me  fisse  faire  un  gik't.  Ce  soin,  plus  qii'iimi 
cal,  me  parut  si  tendre,  comnie  si  clle  se  fvit  deponille  pour 
me  vfelir.  que,  dans  mon  Amotion,  je  buisai  vingt  lois,  o 
pleurant,  le  billet  et  le  iupon." 


182 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Tlie  flannel  (one's  train  of  ideas,  how  odd  it  is  !) 

Led  us  10  tilk  about  other  commodities, 

Cambric,  and  silk,  and  1  ne'er  sliall  forget, 

F"or  the  sun  was  then  iiastening  in  pomp  to  its  set, 

And  full  on  the  Colonel's  dark  whiskers  shone  down, 

When  he  ask'd  me,  vvitli  eagerness, — who  made  my 

•'    gown  ? 
The  question  confused  me — for,  Doll,  you  must 

know. 
And  I  ought  to  have  told  my  best  friend  long  ago, 
That,  by  Pa's  strict  command,  I  no  longer  employ' 
Tiiat  enchanting  couturitre,  Madame  Le  Roi, 
But  am  forc'd,  dear,  to  have  VicTorine,  who — deuce 

take  her! — 
It  seems  is,  at  present,  the  King's  mantua-maker — 
I  mean  of  his  party — and,  though  much  the  smartest, 
Le  Roi  is  condemned  as  a  rank  B*n*pa*t*st.^ 

Think,  Doll,    how  confounded  I  look'd — so  well 

knowing 
The   Colonel's    opinions — my  cheeks    were    quite 

glowing ; 
I  stammer'd  out  somethmg — nay,  even  half  named 
The  hgitimate  sempstress,  when,  loud,  he  exclaimed, 
"  Yes,  yes,  by  the  stitching  'tis  plain  to  be  seen 

It  was  made  by  that  B**rb*'n**t  b h,  Victorine  !" 

What  a  word  for  a  he.'-'?  .  but  heroes  inll  err. 

And  I  thought,  dear,  I'd  tell  you  things  just  as  they 

were. 
Besides,  though  the  word  on  good  manners  intrench, 
I  assure  you  'tis  not  half  so  shocking  in  French. 

But  this  cloud,  though  embarrassing,   soon   pass'd 

away. 
And  the  bliss  altogether,  the  dreams  of  that  day. 
The  thoughts  that  arise  when  such  dear  fellows  woo 

us, — 
The  nothings  that  then,  love,  are  every  thing  to  us — 
That  quick  correspondence  of  glances  and  sighs. 
And  what  Bob  calls  the   "  Twopenny- Post  of  the 

Eyes"- 
Ah  Doll,  though  I  Anou)  you  've  a  heart,  'tis  in  vain 
To  a  heart  so  unpractised  these  things  to  explain. 
They  can  only  be  felt  in  their  fulness  divine 
By  her  who  has  wander'd,  at  evening's  decline, 
Through  a  valley  like  that,  with  a  Colonel  like  mine! 

But  here  I  must  finish — for  Bon,  my  dear  Dolly, 
Whom  physic,  I  find,  always  makes  melancholy, 
Is  seized  with  a  fancy  for  church-yard  reflexions; 
And  full  of  all  yesterday's  rich  recollections, 
Is  just  setting  off  for  Montmartre — "for  there  is," 
Said  he,  looking  solemn,  "the  tomb  of  the  Verys  !' 
Long,  long  have  I  wish'd,  as  a  votary  true, 

O'er  the  grave  of  such  talents  to  utter  my  moans ; 
And  to-day — as  my  stomach  is  not  in  good  cue 

Vor  ihajlesh  of  the  ViCRys — I'll  visit  their  6o?ies.'" 


1  Miss  Biddy's  notions  ol'  Krcncli  pioimnni;iticpn  may  be 
Dcrceived  in  ihii  rhymes  whioli  sliu  always  selects  for  "  Le 
lioi." 

2  Ae  Hoi,  who  was  the  Couturiere  ofllie  Kmpvess  Maria 
Louisa,  is  at  prcseiil,  of  course,  out  of  fashion,  and  is  suc- 
ceeded in  her  station  by  the  Royalist  rnaritua-niaker,  Victo- 
•ine. 

3  It  is  the  l/rothcr  of  the  present  excellent  Restiiurateur 
.vho  lies  ciiKinihed  so  ina;,'nilii  en  iy  in  the  Cimeiiere  Monl- 
inarlre.     The  inscriplioii  im  the  column  at  the  head  of  the 

oinb  concliidf's  willi  the  folio  ving  words — "Toute  sa  vie 
"ill  c<)iiBa<;r<;^e  aux  arts  utiles." 


He  insists  upon  my  going  with  him — how  teaz.'ng  ' 
This  letter,  however,  dear  Dolly,  shall  lie 

Unseal'd  in  my  drawer,  that,  if  any  thing  pleasing 
Occurs  while  I'm  out,  I  may  tell  you — Good  b 

B.  F 

four  I  rlork. 
Oh  Dolly,  dear  Dolly,  I'm  ruin'd  for  ever — 
I  ne'er  shall  be  happy  again,  Dolly,  never! 
To  think  of  the  wretch — what  a  victim  was  I! 
'Tis  too  much  to  endure — I  shall  die,  I  shall  di 
My  brain  's  in  a  fever — my  pulses  beat  quick — 
I  shall  die,  or,  at  least,  be  exceedingly  sick ! 
Oh  what  do  you  think  ?  after  all  my  romancing,        ^ 
JMy  visions  of  glory,  my  sighing,  my  glancing. 
This  Colonel — I  scarce  can  commit  it  to  paper — 
This  Colonel 's  no  more  than  a  vile  linen-draper! ! 
'Tis  true  as  I  live — I  had  coax'd  brother  Bob  so 
(You'll  hardly  make  out  what  I'm  writing,  I  sob  so,. 
For  some  little  gift  on  my  birth-day — September 
The  thirtieth,  dear,  I'm  eighteen,  you  remember — 
That  Bob  to  a  shop  kindly  order'd  the  coach 

(Ah,   little   thought   1  who   the   shopman   woulc 

prove,) 
To  bespeak  me  a  few  of  those  mouchoirs  de  poche. 
Which,  in  happier  hours,  I  have  sigli'd  for,  mj 

love — 
(The    most    beautiful    things — two   Napoleoits    the 

price — 
And  one's  name  in  the  corner  embroider'd  so  nice !) 
W^ell,  with  heart  full  of  pleasure,  I  enter'd  the  shop. 
But — ye  gods,  what  a  phantom  ! — I  thougnt  I  shonlo 

drop — 
There  he  stood,  my  dear  Dolly — no  room  for  a 

doubt — 
There, behind  the  vile  counter,  these  eyes  saw  hint 

stand. 
With  a  piece  of  French  cambric  before  him  roll'd 

out. 
And  that  horrid  yard-measure  upraised  in  his  hand 
Oh — Papa,  all  along  knew  the  secret,  'tis  clear — 
'T  was  a  shojnnan  he  meant  by  a  "  Brandenburgh, 

dear ! 
The  man,  whom  I  fondly  had  fancied  a  King, 

And,  when  that  too  delightful  illusion  vvas  past, 
As  a  hero  had  worshipp'd — vile  treacherous  thing— 

To  turn  out  but  a  low  linen-draper  at  last ! 
IMy  head  swam  around — the  wretch  smil'd,  I  be- 
lieve. 
But  his  smiling,  alas !  could  no  longer  deceive — 
I   fell   back   on   Bob — my   whole   heart  seem'd  to 

wither — 
And,  pale  as  a  ghost,  I  was  carried  back  hither ! 
I  only  remember  that  Bob,  as  I  caught  him. 

With  cruel  facctiousness  said — "  Curse  the  Kiddy 
A  staunch  Revolutionist  always  I've  thought  him. 
But  now  I  find  out  he  's  a  Counter  one,  Biddy  ;'' 

Only  think,  my  dear  creature,  if  this  should  be  known 
To  that  saucy,  satirical  thing,  Miss  Malone  ! 
W^hat  a  story  't  will  be  at  Shandangan  for  ever  ! 
What  laughs  and  what  quizzing  she'll  have  with  the 

men ! 
If  will  spread  through  the  country — and  never,  oh 

never 
Can  Biddy  be  seen  at  Kilrandy  again  ! 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  L\  PARIS 


183 


farewell — I  shall  do  something  desperate,  I  fear — 
And,  ah  I  if  my  fate  ever  reaches  your  ear. 
One  tear  of  compassion  my  Uoll  will  not  grudge 
To  her  poor — broken-hearted — young  friend, 

BiDDv  Fudge. 


Nota  Bene. — I'm  sure  you  will  hear  with  delight, 
That  we're  going,  all  three,  lo  see  Brunkt  to-nighi 
A  laugh  will  r&v'ive  me — and  kind  Mr.  Cox 
(Do  you  know  him  ?)  has  got  us  the  Governor'a  box 


NOTES. 


oil  this  learning;,  what  a  thins  it  is 


-S/iakspcare. 


Page  160,  line  75. 
So  Fkrdinand  ciiibr.iiders  ^'uily. 
It  would  be  an  edifying  thing  to  write  a  history  of 
the  private  amusements  of  sovereigns,  tracing  them 
down  from  the  fly-sticking  of  Domitian,  the  mole- 
catching  of  Artabanus,  the  hog-mimicing  of  Parme- 
nides,  ilie  horse-currying  of  Aretas,  to  the  petticoat- 
embroidering  of  Ferdinand,  and  the  patience-playing 
of  the  P e  R 1 ! 

Page  167,  line  60. 

Your  i-iir.-il  toa  and  toast. 

Is  Mr.  Bob  aware  that  his  contempt  for  tea  renders 
him  liable  to  a  charge  of  athci.-m  ?  Such,  at  least,  is 
the  opinion  cited  in  Chiixtiiin.  Fahttr.  Am:i:in'at. 
Philnlog. — ''  Atheum  interprotabatur  hominem  abher- 
oa  The  aversum."  lie  would  not,  I  think,  have  been 
60  irreverent  to  this  beverage  of  scholars,  if  he  had 
read  Ptier  Pelil's  Poem  in  praise  of  Tea,  addressed 
to  the  learned  Huet—ox  the  Epigraph  which  Pechli- 
viix  wrote  for  an  allar  he  meant  to  dedicate  to  this 
nerb — or  the  Anacreontics  of  Peter  Franchis,  in 
which  he  calls  Tea 

The  following  passage  from  one  of  these  Anacre- 
ontics will,  I  have  no  doubt,  be  gratifying  to  all  true 
Theists : — 

©fOi;,   SsuV  Tt    TTXTfl 
AlJoi   TO    VSZTKp    H)5lf. 

Sxuifoi;  £»  yuuppivoicrl, 

Tjo   itxXXSl   TrpiTTOUG-Xt 

Kx\ai{  Xiiiitriri  xoupai. 

UTiich  may  be  thus  translated : — 

Yes,  let  [lelie,  ever  young, 

High  in  heaven  her  nectar  hold. 
And  to  Jove's  imiuorial  throng 

Pour  the  tide  in  cups  of  gold. — 
ril  nui  envy  hr^aven's  princes, 

While,  with  snowy  hands,  for  me, 
Kate  the  china  tea  cup  rinses, 

And  pours  out  her  best  Bohea! 

Page  169,  line  39. 

Here  break  we  off,  at  tiiis  iinballow'd  name. 

The  late  Lord  C.  of  Ireland  had  a  curious  theory 

ibout   names; — he  held  that  every  man  with  three 

names  was  a  jacobin.     His  instances  in  Ireland  were 

numerous: — viz.  Aidiibald  Hamilton  Rowan,  Theo- 


bald Wolfe  Tone,  James  Napper  Tandy,  John  Phii- 
pot  Curran,  etc.  etc  and,  in  England,  he  produced  om 
examples  Charles  James  Fox,  Richard  Brinsley  She- 
ridan, John  Home  Tooke,  Francis  Burdett  Jones, 
etc.  etc. 

The  Romans  called  a  thief  "homo  trium  liter* 
rum." 

Tun'  Iriuin  literarum  homo 
Bio  vituperas!     Fur.' 

Plautus,  Auhilar.     Act  2.  Scene  4. 

Page  170,  line  4. 

The  Testament,  lurn'il  into  niclo-dramos  nightly. 

"  The  Old  Testament,"  says  the  theatrical  Critic  le 
the  Gazette  de  France,  "  ?.«  -i  mine  of  gold  for  the  ma- 
nagers of  our  small  play-houses.  A  multitude  crowo 
round  the  Theatre  de  la  Gaite  every  evening  to  see 
the  Passage  of  the  Red  Sea." 

In  the  play-hill  of  one  of  these  .sacred  melo-drames 
at  Vienna,  we  find  "The  Voice  of  G — d,  by  Mr 
Schwartz." 

Page  17 1,  note  3 
No  one  can  suspect  Roileau  of  a  sneer  ar  his  royal 
master,  but  the  following  lines,  intended  for  praise, 
look  very  like  one.  Describing  the  celebrated  pas- 
sage of  the  Rhine,  during  which  Louis  remained  or 
the  safe  side  of  the  river,  he  says, 

Louis,  les  aniniant  liu  leu  di-  son  foiirage, 

Se  plain!  de  sa grandeur,  qui  Yattache  au  rivarre. 

EpiU  i 

Page  172,  line  5. 

Turns  from  his  viclims  lo  his  ghes, 
And  has  thcin  both  well  r.xccutid. 

IIow  amply  these  two  propensities  of  the  Nobla 
Lord  would  have  been  gratified  among  that  ancient 
people  of  Etruria,  who,  as  Aristotle  lells  us,  used  lo 
whip  their  slaves  once  a  year  to  the  sound  of  flutea  : 

Page  175,  line  79. 
Lampreys,  indeed,  seem  to  have  been  always  a 
favourite  dish  with  Kings — whether  from  some  con- 
geniality between  them  and  that  fish,  I  know  not: 
but  Dio  Cass'ius  tells  us  that  Pollio  fattened  his  lam- 
preys w  ith  human  blood.  St.  Louis  of  France  was 
particularly   fond   of  them. — See   the  anecdote   of 


1  nissaldens  supposes  this  word  'o  be  a  trlossemii:-  ■ 
fi'.nt  is,  he  h'lks  "  Fur  h..s  inadn  his  escu|)e  from  the  ni«' 
i:.n  into  the  le.\:. 


184 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


riif.mas  Aouinas  eating  up  his  majesty's  lamprey,  in 
a  note  upon  Rubdaii,  liv.  3.  chap.  2. 

Page  176,  line  2. 

T.'ll  tivfi  o'clock  liru.irs  (in  iliat  hour  so  moriientous. 

Had  Mr.  Bob's  Dinner  Epistle  been  inserted,  I  was 
prepared  vviiii  an  abundance  of  learned  matter  to  il 
lustrate  it,  for  which,  as  indeed,  for  all  my  "  scientia 
popinx-,"'  lam  indebted  to  a  friend  in  the  Dublin 
I  niveisity, — whose  reading  formerly  lay  in  the  magic 
.me  ;  but,  m  consequence  of  the  Provost's  enlightened 
liarm  at  such  studies,  he  has  talien  to  the  authors 
"de  re  ciburia"  instead;  and  has  left  Bodin,  Rtini- 
^rnix,  Agrippa,  and  his  little  dog  Filioluf,  for  Apicius, 
Nonius,  and  that  most  learned  and  savoury  jesuit, 
BaU:ngerus. 

Page  179,  line  64. 

"  /.(re  buUiiiii,"  says  merciless  Bob,  "  which  I  think 
Would,  if  cuiii'd  with  ii  litUe  mhit.  simcc,  be  delicious !" 

ftlr.  Bob  need  not  be  ashamed  of  his  cookery  jokes, 
;\hen  he  is  kept  in  countenance  by  such  man  as  Ci- 
■^ro,  St.  Aitgus/iue,  and  that  jovial  bishop,  Venantiux 
Forlunafis.  The  pun  of  the  great  orator  upon  the 
"jus  Verrinum,"  which  he  calls  bad  hog  hroth,  from 
a  [ilay  upon  both  the  words,  is  well  known  \  and  the 
yaint's  puns  upon  the  conversion  of  Ltt's  wife  into 
Ball  are  equally  ingenious :—"  In  salein  Lonversa  ho- 
nsmibus  (idehbus  quoddam  prasstitit  condimenlnm,  quo 
t'lpimU  aliquid.  undo  iilud  caveatur  exeniplum." — De 


CiviUd.  Dei,  lib.  16.  cap.  30.— The  jokes  of  tho  pious 
favourite  of  Queen  Radagunda,  the  convivial  Bishop 
Venunlius,  may  be  found  among  his  poems,  in  some 
lines  against  a  cook  who  had  robbed  him.  The  Ibl- 
lowing  is  similar  to  Cicero's  pun  : — 

Plus  jiiscclla  Cuvi  i;uam  mi'a  jura  raht. 

See  his  poems.  Corpus  Paitar.  Latin,  tom.  2.  p. 
1732.— Of  the  same  kind  was  Montimrur's  joke,  when 
a  dish  was  spih  over  him— "summum  jus,  summa  in- 
juria;" and  the  same  celebrated  parasite,  in  ordering 
a  sole  to  be  placed  before  him,  said, 

F^ligi  cui  dicas,  tu  milii  sola  places. 

The  reader  may  likewise  see,  among  a  good  deal 
of  kitchen  erudition,  the  learned  Lipsiun's  jokes  on 
cutting  up  a  capon,  in  his  Satiinial.  Sermon,  lib.  3 
cap.  2. 

Page  180,  line  9. 

Upon  singii  g  an!  cooki'iy,  noBr.v,  of  course, 
S  antlin.'  up  for  the  la'ter  Fine  Art  in  full  force. 
Cookery  has  been  dignified  by  the  researches  of  a 
Baron  (see  his  Natural  Hi>:tory,  Receipts,  etc.)  and 
takes  its  station  as  one  of  the  Fine  Arts  in  the  follow 
ing  passage  of  Mr.  Dugald  Stewart. — "  Agreeably  to 
this  view  of  the  subject,  .^weef  may  be  said  to  be  in- 
trinifiraUy  pleasing,  and  hitter  to  be  relatively  i)leas 
ing ;  which  both  are,  in  many  cases,  equally  essential 
to  those  effects,  which,  in  the  art  of  cookery,  corres- 
pond to  that  composite  beaut;/,  which  is  the  object  of 
the  painter  and  of  the  poet  to  create." — Philosophicdt 
F.s'^nyo 


TOM  CRIB'S  ME>IORIAI^  TO  CONGRESS, 


A>./.'  oux    0.0.   IITKTrKHi;  riAEON  METEXEIN  too;  yx.ouir.ov;  ijr.rT.]/.),   ti   jtx.   i^iri.f.a 

H  nOAEMlKHi; ;    Eyu  ttfyt.— Plato,  de  Hep.  lib.  4. 
"  If  any  man  doubt  the  ssignificaiicy  of  the  language,  we  refer  him  to  the  thiid  tolume  of  Reports, 
set  forth  by  the  learned  in  the  laws  of  Canting,  and  published  in  this  tongue." — Ben  Junson 


PREFACE. 


The  Public  have  already  been  informed,  through 
the  medium  of  the  daily  prints,  that,  among  the  d.?- 
tiiiE'iiished  visitors  to  the  Congress  lately  held  at 
Aix-la-Chapelle,  were  Mr.  Bon  Gregsox,  Mr. 
Georoe  ('ooper,  and  a  few  more  illustrious  brethren 
of  The  F.\.\cy.  It  had  been  resolved  at  a  Grand 
Meeting  of  the  Pugilistic  Fraternity,  that,  as  all  the 
mdUii'T  Powers  of  Europe  were  about  to  assemble, 
personally  or  by  deputy,  at  .\ix-la-Chapelle,  it  was 
but  riglit  that  The  Fancy  should  have  its  representa- 
tives there  as  well  as  the  rest,  and  these  gentlemen 
were  accordingly  selected  for  that  high  and  honoura- 
ble office.  A  description  of  this  Meeting,  of  the 
speeches  spoken,  the  resolutions,  etc.  etc.  has  been 
given  in  a  letter  written  by  one  of  the  most  eminent 
of  the  profession,  which  will  be  fo'ind  in  the  .Appen- 
dix, No.  I.  Mr.  Crib'.s  3Iemorial,  which  now,  for 
ihe  firs:  time,  meets  the  public  eye,  was  drawn  \\\i  for 
.he  purpose  of  being  transmitted  by  these  genllomcn 
.•o  Congress  ;  and,  as  it  could  not  possibly  be  in  better 
lands  for  the  enforcement  of  every  point  connected 
with  the  subject,  there  is  every  reason  to  hope  that  it 
Sas  made  a  suitable  impression  upon  that  body. 

The  favour  into  which  this  branch  of  Gymnastics, 
".ailed  Pugilism  (from  the  Greek  iru;,  as  the  author  of 
Boxiana  learnedly  observes,)  has  risen  with  the  Pub- 
lic of  late  years,  and  the  long  season  of  tranquillity 
which  we  are  now  promised  by  the  new  IMIllcnna- 
rians  of  the  Holy  League,  encourage  us  to  look  for- 
ward with  some  degree  of  sanguineness  to  an  order 
>f  things,  like  that  which  Plato  and  Tom  Crib  have 
described  (the  former  in  the  motto  prefixed  to  this 
work,  and  the  latter  in  the  interesting  Memorial  that 
bllows,)  when  the  Milling  shall  succeed  to  the  Mlli- 
\arti  system,  and  The  Fancy  will  be  the  sole  arbi- 
cress  of  the  trifling  disputes  of  mankind.  J'^'om  a 
tvish  to  throw  every  possible  light  on  the  history  of 
an  Art,  which  is  destined  ere  long  to  have  such  influ- 
ence upon  the  affairs  of  the  world,  I  have,  for  some 
time  past,  been  employed  in  a  voluminous  and  elabo- 
rate work,  entitled  "A  Parallel  between  Ancient  and 
Modern  Pugilism,"  which  is  now  in  a  state  of  con- 
siderable forwardness,  and  which  I  hope  to  have 
ready  for  delivery  to  subscribers  on  the  morning  of 
ihe  approaching  fight  between  Randal  and  Martin, 
flad  the  elegant  author  of  Boxiana  extend(xi  his  in- 
quiiies  to  tlie  ancient  state  of  the  art,  I  should  not 


have  presumed  to  interfere  with  a  historian  so  com- 
petent. But,  as  his  researches  into  antiquity  have 
gone  no  farther  than  the  one  valuable  specimen  of 
erudition  which  I  have  given  above,  I  feel  the  less 
hesitation 


-novos  decerper"  flo.es, 


Insiffiieiiique  meo  oapili  petere  inde  ooroijam, 
Unde  prius  nulii  velarint  tempora  Miisie.' 

I.ucrct.  lib.  4.  v.  3. 

The  variety  of  studies  necessary  for  such  a  task, 
and  the  multiplicity  of  references  which  it  requires, 
as  well  to  the  living  as  the  dead,  can  oidy  be  fully  ap- 
preciated by  him  who  has  had  the  patience  to  perform 
it.  Alternately  studying  in  the  Museum  and  the 
Fives  Court — passing  from  the  Academy  of  Plato  to 
that  of  Mr.  Jackson — now  indulging  in  Atlir  flashes 
with  Aristophanes,  and  now  studying  FUiish  in  the 
Attics  of  Cock-Court'' — between  so  many  and  such 
various  associations  has  my  mind  be<M  divided  during 
the  task,  that  sometimes,  in  my  bewilderment,  I  have 
confounded  Ancients  and  i\Ioderns  together, — mis- 
taken the  Greek  of  St.  Giles's  for  that  of  Athens,  and 
have  even  found  myself  tracing  Bill  Gibbons  and  his 
Bull  in  the  "  taiirum  libi,  puhher  Apollo,'''  of  VirgiL 
My  Printer,  too,  has  been  affected  with  similar  hallu- 
cinations. The  Mil.  Glorios.  of  Plautus  he  conven- 
ed, the  other  day,  into  a  Glorious  Mill;  and  more 
than  once,  when  I  have  referred  to  Torn.  prim,  or 
Tom.  quart,  he  has  substituted  Tom  Crib  and  Tom 
Oliver  in  their  places.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  the 
work  will  be  found,  I  trust,  tolerably  correct ;  and  aa 
an  Analysis  of  its  opening  Chapters  may  not  only 
gratify  the  impatience  of  the  Fanciful  World,  but 
save  my  future  reviewers  some  trouble,  it  is  here  given 
as  succinctly  as  possible. 

Chap.  I.  contains  some  account  of  the  ancient  in- 
ventors of  pugilism,  Epeus  and  iVinycus. — The  early 
exploit  of  the  former,  in  milling  his  twin-brother,  in 
ventre  matris,  and  so  getting  before  him  into  the  world, 
as  related  by  Eustathius  on  the  authority  of  Lycophroii. 
— Amycus,  a  Royal  Amateur  of  the  Fancy,  who 
challenged  to  the  scratch  all  strangers  that  landed  od 


1  To  wander  throng!)  The  Fancy's  bowers, 
To  sathir  new,  unheard-of  flowers. 
And  wreathe  such  garhmds  lor  my  brow 
As  Poet  never  wreathed  till  now  ! 
'J  The  residence  of  the  Nonpareil,  Jack  Randall,-    w  here 
the  day  alter   his  lasi  great  victorv,  he  held  a  lever,  whirl 
w:i.-<  attended,  of  course,  by  all  the  leading  cliuraeteis  nl'  Si 
Giles's. 

185 


186 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


his  slwre.— The  Combat  between  him  and  Pollux  I  to  make  his  adversary  g^iue  in;  which  interesting  cii 
<who,  to  use  the  classic  phrase,  serued  him  out,)  as  cumstance  forms  the  sul^ect  of  one  of  the  Pictures  ol 
described  bj  Theocritus,'  Apollonius  Rhodius,^  and   "'   '         ■        '         "     "  -■      -  '     '  " 


Valerius  Flaccus.'— Respective  merits  of  these  three 
descriptions.— Theocritus  by  far  the  best ;  and,  alto- 
gether, perhaps,  the  most  scientific  account  of  a  Box- 
ing-match in  all  antiquity.— Apollonius  ought  to  have 
done  better,  with  such  a  model  before  him ;  but,  evi- 
dently not  up  to  the  thing  (whatever  Scaliger  may 
say,)  and  his  similes  all  .•<■/«/«.■'— Valerius  Flaccus,  the 
first  Latin  Epic  Poet  after  Virgil,  has  done  ample 
justice  to  this  Set-to  ;  feints,  facers,^  and  ribbers,  all 
lescribed  most  spiritedly. 

Chap.  2.  proves  that  the  Pancratium  of  the  ancients, 
as  combining  boxing  and  wrestling,  was  the  branch 
of  their  Gymnastics  that  most  resembled  our  modern 
Pugilism ;  crogs-huttockhig  (or  what  the  Greeks  called 
h-''(TK€hi;uy)  being  as  indispensable  an  ingredient  as 
nobbing,  flooring,  etc.  etc. — Their  ideas  of  a  stand-up 
fight  were  very  similar  to  our  own,  as  appears  from 
the  TO   Tzauiv  a\Xri\ovi  OPeOSTAAHN  of  Luciau,— 

Chop.  3.  examines  the  ancient  terms  of  the  Fancy, 
as  given  by  Pollux  {Onomast.  ad.  fin.  lib.  3.)  and 
others ;  and  compares  them  with  the  modern. — For 
example,  a/X''"'  '°  throttle — Xvyi^uv,  evidently  the 
origin  of  our  word  to  lug — ayKvpi^civ,  to  anchor  a 
fellosv  (see  Grose's  Greek  Dictionary,  for  the  word 
anchor) — Spaaattv  (perf.  pass.  StSpayfai,)  from  which 
is  derived  to  drag  ;  and  whence,  also,  a.  flash  etymo- 
logist might  contrive  to  derive  Spa^a,  drama,  Thespis 
having  first  performed  in  a  drag.^  This  chapter  will 
be  found  highly  curious;  and  distinguished,  I  flatter 
myself,  by  much  of  that  acuteness  which  enabled  a 
late  illustrious  Pro.*essor  to  discover  that  our  English 
"  Son  of  a  Gun"  was  nothing  more  than  the  Ilais 
Tvvris  (Dor.)  of  the  Greeks. 

Chap.  4.  enumerates  the  many  celebrated  Boxers 
of  antiquity. — Eryx  (grandson  of  the  iVmycus  already 
mentioned,)  whom  Hercules  is  said  to  have  fini,^hed 
in  style. — Phrynon,  the  Athenian  General,  and  Auto- 
lycus,  of  whom,  Pausanias  tells  us,  there  was  a  statue 
in  the  Prytaneum — The  celebr.ated  Pugilist,  who,  at 
the  very  moment  he  was  expiring,  had  game  enough 


1  Idyl.  22. 

'2  Argonaut.  lib.  2. 

3  Lib.  4. 

4  Exce])t  one,  Soutu^o?  oix,  vvliicli  is  good,  an.I  which 
f'awkps,  therefore,  lias  omiUi/d.  The  fdlli-wing  couplei 
from  his  translalioii  is,  however, /ancz/uZ enough: — 

"f3o  from  their  baltcr'd  cheeks  loud  echoes  sprung  ; 
Their  dash'd  leeth  crackled  and  their  jaw-bones  rung." 

5  Kmicat  hie,  dczlramque  parat,  dextramque  rninatur 
Tyndiirides  ;  redil  hue  ociilis  el  pondere  Bebryx 
Sic  ratus:  ille  aulem  celeri  rapit  ura  sinistra. 

Lib.  4.  v.  2'JO. 

We  have  nere  a  frint  and  a  farrr  togclber.     The  m;innor 
in  which  Valerius  FliLCCUs  describes  the  multitude  of ///«<:/■ 
Enards  that  usually  as«emlile  on  such  occasions,  Is  higldy 
poetical  and  |iicturesquc;  he  supposes  litem  to  be  Shades 
irom  Tartarus  : — 

El  pater  orantes  CiPsorum  Tartarus  umtrras 
Nuho  cava  tandem  ad  ineri'ie  speitaenia  pugnas 
Emittit ;  siimmi  niirrcscuHt  culmina  montis.      V.  258. 

*■  The  flajh  term  for  a  carl. 


Philostratus,  Icon.  lib.  2.  imag.  6. — and  above  all. 
that  renowned  Son  of  the  Fancy,  Melancoma.*,  the 
favourite  of  the  Emperor  Titus,  in  whose  praise  Die 
Chrysostomus  has  left  us  two  elaborate  orations.'— 
The  peculiarities  of  this  boxer  discussed — his  powei 
of  standing  with  his  arms  extended  for  two  whole 
days,  without  any  rest  {ivvaros  rjv,  says  Dio,  kui  iva 
tlixcpas  i(>iS  jxcviiv  avarcTaKuig  roi  ^eipag,  km  ovk  a* 
ctSiv  ov&cti  v'Ptvra  avTov  rj  avaTravcajitvov  uiajrep  £iu)- 
9aat.  Oral.  28,)  by  which  means  he  wore  out  his 
adversary's  bottom,  and  conquered  without  either 
giving  or  taking.  This  bloodless  system  of  milling, 
which  trusted  for  victory  to  patience  alone,  has  af- 
forded to  the  orator,  Themistius,  a  happy  illustration 
of  the  peaceful  conquests  which  he  attributes  to  the 
Emperor  Valens.^ 

Chap.  5.  notices  some  curious  points  of  similarity 
between  the  ancient  and  modern  Fancy. — Thus, 
Theocritus,  in  his  MUling-match,  calls  Amycus  "  a 
glutton,"  which  is  well  known  to  be  the  classical 
phrase  at  Moulsey-Hurst,  for  one  who,  like  Amycus 
takes  a  deal  oi punishment  before  he  is  satisfied. 

riuif  yap  &n  Afos  v'loq  AAH^tATON  av&pa  (caOeiXtv. 
In  the  same  Idyl  the  poet  describes  the  Bebrycian 
hero  as  T:\nyoiii  ps&vuv,  "drunk  with  blows,"  which 
is  precisely  tiie  language  of  our  Fancy  bulletins;  foi 
example,  "  Turner  appeared  as  if  drunk,  and  made  a 
heavy  lolloping  hit,"^  etc.  etc. — The  resemblance  in 
the  manner  of  fighting  is  still  more  striking  and  import 
ant.  Thus  we  find  Crib's  favourite  system  of  milling 
on  the  retreat,  which  he  practised  so  successfully  in 
his  combats  with  Gregson  and  Molyneux,  adopted  by 
Alcidamus,  the  Spartan,  in  the  battle  between  hira 
and  Capaneus,  so  minutely  and  vividly  described  by 
Statius,  Thebaid.  lib.  6. 

sed  non,  tamen,  immemor  artis, 

Adversus  fugit,  ai  fug  tens  tamcn  icti!ju.i  ubstiit.* 

And  it  will  be  only  necessary  to  compare  together 
two  extracts  from  Boxiana-and  the  Bard  of  Syracuse 
to  see  how  similar  in  their  mancEuvres  have  been  the 
millers  of  all  ages — "The  Man  of  Colour,  to  prevent 
hQ\ng  fMied,  grasped  tight  hold  of  Carter's  hand"^ — 
(Acci>,int  of  the  Fight  between  Robinson  the  Black 
and  Carter,)  which,  (translating  XiXaiopLivns,  "  the  Lily- 
white,'"^)  is  almost  word  for  word  with  the  following : 
Htoi  oyt  pc^at  ti  \i\atontvo;  picya  cpyov 
'ZKatri  fiiv  (TKatriv  Ilo\v6tvKiOi  fAAa/Je  X^ipa- 

Thiocrit 


1  The  following  words,  in  which  Dio  so  decidedly  prefers 
the  art  of  the  Boxer  to  Ihiit  of  the  soldier  would  peri)!ipa 
have  been  a  still  more  significuit  iimtto  to  Mr.  Crib's  Me- 
morial than  that  which  I  have  chosen  from  Plato:  K»i 
x»Si)/.ou    Ss    lyuyi    touto    ths    to     TO15    troA-s^oif     apjTiti 

2  Hi/  Ti;   iTTi  T'oi»  frplyOMMV    ruiv   y\ixnifMv  ttuxtik   avvif 

Ms)v.X>-XOjU:«j      OVOft'J.      U.VT1I 5UT0S       OvSiVX      TTM^OTt 

Tji'utrxi,  o\iSi  TTxTxcxi,  fov;)  Ti|  irTa<rsi  xm<  t>i  tuiv  xt'ff 
xvxirTx.(rii  Trxurxg  x:Ti^vxil  tou;  a.vTirrx.Kov(. —  Themisi 
Oral.  TTifi  E>piji'ii«. 

3  Kent's  VVrekly  Despaich. 

4  Yet,  not  unmindful  of  his  art,  he  hies. 
But  turns  his  face,  and  combats  as  he  flies. 

hewi» 
.5  A  miinrpuvre,  generally  called  Tarn  Owrn's  stnp, 
()  The  Flash  term  for  a  negro,  and  also  for  a  chimnev 
sweeper. 


TOM  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 


187 


Chap.  6.  proves,  from  the  ;au;/;i^'--match  and  Srl-io 
Detuocn  lllyssns  and  tl;o  lirg<far  in  tho  18th  Book  of 
'.lie  Odyssey,  that  the  ancients  (notwithstanding  their 
iiKaiu  /<tt;y;oi'ruji/,  or  Laws  orc'omiialants,  vvhieh,  Ar- 
ternidoriis  says  in  his  chap.  33.  -rtpi  Moro/ju;^.  ex- 
tended to  pugihsin  as  well  as  other  kinds  of  comhats) 
did  not  properly  understand  fair  play  ;  as  Ulysses  is 
here  ohl'ijed  to  require  an  oath  from  the  standers-by, 
that  they  will  not  dml  hitn  a  .</'/  knock,  while  he  is 
cleaning  out  the  mumper — 

Mv  Tts  tff'  l/io)  vp"  (pipo>v  e/ic  'Xtipi  ira^ctj) 

Chap.  7.  describes  the  Cestus,  and  shows  that  the 
Greeks,  for  mere  exercise  of  spcirrini;,  made  use  of 
miifflex  or  gloves,  as  we  do,  which  they  called  afaipai. 
This  appears  particularly  from  a  passage  in  Plato,  de 
liCir.  lib.  8,  where,  speaking  of  training,  he  says,  it  is 
only  by  frequent  use  of  the  gloves  tliat  a  knowledge  of 
stopping  and  hitting  can  be  acquired.  The  whole 
passage  is  curious,  as  proving  that  the  Divine  Flato 
was  not  altogether  a  novice  in  the  Fancy  lay.' — Kat 
cL;  tyyvTtira  rov  o/ioiou,  avri  l/iavTuv  S'l'AIl'AS  av 
TTrpnioviitOa,  o^uij  ui  FIAIirAI  re  Kai  at  TilN  IIAH- 
ri?.N  ETAABEIAI  6tine\i.Tix>vTo  tJS  ri  ivvarov  iKavoy;. 
— These  miijlles  were  called  by  the  Romans  sacculi, 
as  we  fmd  from  Trebellius  Follio,  who,  in  describing 
a  triumph  of  Gallienus,  mentions  the  "  Pugiles  sac- 
culix  non  veritate  pugilantes." 

(Viap.  8.  adverts  to  the  pugilistic  exhibitions  of  the 
Spartan  ladies,  which  Propertius  has  thus  comme- 
morated— 

I'lilvenilcntaque  ad  extremas  Btat  ffEinina  metas, 

r"t  patilur  iluro  vulnera  pancratio  ; 
Nunc  ligat  ail  c;cstuiii  gaudeiitia  braclsia  loris,  etc.  etc. 
JJI>.  3.  el.  14. 

and,  to  prove  that  the  moderns  are  not  behind-hand 
with  the  ancients  in  this  respect,  cites  the  following 
instance  recorded  in  Boxiana : — ''  George  3Iadox,  in 
this  battle,  was  seconded  by  his  sister,  Grace,  who, 
upon  its  conclusion,  tossed  up  her  hat  in  defiance, 
and  offered  to  fight  any  man  present ;" — also  the  me- 
morable challenge,  given  in  the  same  work,  'vol.  i.p. 
300,)  which  passed  between  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Wilkin- 
son of  Clerkenwell,  and  Miss  Hannah  Hylield  of 
New2ate-3Iarket — another  proof  that  the  English 
may  boast  many  a  "  dolce  guerriera"  as  well  as  the 
Greeks. 

Chap.  9.  contains  Accounts  of  all  the  celebrated 
Set-tos  of  antiquity,  translated  from  the  works  of  the 
dilferent  authors  that  have  described  them, — viz.  the 
famous  Argonautic  Battle,  as  detailed  by  the  three 
poets  mentioned  in  chap.  1. — the  Fight  between 
Epeus  and  Euryalus,  in  the  23d  Book  of  the  Iliad, 


and  lx>tween  Ulysses  and  Irus  in  the  18th  Book  of  the 
Odyssey — the  Combat  of  Dares  and  Entellus  in  tho 
5tli  /Eneid — of  Capaneus  and  Alcidainus,  already  re- 
Icrred  to,  in  Statins,  and  of  Achelous  and  Hercule.9 
in  the  9th  Book  of  the  Metamorphoses  ;  though  this 
last  is  rather  a  wrcstling-bout  than  a  mill,  resembling 
that  between  Hercules'  and  Antius  in  the  4th  Book 
of  Lucan.  The  reader  who  is  anxious  to  know  how 
I  have  succeeued  in  this  part  of  my  task,  will  find,  as 
a  specimen,  my  translation  from  Virgil  in  the  Appen- 
dix to  the  present  work,  No.  2. 

Chap.  10.  considers  the  various  arguments  for  and 
against  Pugilism,  advanced  by  writers  ancient  ana 
modern. — A  strange  instance  of  either  ignorance  or 
wilful  falsehood  in  Lucian,  who,  in  his  Anacharsis, 
has  represented  Solon  as  one  of  the  warmest  advo- 
cates for  Pugilism,  wliereas  wo  know  from  Diogenea 
Laertius  that  that  legislator  took  every  possible  paina 
to  discourage  and  suppress  it. — Alexander  the  Great, 
too,  tasteless  enough  to  prohibit  the  Fa.ncy  (Plu 
t.irch  171  Vil.) — Galen  in  many  parts  of  liis  works,  but 
particularly  in  the  Hortat.  ad  Art.  condemns  the 
practice  as  enervating  and  pernicious.^ — On  the  other 
side,  the  testimonies  in  its  favour,  numerous. — 'i'he 
greater  number  of  Pindar's  Nemean  Odes  written  in 
praise  of  pugilistic  champions ; — and  Isocrates,  though 
he  represents  Alcibiades  as  despising  the  art,  yet  ac- 
knowledges that  its  professors  were  held  in  high  esti- 
mation through  Greece,  and  that  those  cities,  where 
victorious  pugilists  were  born,  became  illustrious 
from  that  circumstance;^  just  as  Bristol  has  been 
rendered  immortal  by  the  production  of  such  heroes 
as  Tom  Crib,  Harry  Harmcr,  Big  Ben,  Dutch  Sam, 
etc.  etc. — Ammianus  Marcellinus  tells  us  how  much 
that  religious  and  pugnacious  Emperor,  Constantius, 
delighted  in  the  Set-tos,  "  pugilum^  vicissim  se  con- 
cidentium  perfusorumque  sanguine." — To  these  are 
added  still  more  flattering  testimonies  ;  such  as  thai 
of  Isidorus,  who  calls  Pugilism  "virtus,"  as  if  par 
excellence;''  and  the  yet  more  enthusiastic  tribute 
with  which  Eustathius  reproaches  the  Pagans  of  hav- 
ing enrolled  their  Boxers  in  the  number  of  the  Gods. 
— In  short,  the  whole  chapter  is  full  of  erudition  and 


1  .^iiotliir  philosoplutr,  Soiicc  ■,  has  shown  iiiriiself  equally 
fiash  on  ihe  subjecl,  and,  in  liis  litth  Epistle,  lays  it  d<i«n  u.< 
dn  :i.\iom,  tlial  no  pugilist  lail  be  considered  worth  any 
thing,  till  he  h-is  hud  ins  peepers  takin  iiii-asiire  uf  for  a 
suit  of  mourning,  or,  in  common  language,  has  received  a 
pair  of  bl;u-k  eyes.  The  whole  pass:ige  is  edifying : — "  Non 
potest  athleta  inagnos  spirilus  ad  certainen  afTerre,  qui  iniii- 

]uam  sugillnliis  est.  Ille  quividet  sanguinein  suum,cujus 
denies  crejiuernnt  sub  piigno,  ille  qui  supplantatus  adver- 
sarium  tolo  lulit  corporo,  nee  pmjecil  aninnim  projectus, 
qui  quotios  recidit  coiitUMiacioc  lesuiie^it,  cum  magna  spe 

iescendit  ad  pugnani." 


1  Tliough  wrestling  was  evidently  the  favourite  sport  of 
Ikrcule,-,  we  find  him,  in  the  Alcestes,  just  returned  from  a 
Hridsing-matcti ;  and  it  is  a  curious  proof  of  the  snperioi 
consideration  in  which  these  arts  were  held,  that  lor  the 
lighter  exercises,  he  tells  us,  horses  alone  were  the  rewurd, 
wlule  to  conquerors  in  the  higher  games  of  pugilism  and 
wrestling,  whole  herds  of  cattle  (with  someliiiies  a  young 
lady  into  the  bargain)  were  given  as  prizes. 

TO.n   S'au  Tse  /ilii^ovx 
Tuvi)  S'  iT!-'  auTOi;  eis-s  t'.  Eurip. 

2  It  was  remarked  by  the  ancient  physicians,  that  men 
who  were  in  the  habit  of  boxing  and  wrestling  became  re- 
markably lean  and  slender  from  the  loins  downward,  while 
the  upper  parts  of  their  frame  acqureil  prodigious  size  anc 
strength.  I  could  name  some  pugilists  of  the  prrseni  day 
whoso  persons  seem  to  warrant  the  Iruthof  this  observation 

3  Tou;  t'  X^KtiTxg  C*^KtlVfiiVOVC,xxt  t»5  ^OKtt^  OVOjUXFTXf 
yiyvo/isvxf  Toil'  wiXajwTiov.  lSOCR/\T.  wefn  tou  Ztvyoui 
An  oration  written  by  Lsocrates  for  the  son  of  Alcibiades. 

4  Notwithstanding  that  the  historian  expressly  says  "  pu 
giluin,"  Lipsius  is  so  anxious  to  pnss  this  (■iiciim.stance  into 
his  Account  of  tiie  Ancient  Gladiators,  that  he  insists  suck 
an  eft'usion  oi'  claret  could  only  have  taken  place  in  the  gla 
diatorial  combat.  But  Lipsius  never  was  at  Sloulsey  lluiti 
—  See  his  Saiurnal.  Sermon,  lib.  i    cap.  2. 

5  Origin,  lib.  xviii.  c.  l.S. 


188 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


voiij; — from  A»/(ophron  (whose  very  name  smacks 
,->f  pugilism,)  clov/n  to  Boxiaiia  and  the  Weekly  Des- 
oatch,  not  an  author  on  the  subject  is  omitted. 

So  much  for  my  "  Parallel  between  Ancient  and 
Jlodern  Pugihsni."  And  now  with  respect  to  that 
oeculiar  language  called  Flii.^li,  or  St.  Giles's  Gnck, 
in  which  3Ir.  Crib's  Memorial  and  the  other  articles 
•n  the  present  volume  are  written,  1  beg  to  trouble  the 
reader  with  a  few  observations.  As  this  expressive 
language  was  originally  invented,  and  is  still  used, 
I'kc  the  cipher  of  the  diplomatists,  for  purposes  of 
j'^rrecy,  and  as  a  means  of  eluding  the  vigilance  of  a 
•ortain  c;lass  of  persons,  called  jlaslnce.  Traps,  or, 
'n  common  language,  Bow-street  Officers,  it  is  sub- 
ject of  course  to  continual  change,  and  is  perpetually 
either  altering  the  meaning  of  old  words,  or  adding 
new  ones,  according  as  the  great  object,  secrecy, 
renders  it  prudent  to  have  recourse  to  such  innova- 
tions. In  this  respect,  also,  it  resembles  the  cryp- 
tography of  kings  and  ambassadors,  who,  by  a  con- 
tinual change  of  cipher,  contrive  to  baffle  the  inquisi- 
tiveness  of  the  eneini/.  But,  notwithstanding  the  Pro- 
tean nature  of  the  Flash  or  Cant  language,  the  greater 
part  of  its  vocabulary  lias  remained  unchanged  for 
centuries,  and  many  of  the  words  used  by  the  Cant- 
ing Beggars  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,'  and  the  Gip- 
sies in  Ben  Jonson's  ^Masque,-  are  still  to  be  heard 
among  the  Gnostics  of  Dyot-street  and  Tothill-fields. 
To  prig  is  still  to  steal  ;•'  to  fib,  to  beat ;  lour,  money; 
duds,  clothes  ;*  pranrers,  horses  ;  houzing-ken,  an  ale- 
house ;  cove,  a  fellow ;  a  .soyj's  hahy,  a  pig,  etc.  etc. 
There  are  also  several  instances  of  the  same  term, 
preserved  with  a  totally  different  signification.  Thus, 
to  mill,  which  was  originally  "to  rob,"''  is  now  "to 
beat  or  tight ;"  and  the  word  rum,  which  in  Ben  .Fon- 
son's  time,  and  even  so  late  as  Grose,  meant ^?(p  and 
good,  is  now  generally  used  for  the  very  opposite 
qualities  ;  as,  "  he  's  but  a  rum  one,"  etc.  Most  of 
the  Cant  phrases  in  Head's  English  Rogue,  which 
was  published,  I  believe,  in  IGGG,  would  be  intelli- 
gible to  a  Greek  of  the  present  day  ;  though  it  must 
be  confessed  that  the  Songs  which  both  he  and  L)ek- 
ker  have  given  would  puzzle  even  that  "Cirai;e  gentis 
decus,"  Caleb  Baldwin  himself.  For  instance,  one 
of  the  simplest  begins, 

Biiig  Hilt,  bien  Moris,  iiiid  toure  and  toiire, 

l$ing  out,  1)1(11  Moris  and  ti.urc. ; 
For  all  your  duds  are  bing'd  awast; 

The  bien  Covo  h;ilh  iIik  louie. 


'  To  the  cultivation,  in  our  times,  of  the  science  ol 
Pugilism,  the  Flash  language  is  indebted  for  a  con 

j  siderable  addition  to  its  treasures.  Indeed,  so  impos 
sible  is  it  to  describe  the  operations  of  The  Fancy 
without  words  of  proportionate  energy  to  do  justice 
to  the  subject,  that  we  find  Pope  and  Cowper,  in  their 
translation  of  the  Set-to  m  the  Iliad,  pressing  words 
into  the  service  which  had  seldom,  1  think,  if  ever, 
been  enlisted  into  the  ranks  of  poetry  before.     Thus 

;  Pope, 

I  Secure  Ibis  lianil  sluill  Ms  whule  I'-aiiie  cuiirouiid, 

!  Mash  all  liis  bones,  iin<l  all  his  body  pimniL 

\  Cowper,  in  the  same  manner,  translates  ■coi/.c  ic  .  .  .  . 
Traptiiov,  " pash'd  him  on  the  cheek ;"  and,  in  describ- 

:  ing  the  wrestling-match,  makes  use  of  a  term,  now 
more  properly  applied  to  a  peculiar  kind  of  blow,' 
of  which  Mendoza  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  in- 
ventor 

j  Tiien  li:s  \vi!us 

j  F(ir!,';it  not  be,  bu;  on  ilic'  hjiii  beliiml 

C/iop,rd  biin. 

Before  I  conclude  this  Preface,  which  has  already, 
I  fear,  extended  to  an  unconscionable  length,  I  can- 
not help  expressing  my  regret  at  the  selection  which 
Mr.  Crib  has  made  of  one  of  the  Combatants  intro- 
duced into  the  imaginary  Set-to  that  follows.  Tha' 
person  has  already  been  exhibited,  perhaps,  "usque 
ad  nauseam,"  before  the  Public ,  and,  without  enter- 
,  ing  into"  the  propriety  of  meddling  with  such  a  per- 
,  sonage  at  all,  it  is  certain  that,  as  a  mere  matter  ot 
taste,  he  ought  now  to  be  let  alone.  All  that  can  be 
alleged  for  Mr.  Crib  is — what  Rabelais  has  said  in 
defending  the  moral  notions  of  another  kind  of  cat- 
tle— he  "  knows  no  better."  But  for  myself,  in  my 
editorial  capacity,  I  take  this  opportunity  of  declaring 
that,  as  far  as  /  am  concerned,  the  person  in  question 
shall  henceforward  be  safe  and  inviolate ;  and,  as  the 
Convent-garden  Managers  said,  when  they  withdrew 
their  much-hissed  elephant,  thk  is  positively  the  lasi 
time  of  his  appearing  on  the  stage. 


1  In  tbiir  amusing  comedy  of  ''The  Beggar's  Bush." 
•2  'I'll!!  Masque  ot  ihe  Gi|)sies  Mctaciior|iliosed. — The  Giji- 
»y  liiiiguage,  indeed,  fvitli  the  excejitiim  ofsin-h  lernis  as  re- 
/.ite  lo  their  own  ])eeuliar  customs,  ditrersbiit  liltle  frnni  the 
regular  Flash  ;  as  may  be  Been  by  consiillin:;  Ihe  Vocabu- 
lary subjoined  to  the  lite  of  Bamt'ylde-Moore  Carew. 

3  Rec  the  thirri  chiipler,  1st  book,  ot'tlie  History  of  .Jona- 
than Wild,  for  ail  "  undeniable  testimony  of  the  great  anti- 
qui  y  of  t'riisiri.tim." 

4  >\n  aiiifltr  for  duds  is  thus  described  by  Dekker: — "  He 
rarrii'R  ii  short  sliifTin  his  hiiiid,  which  is  called  afUrh,  hav- 
ing in  Ihe  iiah  or  h'-ad  of  il,  njfcrme  (iliat  is  to  say  a  hole,) 
into  which,  u|ion  any  piece  of  service,  when  he  goes  a.filc/i- 
hiir.he  |niileih  a  hooke  cf  iron,  with  which  lioolie  he  angles 
It  II  window  in  Ihe  dead  of  night,  for  shirt8,smockes,  or  any 
other  linen  or  woollen." — Kiistisli.  Villnvics. 

5  ("an  they  r.aiit  or  miliJ  ure  iliey  masters  of  their  art?" 
—  Hr.n  .Idiiftin.  To  tiiill,  however,  senietiineH  signified  "to 
f  II  "     Tims,  111  mill  a  blcatniir  client,  i.  e.  lo  kill  a  sheep. 


TOM  CRIB  S  MEMORIAL  TO 
CONGRESS. 


Most  Holy,  and  High,  and  Legitimate  squad, 
First  Sy^ell.s''  of  the  world,  since  Bmiey\i  in  quod,'' 
Who  have  every  thing  now,  as  Bill  Gibbons  would 

say, 
"  Like  the  bull  in  the  china-sh?",  all  your  own  way" — 
Whatsoever  employs  your  mafroificent  nobs,* 
Whether  diddling  your  subjects,  and  gutting  theit 
fobs,' 


1  "  A  ckopprr  is  a  blow,  struck  op  the  face  with  the  back 
of  the  hand.  Mendoza  claims  the  hoiio'ir  of  its  invention 
but  unjiisily;  he  (-eriaiiily  revived,  and  eonsideriibly  im- 
proved it.  It  was  practised  long  before  o'lr  time. — BrougK 
ton  occasionally  used  it;  and  Slack,  it  also  appears,  struck 
the  chopprr  in  giving  the  return  in  many  o.'"  his  batlles." — 
Bnziana,  vol.  ii.  p.  20. 

2  Swr.ll,  a  great  miin. 

3  In  prison.     The  dab  's  in  quod:  the  rogu"  is  in  prison. 

4  Heads. 

.5  Taking  out  the  contents.  Thus,  gullivn-  n.  quart  pot 
'or  takini;  out  Ihi;  liniiiis  of  it,)  i.  o.  drinking  it  ofT. 


TOM  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 


189 


(While  you  hum  the  poor  spotwu'es'  with  speeches,  so 

pretty, 
"Bout  Freedom,  and  Order,  and — all  my  eye,  Betty,) 
Whether  praying,  or  dressing,  or  dancing  the  luiys. 
Or  hipping  your  congo'  at  Lord  C-stl-R — gii's'' 
(While  his  Lordship,  as  usual,  tluit  very  great  duh" 
At  the  llowers  of  rhet'ric,  is  Jlashing  his  gab'') — 
Or  holding  State  Dinners,  to  talk  of  the  weather, 
And  cut  up  your  mutton  and  Europe  together! 
Whatever  your  giunmon,  whatever  your  talk, 
Oh  deign,  ye  illustrious  Cocks  of  the  Wal/i, 
To  attend  for  a  moment, — and  if  the  Fine  Arts 
Of  Jililiing''  and  hiring'^  be  dear  to  your  hearts; 
If  to  levcl,^'  to  punish,'  to  rul/um"  manldnd. 
And  to  darken  their  daylightx,'  be  pleasures  refined 
(As  they  must  be,)  for  every  Legitimate  mind, — 
Oh,  listen  to  one,  who,  bolli  able  and  willing 
To  spread  through  creation  the  mysteries  of  milling, 
(And,  as  to  whose  politics,  search  the  world  round, 
Not  a  sturdier  Pit-tile^  e'er  lived  under  ground,) 
Has  thought  of  a  plan,  which — excuse  his  presump- 
tion, 
He  hereby  submits  to  your  royal  rumgumption.^ 

It  being  now,  settled  that  emperors  and  kings. 
Like  kites  made  of  foohcap,  are  high-flying  things, 
To  whose  tails  a  few  millions  of  subjects,  or  so. 
Have  been  tied  in  a  siring,  to  be  whisk'd  to  and  fro. 
Just  wherever  it  suits  the  sa.\(i  fooLtrap  to  go — 
This  being  all  settled,  and  freedom  all  gammon,'" 
And  nought  but  your  honours  worth  wasting  a  d — n 

on  ; 
While  snug  and  secure  you  may  now  run  your  rigs," 
Without  fear  that  old  Boney  will  bother  your  gigs — 
As  your  Honours,  too,  bless  you  !  though  all  of  a  trade. 
Vet  agreeing  like  new  ones,  have  lately  been  made 
Special  constables  o'er  us,  for  keeping  the  peace, — 
Let  us  hope  now  that  wars  and  rumhustions  will  cease ; 
That  soldiers  and  guns,  like  "the  Devil  and  his  works," 
Will  henceforward  be  left  to  Jews,  Negers,  and  Turks ; 
Till  Brown  Bess'^  shall  soon;  like  Miss  Tabitha  Fus'y, 
For  want  of  a  spark  to  "■"  off  with,  grow  rusty, 
And  lobsters'^  will  lie  such  a  drug  upon  hand, 
That  our  fZo-7jo?/((?i5- Captains  must  all  get  japann'd."' 


My  eyes,  how  delightful !— the  rabble  well  gagg'd, 
The  Swells  in  high  f Lather,  and  old  Boney  lagg'd. ' 

But,  though  we  must  hope  for  such  good  times  aa 

these. 

Vet  as  something  mat/  happen  to  kirk  up  a  breeze 

Some  quarrel  reserved  fo.ryour  own  private  picking- 
Some  grudge,  even  now  in  your  great  gizzards  sticking, 
(God  knows  about  what — about  money  mayhap, 
Or  the  Papists,  or  Dutch,  or  tliat  kid,'  Master  Nap)— 
And,  setting  in  case  there  should  come  such  a  rumpts^ 
As  some,  mode  of  settling  the  chat  we  must  compass, 
With  which  the  tag-rag^  will  have  nothing  to  do— 
What  think  you,  great  Swells,  of  a  Rovai.  Set-to?' 
A  Ring  and  fat  fist-work  at  Ai.\-la-Chapelle, 
Or  at  old  Moulsey-ITurst,  if  you  like  it  as  well— 
And  that  all  may  be  fair  as  to  wind,  weight,  and 

science, 
ni  ansv:er  to  train  the  whole  Holy  Alliance  ! 
Just  think,  please  your  Majesties,  how  you  'd  prefer  it 
T6  millt  such  as  Waterloo,  where  all  the  merit 
To  vulgar  red-coated  rapscallions  must  fall. 
Who  have  no  Right  Divine  to  have  merit  at  all ! 

How  much  more  select  your  own  quiet  Set-tos! 

And  how  vastly  genteeler  'twill  sound  in  the  news, 
(Kent's  Weekly  Despatch,  thai  beats  all  others  hollow 
For  Fancy  transactions,)  in  terms  such  as  follow : — 


1  Siinpli'lons,  iilias,  [iinocents. 

2  nrinkiiig  youi  ti-a. 

3  See  iIk!  Aiipundix,  No.  3. 

4  An  A(i<!|)l. 

5  Sliowuig  off  his  talk — Rotter  oxpressed,  perhaps,  hy  a 
»ie  wit,  wlio,  upon  being  asked  wli:ii  was  soing  on  in   ihe 

blouse  iif  ("omnioiis,  answered,  "  Only  Lord  C  airing  his 
bucabiildry." 

6  All  terms  of  the  Fancy,  and  familiar  to  those  who  read 
the  Tran-iactions  of  the  Pu^'ilislic  Society. 

7  To  close  up  Iheir  eyes — alias,  to  srw  up  their  sees. 

8  'J'oM  received  his  first  education  in  u  coal-pit;  from 
«  hence  he  has  biien  honoured  with  the  name  ol' "  the  Black 
Diamond."  ,        •  ' 

9  Ouiiiption, or  Rumgtimption,  comprehension,  capacity. 
lU  Nonsen.se  or  hiunhng. 

11  Play  yur  triiks. 

12  A  soldier's  tire-lock. 

l'^  Soliliers,  from  the  colour  of  Iheir  clothes.  "  To  hoil 
one's  lobster  means  'or  a  cluir'hinan  to  turn  soldier;  lob- 
sters, which  are  pf  a  bluish  black,  being  made  red  by  boil- 
ing."—  Grose.  Bui  ler's  ingenious  simile  will  occur  to  the 
reader : 

When,  (ike  a  lobster  boil'd,  the  Morn 

From  black  to  red  began  to  turn. 

14  Ordained — i.  c.  become  clergymen. 


ACCOUNT  OF  THE  GRAND  SET-TO  BE- 
TWEEN LONG  SANDY  AND  GEORGY  THE 
PORPUS. 

Last  Tuesday,  at  Moulsey,  the  Balance  of  Power 
Was  settled  'oy  Twelve  Tightish  Rounds,  in  an  hour— 
The  Buffers,^  both  "  Boys  of  the  Holy  Ground;"—^ 
Long  Sandy,  by  name  of  the  Bear  much  renown'd, 
And  Georgv  the  Porpu.'-;  prime  glutton  reckon'd — 
Old  thingummeel'oTTso'  was  Lo.ng  Sandy's  second. 
And  Georgy's  was  Pat  C — stl — r — uii, — he  who 

lives 
At  the  sign  of  the  King's  Arms  a-kimho,  and  gives 
His  small  beer  about,  with  the  air  of  a  chap 
Who  believed  himself  a  prodigious  strong  tap. 
This  being  the  first  true  Legitimate  Match 
Since  Tom  took  to   training   these  Swelh  for  the 

scratch. 
Every  lover  of  life,  that  had  rhino  to  spare, 
From  sly  little  Moses  to  B — r — g,  was  there 


1  Transported. 

2  Child. — Hence  our  useful  word,  kidnapper — to  vab  a  kid 
being  to  steal  a  ch.ld.  Indeed,  we  need  but  recollect  iho 
many  excellent  and  necessary  words  to  which  Jehnsun  has 
artixcd  the  stigma  of  "cant  term,"  to  be  aware  how  consi- 
derably the  Engl  sh  1  wigiuige  has  been  enriched  by  the  con- 
iributions  of  the  Flash  liaternity. 

3  The  common  people,  the  mobility. 

4  .A  hoxing-malch. 

.■)  Boxers — Irish  cant. 

G  The  hitch  in  the  metre  here  was  rendered  necessary  by 
the  quotation,  which  is  from  the  celebrated  Fancy  Chant 
ending,  every  verse,  thus: — 

For  we  are  the  boys  of  the  Holy  (Ground, 
And  we'll  dance  upon  nothing,  and  turn  us  round! 
It  is  almost  needless  to  add,  that  the   Holy  Ground,  or 
Land,  is  a  well-known  region  of  Si.  Giles's. 

7  Tom  means,  I  presume,  the  celebrated  diplomatist 
Pozzo  di  Burgo. — The  Irish  used  to  claim  the  dancer  Dide- 
lot  as  their  comitryman,  insisting  that  the  O  had  slipped  cm 
of  its  right  place,  and  that  his  real  name  was  Mr.  O'lliddle 
On  the  same  principle  they  will,  perhaps,  assort  their  right 
to  M.  Pozzo. 


190 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Never  since  the  renown'd  days  of  Broughton  and 

Fu:g' 
Was  the  Frunciful  World  in  such  very  prime  twig — "^ 
And  long  before  daylight,  gigs,  rattlers,^  and  prads,* 
Wem  in  motion  for  3Ioulsey,  brimful  of  the  Lads. 
Iack  Eld — n,  Old  Sid.  and  some  more,  had  come 

down 
On  the  evening  before,  and  put  up  at  The  Crown, — 
Their  old  favourite  sign,  where  themselves  and  their 

brothers 
Get  gruh^  at  cheap  rate,  though  it  fleeces;  all  others  ; 
Nor  matters  it  how  we  plebeians  condemn. 
As  The  Crown 's  always  sure  of  its  license  from  them. 

*T  was  diverting  to  see,  as  one  ogled  around, 

How   Corinthians'^   and    Commoners  mixed   on   the 

ground. 
Here  M — ntr — se  and  an  Israelite  met  face  to  face. 
The  Duke,  a  place-hunter — the  Jew,  from  Duke's 

Place ; 
While  Nicky  V — ns — tt — t,  not  caring  to  roam, 
Got  among  the  vihite-bag-men,^  and  felt  quite  at  home. 
Here  stood  in  a  corner,  well  screen'd  from  the  wea- 
ther. 
Old  Sid.  and  the  great  Doctor  Eady  together, 
Uoih  famed  on  the  walls — with  a  d — n,  in  addition, 
Pretix'd  to  the  name  of  the  former  Physician. 
Here  C — jid — N,  who  never  till  now  was  suspected 
Of  Fancy,  or  aught  that  is  therewith  connected, 
Got  close  to  a  dealer  in  don'iies,  who  eyed  him, 
Ja;k  Scroggins  remark'd,  "just  as  if  he'd  have  bui/'d 

him;" 
While  poor  Bogy  B — ck — gh — m  well  might  look 

pale, 
As  there  stood  a  great  Rat-catcher  close  to  his  tail ! 

'.Wongst  the  vehicles,  too,  which  were  many  and  va- 
rious, 
From  natli/  barouche  down  to  buggy  precarious. 
We  twtsg'd  more  than  one  queertsh  sort  of  turn-out ; — 
C — NN — G  came  in  a  job,  and  then  canter'd  about 
On  a  showy,  but  hot  and  unsound,  bit  of  blood 
(For  a  leader  once  meant,  but  cast  off,  as  not  good,) 
Looking  round  to  secure  a  snug  place  if  he  could  : — 
While  Eld — n,  long  doubting  between  a.  grey  nag 
And  a  while  one  to  mount,  took  his  stand  in  a  drag.^ 
At  a  quarter    past   ten,   by   Pat  C — stl — R — oil's 

tattler,^ 
Crib  came  on  the  ground  in  a  four-in-hand  rattler  ; 
(For  Tom,  since  he  took  to  these  Holy  Allies, 
Is  as  tip-top  a  beau  as  all  Bond-street  supplies;) 
Anrt,  Ofi  seeing  the  Champion,  loud  cries  of  "  Fight, 

light," 
■'Ring,  ring,"  "Whip  the  Gemnien,"  were  heard  left 

and  right. 
But  the  kiil^,  though  impatient,  were  doom'd  to  delay. 
As  the  old  P.  C"  ropes  (which  are  7ioiv  mark'd  H. 
A.") 


1  Tne  chief  foiiiidurs  of  tlin  modern  school  of  i)HgilisTn. 

2  Ilr^h  spirits  or  CO iidilioi).  H  Coaches. 
4  Horses.                                       5  Victuals. 

6  Men  of  rank — vide  Roxiana,  passim. 

7  Pick-|i(ickct8.  H  A  c:;rl  <rr  wiic^'on.         9  A  watch. 
lO  The  ropes  Mfid  slakes  used  ill  the  prize-fights,  hcini;  the 

Topcrty  of  the  l'u;jilislic  (,'liih,  iiro  marked  wiih  the  iiiitinls 
O  11   For  "ll,.ly  Alliaiicu 


Being  hack'd  in  the  service,  it  seems  had  given  way 
And,  as  rope  is  an  article  much  up\n  price 
Since  the  bank  took  to  hanging,  the  l.ids  had  to  splice. 
At  length  the  two  Swelh  having  enter'd  die  Ring, 
To  the  tune  the  Cow  died  of,  called  "Gjd  save  the 

King," 
Each  threw  up  his  castor^  'mid  general  huzzas — 
And,  if  dressing  would  do,  never  yet,  since  the  days 
When  Humphries  stood  vp  to  the  Israelite's  thumps, 
In  gold-spangled  stockings  and  touch-me-not  pumps, ' 
Has  tliere  any  thing  equall'd  ttse  fd-lals  and  tricks 
That  bedizen'd  old  Georg  v's  bang  up  tog  and  kicks!^ 
Having  first  shaken  daddies'^  (to  show,  Jackson  said, 
It  was  "pro  bono  Pimlico"^  chiefly  they  bled) 
Both  peeVd'^ — but,  on  laying  his  Dandy  belt  by, 
Old  Georgy  wentfloush,  and  his  backers  looked  sAy; 
For  they  saw,  notwithstanding  Crib's  honest  en- 
deavour 
To  tram  down  the  crummxj^  't  was  monstrous  as  ever! 
Not  so  with  Long  Sandy — prime  meat  every  inch — 
Which,  of  course,  made  the  Gnostics'  on  t'  other  side 

flinch ; 
And  Bob  W — ls — n  from  Southvvark,  the  gamest 

chap  there, 
Was  now  heard  to  sing-  out "  Ten  to  one  on  the  Bear!" 

First   Round.     Very  cautious — the  Kiddies  both 

sparr'd 
As  if  shy  of  the  scratch — while  the  Porpus  kept  guard 
O'er  his  beautiful  mug^  as  if  fearing  to  hazard 
One  damaging  touch  in  so  dandy  a  mazzard. 
Which  t'  other  observing />»;<  in  his  One-Two'° 
Between  Georgy's  left  ribs,  with  a  knuckle  so  true, 
That  had  liis  heart  lain  in  the  right  place,  no  doubt 
Buf  the  Bears  double-knock  would  have  rummaged  it 

out — 
As  it  was,  Rlaster  Gkorg  Y  came  souse  with  the  whack, 
And  there  sprawl'd,  like  a  turtle  luiu'd  (jueer  on  its 

back. 

Second   Round.     Rather  sprightly — the   Bear,  in 

high  gig. 
Took  a  fancy  to  flirt  with  the  Porpus's  wig ; 
And,  had  it  been  either  a  loose  tie  or  bob, 
He'd  have  ckno'd  it  clean  off,  but  't  was  glued  to  his 

nob. 
So  he  tipp'd  him  a  sr-Jlcr  they  call  "a  Spoil-Dandy" 
Full  plump  in  the  whisker.— i/(,s A  betting  on  Sandy 


1  U.V-. 

2  "The  fine  nmnly  form  of  Humphries  was  seen  to  ^real 
advantage;  he  h;id  on  a  pair  of  liiif.  Hannel  drawers,  while 
silk  slockin^^s,  llie  clocks  of  which  were  spangled  with  gold, 
and  pumps  lied  with  rihhoti." — (.Accounl  of  the  First  Batlle 
hetween  Iluinpliries  and  Memloza.) — 'J'he  epistle  which 
ll'jio|)hries  wrote  to  a  Crieiid,  communicating  the  result  of 
this  fight,  is  worihy  ol"  a  Laceda'inoni.ui. — "  fciir,  I  have  done 
the  .lew,  and  am  in  good  health.     Rich.  Humphries." 

3  Toir  and  AicA-',  coat  and  breeches. —  Tog  is  one  of  the 
e.iiit  words  which  Delcker  cites,  as  "  retaining  a  certain  salt 
and  tasting  of  some  wit  and  learning,"  being  derived  from 
the  Latin  luga.  4  Hands. 

5  Mr.  .luckson's  residence  is  in  Pirnlico. — This  gentleman 
fas  he  well  deserves  to  he  called,  from  ihe  correctness  ofhis 
conduct  and  the  peculiar  urbanity  of  his  manners)  forms  that 
useful  link  between  the  amateurs  and  the  professors  nf  pu- 
gilistw,  which,  when  broken,  it  will  be  diliicult,  if  noi  wholly 
ini|M)s8ible  to  replace.  6  Stripped. 

7  Fat.  8  Knowing  ones.  !)  Face. 

10  Two  blows  succeeding  each  other  rapidly.  Thus 
speaking  of  Randall)  "his  one-two  are  f'ut  in  with  th» 
§hari>ne.->8  of  lightning." 


TOM  CRIB'S  ME.AIORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 


101 


Third  Round.   Somewhat  slack — Georgy  tried  to 

irutke  play, 
Hut  his  own  vktualMiiff-offwe'  stood  mucli  in  the  way ; 
While  Sandy's  long  arms — long  enough  for  a  douse 
Ail  the  way  from  Kamschatka  to  Johnny  Groat's 

House — 
Kept  piiddlinff  about  the  poor  Porpus's  muns,^ 
Till  they  made  him  as  hut  and  as  c-oxs  as  Lent  buns!' 

f'oURTH    Round.     Georgy's  hach^rs  look'd  blank 

at  the  lad, 
VVIien  they  saw  vvluit  a  rum  knack  ofshiftimx'^  he  had — 
An  old  t\  trk  ()/' his  i/outli — but  the  Bear,  up  to  slum,'' 
Follow'd  close  on  my  gentleman,  kneading  his  crum 
As  expertly  as  any  Dead  Man''  about  town. 
All  the  way  to  the  ropes — where,  as  Georgy  went 

down, 
Sandy  lipp'd  him  a  dose  of  that  kind,  that,  when  taken. 
It  is  n't  the  stuff,  but  the  patient  that 's  shaken. 

Fifth  Rocnd.    Georgy  tried  for   his  aistomer's 

head — 
(The  part  of  Long  Sandy  that's  softest,  'tis  said  ; 
And  the  chat  is  that  Nap,  when  he  had  him  in  tow, 
Found  his  knowledge-box'   always  the  first  thing  to 

go) — 
Neat  milliHS  this  Round — what  with  clouts  on  the  7io6, 
Home  hits  in  the  bread-basket,^  clicks  in  the  gob,^ 
And  plumps  in  the  dtii/lights,'"  a  prettier  treat 
Between  two  Johnny  Raws' '  't  is  not  easy  to  meet. 

Sixth  Round.    Georgy's  friends  in  high  flourish 

and  hopes ; 
Jack  Eld — n,  with  others,  came  close  to  the  ropes — 
And  when  Georg'',  one  Ume,got  the  head  of  the  Bear 
Into  Chancery'-  Eld — N  sung  out  "keep  him  there  ," 
Bui  the  cull  broke  away,  as  he  would  from  Lob's 

pound,' ^ 
And,  after  a  ram  sort  of  ruffianing  Round, 
Like  cronies  they  hugg'd,  and  came  smack  to  the 

ground ; 
Poor  Sandy  the  undermost,  smother'd  and  spread 
Like  a  German  tuck'd  under  his  huge  feather-bed !  '* 


1  'I'he  9'omach  or  naunch.  2  Mouih. 

3  Hoi  cro>s  l)uiis. 

4  "Some  have  censured  shifting  as  ;in  uniiiruily  custom." 
— Boxidiia. 

5  Hiv.nbu^  or  gamvton. 

6  Dead  Men  an;  Bakers — so  called  from  the  loaves  false- 
ly pharg.d  to  thoir  master's  customers.  The  lollowinj:  is 
from  .111  Accnuiil  of  the  Biittle  fought  by  Nosworlhy,  the 
Riker,  with  Miirtin,  the  Jew: 

"  First  round.  Nosworthy,  on  the  alert,  planted  a  tre- 
mendous hit  on  Martin's  mouth,  which  not  only  drawed  forth 
n  profusion  of  claret,  bui  he  went  down. — Loud  shouting 
from  the  /)/ad  Afrn! 

'•Second  Round.  Nosworthy  began  to  serve  the  Jew  in 
«lylr,  and  liis  hits  told  most  tremendously.  Martin  made  a 
giiod  round  of  it,  but  fell  rather  dislnssed.  The  Dead  M,:)i 
now  opened  their  months  wide,  and  loudly  offered  six  to 
four  on  the  .Master  of  the  Hulls !" 

7  The  head.  8  The  stomach.  9  The  mouth. 
10  Th6  ey.-s.                         11  Novices. 

12  (Jetiing  the  head  under  the  arm,  for  the  purpose  of 
fibhinir. 

II?  A  prison. — See  Or.  Grey's  explanation  of  this  phrase 
in  his  notes  upon  Ilndibras. 

14  The  Germans  sleep  between  two  beds:  and  it  is  re- 
lated that  an  Irish  traveller,  upon  finding  a  feather  bed  thus 
laid  over  him,  took  it  into  his  head  I  hat  the  [leople  slept  in 
strata,  one  upon  the  other,  and  said  to  the  attendant,  "will 
you  be  good  enough  to  tell  the  gentleman  or  lady  that  is  to 
lie  over  me,  to  make  haste,  as  I  want  to  go  asleep!" 


.Ml  pitied  the  patient — and  loud  exclamations, 

"  My  eyes!"  and  "my  wig!"  spoke  the  general  sen 

sations; — 
'T  was  thought  Sandy's  soui  was  squeezed  out  of 

his  corjjiis. 
So  heavy  the  crush. — Two  to  one  on  the  Porjms! 

Nota  bene. — 'Twas  curioiis  to  see  all  the  pigeons 
Sent  ofl"  by  .lews,  Flashmen,  and  other  religions, 
To  office,'  with  all  due  despatch,  through  the  air, 
To  the  Bulls  of  the  alley  the  fate  of  the  Bear; 
(For  in  those  Fancy  timos,  't  is  your  hibi  in  the  mung. 
And   your  choppers   and  Jloorers,   that  govern   the 

Funds) — 
And  Consols,  which  had  been  all  day  shy  enough. 
When  't  was  known  in  the  Alley  that  Old  Blue  and 

Buff 
Had  been  down  on  the  Bear,  rose  at  once — up  to 

snuff!^ 

Seventh  Round.    Though  liot-pressUl,  and  as  flat 

as  a  crumpet. 
Long  Sandy  show'd  game  again,  scorning  to  rump  it ; 
And,  fixing  his  eye  on  the  Porpus's  snout,' 
Which  he  knew  that  Adonis  felt  peeri/'^  about. 
By  a  feint,  truly  elegant,  tipp'd  him  a.  punch  in 
The  critical  place,  where  he  citpfioardi  his  luncheon. 
Which  knock'd  all  the  rich  Curacoa  into  criuL<, 
And  douided  him  up,  like  a  bag  of  old  duels!'' 
There  he  lay  almost  fnimm a gejn' d^ — every  one  said 
'T  was  all  Dicky  with  Georgy,  his  mug  hung  so  dead 
And  't  was  only  by  calling  "your  wife.  Sir,  your  wife!" 
(As  a  man  would  cry  "fire!")  they  could  start  him 

to  life. 
T^p  he  rose  in  a  funk,''  lapped  a  toothful  of  brandy. 
And  to  it  again  — Any  odds  upon  Sandy. 

Eighth  Round.    Sandy  work'd  like  a  first-rate  cfc 

molisher : 
Bear  as  he  is,  yet  his  lick  is  no  polisher ; 
And,  take  him  at  ruffuning  work  (though  in  com 

mon,  he 
Hums  about  Peace  and  all  that,  like  a  Domine") 
Sandy  's  the  boy,  if  once  to  it  tbey  fall. 
That  will  play  up  old  gooseberry  soon  with  them  all. 
This  round  was  but  short — after  liumouriiig  awhile, 
He  proceeded  to  .terve  an  ejectment,  in  style, 
Upon  Georgy's  front  grinders,''  which  damaged  hit 

smile 
So  completely  that  bets  ran  a  hundred  to  ten 
The  Adonis  would  ne'er  fa.ih  /(«  iiory'"  again — 
And  'twas  pretty  to  see  him  lotJ'd  round  with  the 

shock. 
Like  a  cask  of  fresh  blubber  ir.  old  Greenland  Dock ! 


1  To  signify  by  leiter. 

2  This  phrase,  denoting  el'vatinn  of  varous  kinds,  is 
often  rendered  more  emphatic  by  such  adjuncts  as  "  Up  to 
snuff  and  twopenny. —  Up  to  snuff,  and  a  pinch  above  it,' 
etc.  etc. 

3  Nose.  4  Suspicious.  5  ClotlicB. 
echoaked.              7  Fright. 

8  .\  Parson. — Thus  in  that  truly  classical  song  the  Clr>» 
tening  of  Litile  Joey: 

When  Domine  had  named  the  Kid, 
Then  home  again  they  piked  it; 

A  fliisli  of  lisshining  was  (irepared 
For  every  one  that  liked  ii." 

9  Teeth.  10  Show  his  teeth. 


192 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


^>'iNTH  Round.  One  of  Georgy's  bright  ogles'  was 

put 
On  the  hankruptcy  list,  with  its  shop-windows  shut; 
While  the  other  soon  made  quite  as  tag-rag  a  show, 
.■Vll  r'minid  round  with  black,  like  the  Courier  in  v>oe! 
Much  alarm  was  now  seen  'mong  the  Israelite  Kids, 
And  B — R — G, — the  devil's  own  hoy  for  the  quids,^ — 
Despatch'd  off  a  pigeon  (the  species,  no  doubt, 
That  they  call  B — r — a's  Ato(;A--dove)  with  word  "to 

sell  out." 

From  this  to  the  finish  't  was  all  fiddle  faddle — 
Poor  Georgy,  at  last,  could  scarce    hold    up    his 

daddle — 
With    grinders    dislodg'd    and   with   peepers    both 

poacli'd,^ 
T  was   not   till   the  Tenth  Round  his   claret*  was 

broach  d: 
As  the  cellarage  lay  so  deep  down  in  the  fat, 
Like  his  old  M a's  purse,  't  was  cursed  hard  to 

get  at. 
But  a.  pelt  in  the  tmellers^  (too  pretty  to  shun, 
if  the  lad  even  could)  set  it  going  like  fun , 
And  this  being  the  first  Royal  Claret  let  flow. 
Since  Tom  took  the  Holy  Alliance  in  tow. 
The  uncorking  produced  much  sensation  about, 
As  bets  had  been  flush  on  the  first  painted  snout. 
Nota  bene. — A  note  was  wing'd  otfto  the  Square, 
Just  to  hint  of  this  awful  phlebotomy  there; — 
Bob  Gi.£g.so.\,  whose  wit  at  such  things  is  exceeding,^ 
Inclosing  a  large  sprig  of  "Loye  lies  a  bleeding  '" 

In  short,  not  to  dwell  on  each /acer  und  fall, 
Poor  Georgy  was  done  tip  in  no  time  at  all. 
And  his  spunkiest  backers  were  forced  to  sing  smalV 
In  vain  did  they  try  \.o  fig  up  the  old  lad  ; 
'T  was  like  \ising  persuaders^  upon  a  dead  praci;^ 
In  vain  Bogy'°  B — ck — gh — m  fondly  besought  him. 
To  show  like  himself,  if  not  game  at  least  bottom ; 
While  M — RL — Y,  that  very  great  Count,  stood  de- 
ploring 
He  had  n't  taught  Georgy  his  new  modes  of  torwg-;" 
All  useless — no  art  can  transmogrify  truth — 
It  was  plain  the  conceit  was  miU'd  out  of  the  youth. 
In  the  Twelfth  and  Last  Round  Sandy  fetch'd  him 

a  downer. 
That  Itift  him  all 's  one  as  cold  meat  for  the  Crowner ; '  • 
On  which  the  whole  popula.ccfiash'd  the  uihite  grin 
Like  a  basket  of  chips,  and  poor  Georgy  gave  m." 
While  the  fiddlers  (old  Potts  having  tipp'd  them  a 

bandy)'* 
Play'd  "(Jreen   grow  the   rushes,""'  in  honour   of 
Sandy !  ' 


I  Eyes.  -2  Money. 

;i  French  emit ;  Lpb  yeux  poches  au  beurre  noir. — See 
llic"  Dictionnaire  Comique. 

4  Blood.  5  The  nose. 

f)  Some  Bpecimons  of  Mr.  Gregson's  lyrical  talents  arc 
fi /cu  in  tlio  Ai)|)endix,  No.  4. 

7  To  be  liuinbleii  or  abashed.        8  Spurs.       9  Horse. 

10  For  the  meaning  of  this  lerm,  see  (irose. 

II  "The  ponderosity  of  Crib,  when  in  close  quarters  with 
nie  opponent,  evidently  bored  in  upon  him,"  etc. 

12  The  Coroner. 

13  The  ancient  Greeks  had  a  jihrasc  of  similar  structure 
tvfiyjo/tt,  rxdi). 

14  A  handy  or  cripple,  a  sixpence :  "  that  piece  being 
commonly  much  bent  and  distorted." — Gro.'ie. 

\^  The  well-known  compliment  paid  to  the  Emperor  of 
ttl)  Ihe  Kussias  by  some  Irish  musicians. 


Now,  what  say  your  Majesties  ? — is  n't  this  primf) 
Was  there  ever  French  Bulletin  half  so  sublime? 
Or  could  old  Nap  himself,  in  his  glory,'  have  wish'd 
To  show  up  a  fat  Gemman  more  handsomely  dish'd  ?■  - 
Oh,  bless  your  great  hearts,  let  them  say  what  tliej 

will, 
Nothing's  half  so  genteel  as  a  regular  Mill; 
And,  for  seflling  of  balances,  all  I  know  is, 
'T  is  the  way  Caleb  Baldwi,\  prefers  settling  liL^.^ 
As  for  backers,  you  've  lots  oi"  Big-wigs  about  Court 
That  will   back  you — the   raff  being  tired   of  'hat 

sport, — 
And  if  quids  should  be  wanting  to  make  the  match 

good. 
There's  B — r — ng,  the  Prince  of  Rag  Rhino,  who 

stood 
(T'  other  day,  you  know)  bail  for  the  seedy^  Righl 

Liners  : 
Who   knows   but,  if  coax'd,  he   may  shell  out   the 

shiners  ?* 
The  shiners  !  Lord,  Lord,  what  a  bounce  do  I  say  ! 
As  if  we  could  hope  to  have  rags  done  away, 
Or  see  any  thing  shining,  while  Van.  has  the  sway  ! 

As  to  training,  a  Court 's  but  a  rum  sort  of  station 
To  choose  for  that  sober  and  chaste  operation  ;* 
For,   as    old   Ikey    Pig^   said   of   Courts,   "by   de 

heavens, 
Dey  're  all,  but  the  Fives  Court,  at  sixes  and  sevens.'^ 
What  with  S7ioozing,''  high  gruhhing,^  and  guzzling 

like  Cloe, 
Your  Majesties,  pardon  me,  all  get  so  doughy, 
That  take  the  whole  kit,  down  from  Sandy  the  Bear 
To  him  who  makes  duds  for  the  Virgin  to  wear, 
I  'd  chuse  but  Jack  Scroggins,  and  teel  disappointed 
If  Jack  did  n't  tell  out  the  whole  Lord's  Anointed  ! 

But,  barring  these  nat'ral  defects  (which,  I  feel. 
My  remarking  on  thus  may  be  thought  uiigenteel,) 
And  allowing  for  delicate  fams,^  which  have  merely 
Been  handling  the  sceptre,  and  that,  too,  but  queerlij, 
I  'm  not  without  hopes,  and  would  .'^tand  a  tight  bet, 
That  I  '11  make  something^'-nme  of  your  Majesties  yet 
So,  say  but  the  word — if  you  're  up  to  the  freak. 
Let  us  have  a  prime  match  of  it,  Greek  against  Greek, 
And  I  'II  put  you  on  beef-steaks  and  sweating  ne.vl 

week — 
While,  for  teaching  you  every  perfection,  that  throws  a 
Renown  upon  milling — the  tact  of  Mendoza — 


I   See  A|)|ieiidi,\,  No.  T). 

•2  A  trilling  instance  of  which  is  recorded  in  Boxiana. — 
"  A/rocasoecuMcd  between  Culch  Biddwiii  and  the  keepers 
of  liie  gate.  The  latter  not  iainieiliately  recognizing  the 
rcternn  of  the  ring,  refused  his  veliicle  ailmittarice  withou* 
the  usual  tip  ;  but  Caleb,  finding  argufying  the  topic  would 
not  do,  instead  of  paying  them  in  the  ncm  coinage,  dealt 
out  another  sort  of  currency,  and,  although  drstituie  of  tne 
W.  W.  P.  it  had  such  an  insliintaneous  ertVct  upon  the 
.liihnny  Rams,  that  the  gate  flew  open,  and  Caleb  rode 
through  in  Triumph." 

3  Poor.  4  Produce  the  guineas. 

5  The  extreme  rigour,  In  those  respects,  of  the  ancient 
system  of  training,  may  be  inferred  from  the  instances  men 
tinned  by  /Elian.  Not  only  pugilists,  but  oven  players  on 
tlie  harp,  were,  during  the  time  of  their  piobalion,  o-uvouo-iaj 
x/ixins  x-xt  xTTiifOi. — J)c  Jlnimal.  lib.  6.  cap.  1. 

0  A  Jew,  so  niek-nnm(ul — one  of  the  Jiig  ones.  He  waji 
beaten  by  (Jrih,  on  Ulackhcatli,  in  the  year  I8((.'). 

7  Slec^pmg.  8  Feeding 

9  Fains  ur  f ambles,  hands. 


TOM  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 


l!l.3 


riie   charm,  by  which   Humphries'    contrived  to 

infuse 
The  Oiree  Graces  themselves  into  all  his  One-Twos — 
The  Twiihers    of   Johnson'-' — Big   Ben's'  hanging 

hrain-blows — 
The  wmving  of  Sam,*  that  turn'd  faces  to  rainbows — 
Old  (  orcoran's  clkh,''  that  laid  cuslomers  ^al — 
Paddv    Ryan  from  Dublin's''  renown'd  "coup  de 

Pat;" 
And  MY  own  improved  method  o^ tickling  a  rib, 
Vou  may  always  command — 

Your  devoted 

Tom  Crib. 


APPENDIX. 

No.  I. 

Account  of  a  Grand  Pugilistic  Meeting,  held  at  Bei,- 
ciier's  (Castle  Tavern,  Ilolhorn,)  Tom  Crib  in 
the  Chair,  to  take  into  consideration  the  propriety 
of  sending  Representatives  of  the  Fancy  to  Con- 
gress.— Extracted  from  a  letter  written  on  the  occa- 
sion by  Harry  Harmer,  the  Hammerer,'^  to  Ned 
Painter. 

A/.\'  cuiii;  TO  KAN 
Tov  iiXioJe*  axouiri)  THM.* 


UST  Friday  night  a  hang-up  set 

Of  milting  lilades  at  Belcher's  met ; 

All  high  bred  Heroes  of  the  Ring, 

Whose  very  gammon  would  delight  one  ; 
VMio,  nursed  beneath  The  Fancy's  wing. 

Show  all  her  feathers — but  the  v)hite  one. 

Brave  Tom,  the  Champion,  with  an  air' 
Almost  Corinthian,^  took  the  Chair; 
And  kept  the  Coves^  in  quiet  tune, 

By  showing  such  a  fist  of  mutton 
As,  on  a  Point  of  Order,  soon 

Would  take  the  shine  from  Speaker  Sutton. 


1  //Km/<Ar/es  was  called  "Tlie  Gentleman  Boxer."  Hv 
waa  (says  the  autlior  of  Boxiana)  remarkably  graceful,  ami 
his  iiltiluilcs  were  of  the  must  elegant  ami  impressive  nature. 

•2  Tom  Johnson,  who,  till  his  fight  with  Big  Ben,  w;is 
hailed  as  the  Chamiiion  of  England. 

'.i  Bin  Ilruin,  alias  Big  Ben,  wore  the  honours  of  the 
Chainpionshi|>  till  his  death. 

4  Datc/i  Slim,  a  hero,  of  whom  all  the  lovers  of  the 
Fancy  spe:ik,  as  the  Swedes  do  of  Charles  the  Twelfth, 
with  tears  in  their  eyes. 

5  Celehrated  Irish  pugilists. 

6  So  called  in  his  double  capacity  of  Boxer  and  Copper- 
smitli. 

7  The  passage  in  Pindar,  from  which  the  following  lines 
of"  Hark,  the  merry  Christ  Church  Bells,"  are  evidently 
burrowed : 

The  devil  a  man. 

Will  leave  his  can. 

Till  he  hears  the  Migtiti/  Tom. 

8  I.  e.  With  the  air,  almost,  of  a  man  of  rank  and  fashion. 
Indeed,  according  to  llurace's  notions  of  a  pccraire,  Tom's 
claims  111  it  are  indisputable; 

ilium  superare  pugnis 

J\robilem. 


And  all  the  lads  look'd  gay  and  bright, 
And  gin  and  genius  Hash'd  about, 

And  whosoe'er  grow  unpolite, 
The  well-bred  Champion  served  him  out 

As  we'd  been  summon'd  thus  to  qiialT 

Our  Deady'  o'er  some  .State  affairs. 
Of  course  we  mi.x'd  not  with  the  raff, 

But  had  the  Suiulay  room,  up  stairs. 
And  when  we  well  had  sluiced  our  gobs,' 

'Till  all  were  in  prime  twig  for  chatter, 
To.M  rose,  and  to  our  learned  uol>s 

Propounded  thus  the  important  matter: — 

"  Gcmmen,"  says  he — Tom's  words,  you  kno» 
Come  like  his  hitting,  strong  but  slow — 
"  Seeing  as  how  those  Swells,  that  made 
Old  Boney  quit  the  hammering  trade 
(All  prime  ones  in  their  own  conceit,) 
Will  shortly  at  the  Co.\gress  meet — 
(Some  place  that  's  hke  the  Finish,'  lads, 
Where  all  your  high  pedestrian  pads, 
That  have  been  up  and  out  all  night. 

Running  their  rigs  among  the  rattlers,* 
At  morning  meet,  and — honour  bright — 

Agree  to  share  the  blunt  and  tattlers!^) - 
Seeing  as  how,  I  say,  these  Swells 

Are  soon  to  meet,  by  special  summons. 
To  chime  together  hke  '  hell's  belh,' 

And  laugh  at  all  mankind  as  rum  ones — 
I  see  no  reason,  when  such  things 
Are  going  on  among  these  Kings, 
Why  We,  who  'rfe  of  the  Fancy  lay,^ 
As  dead  hands  at  a  mill  as  they. 
And  quite  as  ready,  after  it, 
To  share  the  spoil  and  grab  the  bit,'' 
Should  not  be  there  to  join  the  chat. 
To  see,  at  least,  what  fun  they're  at, 
And  help  their  Majesties  to  find 
New  modes  of  punishing  mankind. 
What  say  you,  lads  ?  is  any  spark 
Among  you  ready  for  a  lark  ^ 
To  this  same  Congress  ? — Caleb,  Joe, 
Bill,  Bob,  what  say  you  ? — yes  or  no?" 
Thus  spoke  the  Cha.mpig.n,  Prime  of  men. 

And  loud  and  long  we  cheer'd  his  prattle 
With  shouts,  that  thunder'd  through  the  ken. 

And  made  Tom's  Sunday  tea-things  rallie  ! 

A  pause  ensued — 'till  cries  of"GREGSO.\" 
Brought  Bob,  the  Poet,  on  his  legs  soon — 
(My  eyes,  how  prettily  Bob  writes  ! 
"Talk  of  your  Camels,  Hogs,  and  Crahs,^" 


1  Deady's  gin,  otherwise  Deady's  brilliant  stark  naked 

2  Hail  drunk  heartily. 

H  A  public-house  in  Covent-Garden,  memorable  as  ons 
of  the  places  where  the  Gentlemen  U<:predalor8  oflhc  ni;;lit 
(the  Holy  League  of  the  RoadJ  meet,  early  in  the  morning, 
fur  the  pu.pose  of  sharing  llie  spod,  and  Brrnnging  olhei 
matters  connected  with  their  most  Christian  .Mliunce. 

4  Robbing  travellers  In  chaises,  etc. 

5  The  nioney  and  watches 

(i  Particular  pursuit  or  enterprize.  Thus,  "he  is  on  me 
/.;■'/-/(;••,"  i-  e.  stopping  children  with  parcels  and  robbing 
lliem — the  kcn-crack-lajj,  housi>-breaking,  etc.  etc. 

7  To  seize  the  money. 

8  A  frolic  or  party  o   Pleasure.  9  House. 

10  By  this  curiuiis  zoological  assemblage  (something  lik» 
Berni's  "  porci,  e  pueti,  e  [liil  loehi,')  the   writer   meant 
suppose,  Messrs.  Caiii|;bell,  Oubbc,  and  Hu;^. 


*f 


194 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  twenty  more  such  Pidcock  frights — 

Bob's  v'orih  a  liundred  of  these  dabs: 
For  a  short  iuni  up'  at  a  sonnet, 

A  round  of  odes,  or  Pastoral  hoiU, 
All  Lomhard-»treei  to  nine-pence  on  it,^ 

Bobby's  the  boy  would  clean  them  out!) 
"  Gemmen,"  says  he — (Bob's  eloquence 

Lies  much  in  C — nn — g's  hne,  't  is  said  ; 
For,  when  Bob  can't  atford  us  sense, 

He  tips  us  poetry,  instead  )- 
"  Gemmen,  before  I  touch  the  matter, 
On  which  I'm  here  had  up  for  patter,^ 
A  few  short  words  I  first  mast  spare, 
To  him,  THE  Hero,  that  sits  there. 
Swigging  Blue  Ruin,'^  in  that  chair. 
(Hear — hear) — His  fame  I  need  not  tell. 

For  that,  my  friends,  all  England's  loud  with ; 
But  this  I'll  say,  a  civiler  Swell 

I'd  never  wish  to  blow  a  clouxV'  with  !" 

At  these  brave  words,  we,  every  one, 

Sung  out  "  hear—  hear" — and  clapp'd  like  fun. 

For,  knowing  how,  on  Moulsey's  plain. 

The  CiiAMPioN/fWfZ  the  Poet's  nob,^ 
Th.s  huttering-up,''  against  the  grain. 

We  thouglit  was  cursed  genteel  in  Bob. 
And  liere  again,  we  may  remark 

Bob's  likeness  to  the  Lisbon  jobber' — 
For,  though  all  know  ihnljlashy  spark 

From  C — st— R — gii  received  a  nohber, 
That  made  him  look  like  sjieaking  Jerry, 
And  laid  him  up  in  ordinary,^ 
'i'et  now,  such  loving  prtZs'°  are  they, 

That  Georgy,  wiser  as  he  's  older. 
Instead  of  facing  C — st — R — gh. 

Is  proud  to  be  his  bottle-holder 

But  to  return  to  Bob's  harangue, 
'Twas  deuced  fine — no  slum  or  sknig — 
But  such  as  you  could  smoke  the  bard  in, — 
All  full  oi flowers,  like  Common  Garden, 
With  lots  oi figures,  neat  and  bright. 
Like  Mother  Salmon's — wax-work  quite  ! 

The  next  was  Turner — nobbing  Ned — 
Who  put  his  right  leg  forth,"  and  said, 
"  Tom,  I  admire  your  notion  much  ; 

And  please  t/ic  pigs,  if  well  and  hearty, 
I  somehow  thinks  I'll  have  a  touch. 

Myself,  at  this  said  Congress  party. 


1  A  turn-up  is  properly  a  casual  and  hasty  set-to. 

2  More  usually  "Loiiibaid-streut  to  a  China  orange." 
1  here  are  several  of  these  fanciful  forms  of  heiting — 
"  Chelsea  Colleg(!  to  a  ceiitry-box,''  "  Ponipey's  Pillar  to  u 
Blick  of  sealing-wax,"  eic.  etc. 

3  Talk.  4  Gin. 

a  To  smoke  a  pipe.  This  phrase  is  highly  poetical,  and 
explains  what  Homer  meant  by  the  e/iithei,  vsce^nj-fpsriit. 

6  In  the  year  1H08,  when  Ckib  defeated  Grehson. 

7  Praising  or  tlatieriHg. 

8  These  parallels  between  great  ;nen  are  truly  edifying. 

!l  Sea  cant — a  good  deal  of  which  has  been  introduced 
jito  the  regular  Flash,  by  such  classic  heroes  as  Scroggins, 
Crockey,  etc. 

10  Fri-nds. 

11  Ned's  fiivourite  rro/rn-omena  in  battle  as  well  ns  in  do- 
liiile.  As  this  position  is  said  to  render  him  "  very  hard  to 
be  got  ai,"  I  would  reconiiriend  poor  Mr.  V — ns-t — t  to  try 
il  as  a  last  resource,  in  bis  next  set-to  with  Mr.  '1' — rn — y. 


Though  no  great  shakes  at  learned  chat. 

If  settling  Euro) «  be  the  sport. 
They'll  find  I'm  just  the  boy  for  that. 

As  tipping  settlers'  is  my  forte.'" 

Then  up  rose  Ward,  the  veteran  Joe, 
And,  'twixt  his  whifls,^  sugg<!sted  briefly 

That  but  a.  feii;  at  first,  should  go. 

And  those,  the  light-weight  Gemmen  chiefly 

As  if  too  many  "Big  ones  went, 
They  might  alarm  the  Continent ! !" 

Joe  added,  then,  that  as  't  was  known 

The  R — G — T,  bless  his  wig  !  had  shown 

A  taste  for  Art  (hke  Joey's  own') 

And  meant,  'mong  other  sporting  things, 

To  have  the  heads  of  all  those  Kings, 

And  conqu'rors,  whom  he  loves  so  dearlj 

Taken  off — on  canvas,  merely  ; 

God  forbid  the  other  mode  ! — 

He  (Joe)  would  from  his  own  abode 

{The  dragon'^ — famed  for  Fancy  works, 

Drawings  of  Heroes,  and  of — corks) 

Furnish  such  Gemmen  of  the  Fist,^ 

As  would  complete  the  R — g — t's  list. 

"Thus,  Champion  Tom,"  said  he,  "would  look 

Right  well,  hung  up  beside  the  Duke — 

Tom's  noddle  being  (if  its  frame 

Had  but  the  gilding)  much  the  same — 

And,  as  a  partner  for  Old  Bin, 

Bill  Gibbons  or  myself  would  do." 

Loud  cheering  at  this  speech  of  Joey's- - 
Who,  as  the  Dilettanti  know,  is 
(With  all  his  other  learned  parts) 
Down  as  a  hammer"^  to  the  Arts ! 

Old  liiLL,  the  Black,' — you  know  him,  Neddy- 
(With  mng,^  whose  hue  the  ebon  shames. 


1  A  kind  of  blow,  whose  sedative  nature  is  sufficient!} 
explained  by  the  name  it  bears. 

2  Joe  being  particularly  fond  of  "  that  costly  and  gentlo- 
rnaniike  smoke,"  as  Dukker  calls  it.  The  talent  which  Joe 
poss.  sses  of  uttering  Flash  w  bile  he  smokes — "  ex  fuiiio 
dace  Iticem" — is  very  remarkable. 

3  Joe's  taste  for  pictures  hits  been  thus  commemorated 
by  the  great  Historian  of  Pugilism — "  If  Joe  Ward  cannot 
boa.st  of  a  spli'udid  gallery  of  pictures  formed  of  selections 
tVoin  the  great  foreign  masters,  be  can  sport  such  a  col- 
lection of  native  subjects  as,  in  many  instances,  must  be 
considered  unique.  Portraits  of  nearly  all  the  pugilists 
(many  of  them  in  whole  lengths  and  attitudes)  are  to  be 
found,  from  the  dtiys  of  F^igg  and  Bravghtun  down  to  the 
present  period,  with  likenesses  of  many  distinguished  ama- 
teurs, among  whom  are  Captain  Harclay,  the  cins^ic  Dr 
Johnson,  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  etc.  His  parlour  is 
decorated  in  a  similar  manner;  and  his  partiality  for  pictures 
has  gone  so  far,  that  even  the  tap-room  contains  many  ex- 
cellent subjects!" — Boxiuna,  vol.  i.  p.  4:U. 

4  The  (Ireen  Dragim,  King-street,  near  Swallow-street, 
"  where  (says  the  same  author)  any  person  may  have  an 
opportiuiity  of  verifying  what  has  been  asserted,  in  viewing 
H'ard's  Cabinet  of  the  Fancy  /" 

5  Among  the  portraits  is  one  of  Bill  Gibbons,  by  a 
pupil  of  the  great  Fusoli,  which  gave  occasion  to  the  follow 
iiig  impromptu: — 

Though  you  are  one  of  Fuseli's  scholars, 
1'liis  (|uestion  I'll  dare  to  propose, — 

How  the  devil  could  you  use  ?zi(itcr-colour8, 
In  painting  Bill  Gibbons's  nose? 

6  To  be  down  to  any  thing  is  pretty  much  the  same  as  b« 
ing  up  to  it,  and  "down  as  a  hammer  is,"  of  course,  »* 
int.nisivnm  of  the  i)hraso. 

7  Ricii.MOND.  8  Facn 


TOM  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 


lO.J 


Reflected  in  a  pint  of  Deadi/, 

Liive  a  large  Collier  in  the  Thatnes) 
Tliotigli  somewhat  cut,'  just  bogg'd  to  say 
He  hoped  that  Swell,  Lord  C — st — R — gii, 
Would  show  the  Lily- Whiles''  fair  play; 
'  And  not — as  once  he  did" — says  Bill, 

"  Among  those  Kings,  so  high  and  sqiiirish. 
Leave  us,  poor  Blacks,  to  fare  as  ill 
As  if  we  were  but  pigs,  or  Irish  I" 

Bill  Gibbons,  rising,  wish'd  to  know 
Whether  'twas  meant  hi.i  Bull  should  go — 


1  Cut,  tipsy  ;  anollier  remarkable  instance  of  llie  BJini- 
larlty  tliat  exists  beliveeii  l\n:  laiigiiaiju  of  ihe  Classics  anil 
,liat  of  Si.  Cili's's. — Ir;  Miirlial  \vc  liml  "Incaluil  (j\ioties 
seuciii  vena  niero."  E^nnius,  too,  lias  "  sanciavit  se  flore 
Lilieri ;"  and  .Iiislin,  '^  lirslervn  niiro  saucii." 

2  I.iiy-  Wlules  (or  Snuw-balls,)  Negroes. 


"  As,  should  their  3Iajestios  be  dull," 
Says  Bill,  "  there  's  nothing  like  a  Bull :' 
"  And  blow  me  ti-iht," — (Bill  Giiibo.ns  ne'er 
In  all  his  days  was  known  to  swear. 
Except  light  oaths,  to  grace  his  speeches, 
Like  "duxh  my  wig,"  or  "  burn  my  breeches.'") 

"  Blow  me — " 
— Just  then,  the  Chair,^  already 
Grown  rather  lively  with  the  Deady, 


1  Bill  Gibbons  has,  I  believe,  been  lately  rivalled  in  lhi« 
pecniiar  Walk  of  the  Fancy,  by  die  BUpeiior  nieriui  of  Tom 
(Jiiver's  (iamc  Bull. 

2  Fioni  Ibe  ri-.spect  wliich  I  bear  to  all  sorts  of  dignila- 
rics,  and  my  unwillingness  to  meddle  wllli  Iho  "  imputeu 
woaknessi's  of  the  great,"  I  have  been  induced  to  suppreni 
the  riMiiainder  of  Ibis  detail. 


No.  11. 


Virgil.  JEueii.  Lib.  v.  426. 

CoNSTiTiT  in  digitos  extemplo  arrectus  uterque, 
Brachiaque  ad  siiperas  interritus  extulit  auras. 
.Vbduxere  retro  longe  capita  ardiia  ab  ictu  : 
Immisccntque  manus  manibiis,  pugnamque  lacessunL 
llle,  pedum  melior  motu,  frctusque  juventa: 
Hie,  membris  et  mole  valens; 

sed  tarda  trementi 
Genua  labanl,  vastos  quatit  a;ger  aniielitus  artus. 

Miilta  viri  nequicquam  inter  se  vuinera  jactaiit, 
Miilta  cavo  latci  ingeiiiinaiit,  et  pectore  vastos 
Dam  sonitus  ;  ^rratque  aures  et  tempora  circum 
Crebra  manus    dure  crepitant  sub  vulnere  mala;. 


Stat  gravis  Entellus,  nisuqiie  immotus  eodem, 
C  orpore  tela  modo  atque  oculis  vigilantibus  exit. 


llle,  velut  celsam  oppngnat  qui  molibus  urbcm, 
Aut  montana  sedet  circum  castella  sub  armis  ; 
Nunc  hos,  nunc  illos  aditus,  omnemque  pererrat 
Arte  locum,  et  variis  assultibus  irritus  urget. 


No.  II. 


Account  of  the  Milling-match  between  Entellus  and 
Dares,  translated  from  Ike  Fifth  Book  of  the  jEneid, 

BY  ONE  OF  THE  FANCY. 

WiTU  daddies'  high  upraised,  and  itob  held  back, 
In  awful  prescience  of  the  impending  thwack. 
Both  Kiddies^  stood — and  with  prelusive  spar. 
And  light  manoeuvring,  kindled  up  the  war! 
The  One,  in  bloom  of  youth — a  light-weight  blade — 
The  Other,  vast,  gigantic,  as  if  made. 
Express,  by  Nature  for  the  hammering  trade; 
But  aged,'  slow,  with  stiff  limbs,  tottering  much. 
And  lungs,  that  lack'd  the  bellows-mender's  touch. 

Yet,  sprightly  to  the  Scratch  both  Buffers  came, 
While  ribhers  rung  from  each  resounding  frame, 
And  divers  digs,  and  many  a  ponderous  pelt. 
Were  on  their  broad  hread-liasktts  heard  and  felL 
With  roving  aim,  but  aim  that  rarely  miss'd, 
Round  lugs  and  ogles^  flew  the  frequent  fist ; 
While  showers  o( facers  told  so  deadly  well. 
That  the  crush'd  jaw-bones  crackled  as  they  fel' ! 
But  firmly  stood  Entellus — and  still  bright. 
Though  bent  by  age,  with  all  The  Fancy's  light, 
Stopp'd  with  a  skill,  and  rallied  with  a  fire 
The  Immortal  Fancy  could  alone  inspiie  ! 
While  Dares,  shifting  round,  with  looks  of  thought. 
An  opening  to  the  Cove's  huge  carcase  sought 
(Like  General  Preston,  in  that  awful  hour. 
When  on  one  leg  he  hopp'd  to — take  the  Tower  ,'• 
And  here,  and  there,  explored  with  active ^fH* 
And  skilful/c/zi*,  some  guardlcss  pass  to  win, 
And  prove  a  boring  guest  when  once  let  in. 


1  Hands. 

2  Fellows,  usually  yourtcr  fellows. 

3  Macroliius,  in  bis  eX|ilanatioii  of  Ibe  various  properlies 
of  Ibe  number  Seven,  says,  lliat  the  lifh  IIubdomas<ir'nairb 
life  (tlie  ajre  cf  '.ia/  is  ihe  completion  of  bis  strength;  thai 
tberel'ore  pugilists,  if  not  siiceessl'ul,  usually  gi'e  over  tlieir 
professiiin  at  that  time. — ''Inter  pugiles  di  niijue  Inec  con- 
suetude coiisurvatur,  ut  quos  jam  coroiiiivcrc  victoria',  njhi: 
dc  se  amplius  in  incromenlis  viriuni  spuri'nt;  ipii  viro  e» 
purles  biijiis  gloria-  usijue  illo  nvanserunl,  a  prolessiuiie  di< 

edanl."     In  Somii.  Scip   Lib.  1. 

4  Ears  and  Eyes.  >  Ann. 


196 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Obtendit  dextram  insurgens  Entellus,  et  alte 
Extulil :  ille  ictum  venieiitem  a  vertice  velox 
Pra;vidit,  celerique  elapsiis  corpore  cessit. 
Entellus  vires  in  venium  eff'udit,  et  ultro 
Ipse  gravis  graviterque  ad  terrain  pondere  vasto 
Concidit:  ut  quondam  cava  concidit,  aut  Erymantho, 
Ant  Ida  in  magna,  radicibus  eruta  pinus. 


Consnrgunt  studiis  Teucri  et  Trinacria  pubes  : 
It  clamor  coelo  ;  primusque  accurrit  Acestes 
/EquEEvumque  ab  humo  miserans  attoliit  amicum. 


At  non  tardatus  casu,  neque  territus  heros 
Acrior  ad  pugnam  redit,  ac  vim  suscitat  ira  : 
Turn  pudor  incendit  vires,  et  conscia  virtus  ; 
Praecipitemque  Daren  ardens  agit  a;quore  toto, 
Nunc  dextra  ingeminans  ictus,  nunc  illg  sinistra. 


Ncc  mora,  nee  requies  :  quam  multa  grandine  nimbi 
Ci'.lminibus  crepitant,  sic  densis  ictibus  heros 
Creber  utraque  manu  pulsat  versatque  Dareta. 

Turn  pater  jEneas  procedere  longius  iras, 
Et  sKvire  animis  Entellum  baud  passus  acerbis ; 
Sed  finem  imposuit  pugnse,  fessumque  Dareta 
Eripuit,  mulcens  dictis,  ac  lalia  fatur : 

Infelix  !  qua>  tanta  animum  dementia  cepit? 
Non  vires  alias,  conversaque  numina  sentis  ? 
Cede  Deo. 


Dixitque,  et  prrelia  voce  diremit. 
Ast  iil'jm  fidi  eequales,  genua  sgra  trahentem, 
Jact.intemque  uiroque  caput,  crassumque  cruorem 
Ore  rejectantcm,  mixtosque  in  sanguine  dentes, 
Ducunt  ad  naves. 


And  now  Entellus,  with  an  eye  that  plann'd 
Pu7iishing  deeds,  high  raised  his  heavy  liand  , 
But,  ere  the  sUdge  came  down,  young  Dares  spied 
Its  shadow  o'er  his  brow,  and  slipp'd  aside — 
So  nimbly  slipp'd,  that  the  vain  nohhcr  pass'd 
Through  empty  air ;  and  He,  so  high,  so  vast, 
Whodealtthe  stroke,  came  thundering  to  the  ground!- 
Not  B — CK — GH — M  himself,  with  bulkier  sound,' 
Uprooted  from  the  field  of  Whiggish  glories. 
Fell  sotise,  of  late,  among  the  astonish'd  Tories  l^ 
Instant  the  Riiisr  was  broke,  and  shouts  and  yells 
From  Trojan  Fkishmen  and  Sicilian  Swells 
Fill'd  the  wide  heaven — while,  touch'd  with  grief  to 

see 
His  pal,'  well-known  through  many  a  lark  and  spree,'' 
Thus  rumlif floor' d,  the  kind  Acestes  ran, 
And  pitying  raised  from  earth  the  game  old  man, 
Uncow'd,  undamaged  to  the  sporl  he  came. 
His  limbs  all  muscle,  and  his  soul  all  flame. 
The  memory  of  his  milling  glories  past. 
The  shame  that  aught  but  death  should  see  him  grass'ci. 
All  fired  the  veteran's  p/urA' — with  fury  flush'd, 
Full  on  his  light-limb'd  ciislvmer  he  rush'd, — 
And  hammering  right  and  left,  with  ponderous  swing,' 
RuJJia7i'd  the  reeling  youngster  round  the  Ring — 
Nor  rest,  nor  pause,  nor  breathing-time  was  given, 
But,  rapid  as  the  rattling  hail  from  heaven 
Beats  on  the  house-top,  showers  of  Randall's  shot 
Around  the  Trojan's  lugs  flew  peppering  hot ! 
'Till  now  .-Eneas,  fill'd  with  anxious  dread, 
Rush'd  in  between  them,  and,  with  words  well-bred, 
Preserved  alike  the  peace  and  Dares'  head. 
Both  which  the  veteran  much  inclined  to  break — 
Then  kindly  thus  the  punish'd  youth  bespake  : 
"  Poor  Johnny  Raw!  what  madness  could  impel 
So  ru7H  a  Flat  to  face  so  prime  a  Sv:ell  7 
See'st  thou  not,  boy,  the  Fancy,  heavenly  Maid, 
Herself  descends  to  this  great  Hajnmerer'g  aid, 
And,  singling  him  from  all  her  flash  aaorers. 
Shines  in  his  hits,  and  thunders  in  his^oorers? 
Then,  yield  thee,  youth — nor  such  a  spooney  be. 
To  think  mere  man  can  mill  a  Deity  !" 

Thus  spoke  the  Chief— and  now,  the  scrimage  o'er, 
His  fliithful  7J«/s  the  d.one-np  Dakes  bore 
Back  to  his  home,  with  tottering  gam^,  sunk  heart. 
And  muns  and  noddle  pink'd  in  every  part.' 


1  As  the  uproMted  trunk  in  the  original  is  said  to  he 
"cava,"  the  epithet  here  ought,  perhaps,  to  be  " hollawer 
sound." 

a  1  trust  my  conversion  of  the  Erymaiithian  pine  into  hit 
L — (Is — 1)  will  he  tlionght  hap|iy  and  ingunious.  It  was  sug 
gested,  indeed,  hy  the  recollection  that  Erytnantlius  waj 
also  fiunons  for  another  sort  of  natural  production,  »ery 
common  in  «ociely  at  all  periods,  and  which  no  one  o'j* 
Hercules  eve.  seems  to  have  known  how  to  manage. 
Though  even  ne  is  described  by  Valerius  Flaccus  as — 
"  ErymanthiEi  sudantcia  pondere  monstri." 

3  Friend.  4  Party  of  pleasure  and  frolic. 

5  This  phrase  is  but  too  applicable  to  the  round  hitting 
of  the  ancients,  who,  it  appears  by  the  engravings  in  Mer- 
curialts  de  Art.  Gymnast,  knew  as  VM\ii  of  our  strn i ght  fur- 
Mats  mode  as  the  uninitiated  Iritili  of  the  present  day.  I 
hav«,  l)V  the  by,  discovered  some  errors  in  Merciirialis,  as 
well  as  in  two  other  modern  authors  upon  Pugilism  (viz 
Petrus  I'"aher,  in  his  .Agonisticon,  and  that  indel'atigable 
classic  antHpiary,  M.  Rurettc,  in  his"  M(5nu)ire  pour  servir  a 
I'Histoire  dii  Pugilat  des  Anciens,")  which  I  shall  have  tha 
pleasure  of  pointing  out  in  my  forthcoming  "  Parallel." 

6  A  favourite  blow  of  tiik  Nonpariei/s,  90  called 

7  There  are  two  o'  three  Epigrams  in  the  Greek  Antho 


TOM  lUibs  .ME.MOUIAL  TO  CONGFiKSS. 


197 


tVliile  from  his  goh  the  guggling  claret  gush'd, 
And  lots  of  griiide  »,  from  their  sockets  crush'd, 
Foith  with  the  crimson  tide  in   rattling  fragments 
rush'd  ' 


No.  III. 


An  illustrative  of  the  Noblu  Luril's  visit  to  Congress,  I  take 
llio  iil)erly  of  giving  the  two  following  pieces  of  poetry, 
winch  appcarcil  some  time  since  in  the  Morning  Chroni- 
cle, and  which  are  from  the  pen,  I  suspect,  of  that  face- 
tious Historian  of  the  Fudges,  Mr..Tlioma8  Brown,  the 
Younger. 


LINES 

ilN  THE  DEPARTURE  OK  LORDS  C — ST — R — GH    AND 
ST — W — RT  FOR  THE  CONTINENT. 
."it  Paris'  et  Fratres,  el  (jui  rapuere  sub  illis 
Vix  tcniiere  minus  (scis  hoc,  Menelae)  nefandas. 

Ovid.  Mttam.  lib.  13.  v.  20-2. 

Go,  Brothers  in  wisdom — go,  bright  pair  of  Peers, 
And  may  Cupid  and  Fame  fan  you  both  with  their 
pinions  ! 
The  One,  the  best  lover  we  have — of  his  yearn. 
And  the  other  Prime  Statesman  of  Britain's  domi- 
nions. 

Go,  Hero  of  Chancery,  blest  with  the  smile 

Of  the  Misses  that  love  and  the  monarchs  tliat 
prize  thee ; 

Forget  i\Irs.  Ang — lo  T — yl — R  awhile. 

And  all  tailors  but  him  who  so  well  dandifies  thee. 

Never  mind  how  thy  juniors  in  gallantry  scoff. 
Never  heed  how  perverse  affidavits  may  thwart 
thee, 

But  show  the  young  Misses  thou  'rt  scholar  enough 
To  translate  "  Amor  Fortis,"  a  love  about  fort  i/I 

And  sure  'tis  no  wonder,  when,  fresh  as  young  Mars, 

From  the  battle  you  came,  with  the  Orders  ydu'd 

earii'd  in  't. 

That  sweet  Lady  Fanny  should  cry  out  "  my  stars  I' 

And  forget  that  the  Moon,  too,  was  some  way  con- 

cern'd  in 't. 


Iciiiy,  ridiculing  the  state  of  mutilation  ami  disfigurement  tn 
winch  tlie  pugilists  were  reduced  by  their  comb^its.  Tlie 
following  four  lines  are  from  an  Epigram  by  Lucillius,  lib.  2. 

Koo-Kii'Ov  i|  xiTxKYt  O-OU,  ArroXKofxviS,  yiyiv<;Txi, 
H  r  jLiv  cntrOKOTTjiv  aviKxfijiv  tx  xxtcu. 

TfztfAfAXTX  Ttav  ^uptxjuv  Au^*:*  icxt  (^pyJ'*». 
I.iteniUv,  as  follows: — "  'I'hy  head,  O  Apollophancs,  is  per- 
forated like  a  sieve,  or  like  the  leaves  of  an  old  worin-eaten 
book  ;  and  the  numerous  scars,  both  straight  and  cross- 
ways,  which  have  been  left  upon  thy  pate  by  the  ceslus, 
very  much  resemble  the  score  of  a  Lydian  or  Phrygian  piece 
of  music."  Periphrastically,  thus: 
Vour  noddle,  dear  Jack,  full  of  holes  like  a  sieve. 

Is  so  figured,  and  dotted,  and  scratch'd,  I  declare, 
By  vour  customers'  fists,  one  would  almost  believe 

They  had  punch'd  a  whole  verse  of  "The  Woodpecker" 
there  I 

It  ou:;ht  to  be  mentioned,  that  the  word  "punching^'  is 
used  both  in  boxing  and  music-engraving. 

1  Ovid  is  mi.^taken  in  saying  that  it  was  "  Ai  Paris"  thise 
lapacious  transactions  took  place — we  should  road  At 
Vienna." 


For  not  the  great  R— o— t  himself  has  endured 
('J'hough  1  've  seen  him  with  badges  and  orders  aL 
shine. 

Till  he  look'd  like  a  house  that  was  over  insured,) 
A  much  heavier  burthen  of  glories  than  thine. 

And  'tis  plain,  when  a  wealthy  young  lady  so  mad  is, 
Or  any  young  ladies  can  so  go  astray. 

As  to  m  irry  old  Daridies  that  might  be  their  daddies, 
Tiie  skirs'  are  in  fault,  niy  Lord  tJT — w — rt,  not 
they ! 

Thou,  too,  t'  other  brotJ.er,  thriu  Tully  of  Tories, 

Thou  Maluprop  Cicero,  over  vvliose  lips 
Such  a  smooth  rigmarole  about   "  monarchs,"  and 
"glories," 
And   " nuUidge,"''  and  "features,"    like   syllabub 
shps. 

Go,  haste,  at  the  Congress  pursue  thy  vocation 
Of  adding  fresh  sums  to  this  National  Debt  of  ours, 

Leaguing  with  lings,  who  for  mere  recreation. 
Break  promises,  fast  as  your  Lordship  breaks  me- 
taphors. 

Fare  ye  well,  fare  ye  well,  Dright  Pair  of  Peers  I 
And  may  Cupid  and  Fame  fan  you  both  with  their 

pinions  ! 
The  One,  the  best  lover  wc  have — of  his  years. 
And  the  Other,  Prime  Statesman  of  Britain's  do- 
minions. 


TO  TIIE  SHIP  IN  WHICH  LORD  C— ST-R- 
— GH  SAILED  FOR  THE  CONTINENT 

Imitated  from  Horace,  Lib.  1.  Ode  3 

So  may  my  Lady's  prayers  prevail,' 

And  C — N.\ — g's  too,  and  lucid  Br — gge's, 
And  Eld — n  beg  a  favouring  gale 

From  Eolus,  that  older  Bags,* 
To  speed  thee  on  thy  destined  way, 
Oh  ship,  that  bear'st  our  C — ST — R — gh,' 
Our  gracious  R — g — t's  better  half," 

.\nd,  therefore,  quarter  of  a  King — 
(As  Van,  or  any  other  calf, 

May  find  without  much  figuring.) 
Waft  him,  oh  ye  kindly  breezes, 

Waft  this  Lord  of  place  and  pelf. 
Any  where  his  Lordship  pleases, 

Though  't  were  to  the  D — 1  himself! 

Oh,  what  a  face  of  brass  was  his,' 
Who  first  at  Congress  show'd  his  phiz — 


1    "  When  weak  women  go  asliay, 
The  stars  are  more  in  fault  than  they." 
2  It  is  thus  the  Noble  Lord  pronounces  ihe  word  "knO'» 
ledgt," — deriving  it,  as  far  as  his  own  share  is  conceroad 
from  the  Latin  "  nuUus." 

3  Sic  te  diva  potens  Cypri, 

Sic  fratres  Helen:e,  lucida  sidera, 
Ventorumque  regal  pater. 
4  See  a  description  of  the  airxci,  or  Bags  of  Eolu»  in 
the  Odyssey,  lib.  10. 

5  Navis,  quiE  tibi  creditum 

Debes  Virgilinm. 

6  .AniniiB  dimidium  meum. 

7  Illi  robur  et  a-s  triplex 

Circa  pectus  erai,  qui,  etc. 


198 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  sicrn  away  the  Rights  of  Man 

To  Russian  threats  and  Austrian  juggle ; 
And  leave  the  sinking  African' 

To  fall  without  one  saving  struggle— 
'Mong  ministers  from  North  and  South, 

To  show  his  lack  of  shame  and  sense, 
And  hoist  the  sign  of  "  Bull  and  3Iouth" 

For  blunders  and  for  eloquence ! 

In  vain  we  wish  our  Sees,  at  home^ 
To  mind  their  papers,  desks,  and  shelves, 

If  silly  Sees,  abroad  will  roam 
And  make  such  nooiiies  of  themselves. 

But  such  hath  always  been  the  case^ — 

For  matchless  impudence  of  face. 

There  's  nothing  like  your  Tory  race  !' 

First,  Pitt,"  the  chosen  of  England,  taught  her 

A  taste  for  famine,  fire,  and  slaughter. 

Tlien  came  the  Doctor,*  for  our  ease. 

With  E— D— NS,  Ch— TH— MS,  H— WK— B— s, 

And  other  deadly  maladies. 

When  each,  in  turn,  had  run  their  rigs. 

Necessity  brought  in  the  Whigs  :" 

And  oh,  I  blush,  1  blush  to  say. 

When  these,  in  turn,  were  put  to  flight,  too, 
Illustrious  T — MP — E  flew  away 

With  lots  of  pens  he  had  no  right  to!'' 

In  short,  what  will  not  mortal  man  do  !' 
And  now,  that — strife  and  bloodshed  past — 

We've  done  on  earth  what  harm  we  can  do, 
We  gravely  take  to  Heaven  at  last  ;^ 

And  think  its  favouring  smile  to  purchase 

■Oh  Lord,  good  LordlJ  by — buildmg  churches! 


No.  IV. 
BOB  GREGSON, 

POET  LAUREATE  OF  THE  FANCY. 


Champion  of  England  stands  unrivalled  foi  hia 
jmnishment,  game,  and  milling  on  the  retreat! — bul. 
notwithstanding  the  above  varietj'  of  qualifications,  i« 
has  been  reserved  for  Bon  Gregson,  alone,  from  his 
union  of  pugilism  and  poetrv,  to  recount  the  deeds 
of  his  Brethren  of  the  Fist  in  heroic  verse,  like  the 
bards  of  old,  sounding  the  praises  of  their  warlike 
champions."  The  same  author  also  adds,  that  "al- 
though not  possessing  the  terseness  and  originality 
of  Dryden,  or  the  musical  cadence  and  correctness 
of  Pope,  yet  still  Bob  has  entered  into  his  peculiar 
subject  with  a  characteristic  energy  and  apposite 
spirit."     Vol.  i.  p.  357 

This  high  praise  of  Mr.  Greoson  s  talents  is  fully 
borne  out  by  the  specimen  which  nis  eulogist  has 
given,  page  358 — a  very  spirited  Clir-)nt,.or  Nemean 
ode,  entitled  "  British  Lads  and  Blai  r  Milhrs." 

The  connexion  between  poetical  ind  pugnacious 
propensities  seem  to  have  been  ingeniously  adum- 
brated by  the  ancients,  in  the  bow  with  which  they 
armed  Apollo : 

*01C.)U    y^if    iCCJl     TOrO.V    BTTiTfETTBTXl    X«<     AOlAH. 

Callimaeh.  Hymn,  in  Apollin.  v.  44. 
The  same  mythological  bard  informs  us  that,  when 
Minerva  bestowed  the  gift  of  inspiration  upon  Tire- 
sias,  she  also  made  him  a  present  of  a  large  cudgel  i 

Aioo-j  x:«<    MEFA  BAKTPON: 

another  evident  intimation  of  the  congeniaUty  sup- 
posed to  exist  between  the  exercises  of  the  Imagina- 
tion and  those  of  The  Fancy,  ^o  no  one  at  the 
present  day  is  the  double  wreath  more  justly  due  than 
to  Mr.  Bob  Gregson.  In  addition  to  his  numerous 
original  productions,  he  has  condescended  to  give 
imitations  of  some  of  our  living  poets — particularly 
of  Lord  Byron  and  Mr.  Moore;  and  the  amatory 
style  of  the  latter  gentleman  has  been  caught,  with 
peculiar  felicity,  in  the  following  lines,  which  were 
addressed,  some  years  ago,  to  Miss  Grace  Maddox, 
a  young  Lady  of  pugilistic  celebrity,  of  whom  I  hav€ 
already  made  honourable  mention  in  the  Preface. 


"For  hitting  and  getting  away  (says  the  elegant 
Author  o{ Boxiana)  Richmond  is  distinguished  ;  and 
the  brave  Molineu.x  keeps  a  strong  hold  in  the  cir- 
cle of  boxers,  as  a  pugilist  of  the  first  class ;  while 


1 


-praifipitciii  Africum 


Decertanleiii  A(|uilo]iilins 

2  Nequicqu.im  Oeus  abscidit 

Prudens  oci^iiiio  dissociabili 
Terras,  si  tameii  impife 

Non  tan^enda  RaUs  transiliunt  vada. 
This  last  line,  we  inav  suppose,  alludes  to  some  distinguish- 
t(1  Rats  that  attended  the  voyager. 

3  Audax  omnia  perpeti 
Gens  ruit  per  vt-titiim  nefas. 

4  Audax  .Tapeli  ^'oiius 

Ignem  fraude  mala  gcnlibusintulit. 

5  Post '■ 

maoies,  et  nova  febrium 

Terris  incubuit  cohors. 

6 tarda  neccssitas 

Lethi  corripuit  gradum. 

7  Expcrius  vacuum  D;ed!ilus  aera 
Penvi.t  nnv  hnmini  ilatis. 

This  allusion  to  the  12001.  wortli  of  stationary,  which  his 
Lordshij)  ordered,  when  on  the  point  o(  vacating  hi*  ">luce, 
'■»  iiarticularly  happv. — F,n. 

8  Nil  morlalibus  arduiiin  est. 

9  Cffilum  ipsuiii  petiniuB  stullitia. 


LINES 

TO  MISS  GR.\CE  MADDOX,  THE  FAIR  PUGILIST 
Written  in  imitation  of  the  style  of  Moore. 

BY    BOB   GREGSON,  P.  P. 

Sweet  Maid  of  the  Fancy! — whose  ogles,''  adorninj 
That  beautiful  cheek,  ever  budding  like  bowers, 

Are  bright  as  the  gems  that  the  first  Jew-'  of  moniinf 
Hawks  round  Covent-Garden,  'mid  cart-loads  of 
flowers ! 

Oh  Grace  of  the  Graces  !  whose  ki.=-  *o  my  lip 
Is  as  sweet  as  the  brandy  and  tea,  rather  thinnish. 

That  Knights  of  the  Riimpad^  so  rurally  sip. 

At  the  first  blush  of  dawn,  in  the  Tap  of  the  Finish!' 


1  Eyes. 

2  Hy  the  triflinj  alteration  of  "diw"  into  ".lew,"  Mr 
Gregson  lias  contrived  to  collict  tlie  llirce  idiK^f  iiigrcdienti. 
of  Moore's  poetry,  viz.  dews,  gems,  and  (lowers,  into  tli« 
short  rompass  of  tiiese  two  lines. 

3  Highwaymen. 

4  See  .Kote,  piige  \'X.i.  Brandy  anil  tea  is  the  favourit* 
beverage  at  the  Finish. 


TO.M  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 


199 


Ah,  never  be  filse  to  me,  fair  as  thou  art, 

Nor  belie  ull  the  many  i<iii(l  things  thou  hast  said  ; 
The  falsehood  of  other  nymphs  touches  the  Heart, 
But  'rii\'Jilif)ini(,  my  dear,  phiys  the  dev'l  with  the 
Head.'  ' 

Vet,  who  would  not  prize,  beyond  honours  and  pelf, 
A  maid  to  whom  Beauty  such  treasures  has  granted, 

That,  ah !  she  not  only  has  black  eyes  herself. 

But  can  furnish  a  friend  with  a  pair,  too,  if  wanted  ! 

Lord  St — w — rt's  a  hero  (as  many  suppose,) 
And  the  Lady  he  woos  is  a  rich  and  a  rare  one; 

flis  heart  is  in  Chancery,  every  one  knows. 
And  so  would  his  head  be,  if  thou  werl  his  fair  one. 

Sweet  Maid  of  the  Fancy!  when  love  first  came  o'er 
me, 

I  felt  rather  queerisk,  I  freely  confess  ; 
But  now  I've  thy  beauties  each  moment  before  me, 

Tlie  pleasure  grows  more,  and  the  queerishness  less. 

Thus  a  new  set  of  darbies,^  w-hen  first  they  are  worn, 
Makes  the  Jail-hird'  uneasy,  though  splendid  their 
ray ; 

But  the  links  will  lie  lighter  the  longer  they're  borne. 
And  the  comfort  increase,  as  the  yhine  fades  away ! 


I  had  hoped  that  it  would  have  been  in  my  power 
to  gratify  the  reader  with  several  of  Mr.  Gregso.n's 
lyrical  productions,  but  I  have  only  been  able  to  pro- 
cure ('opies  of  Two  Songs,  or  Chaunts,  which  were 
written  by  him  for  a  Masquerade,  or  Fancy  Ball, 
given  lately  at  one  of  the  most  Fashionable  Cock-and- 
Hcn  clubs  in  St.  Giles's.  Though  most  of  the  com- 
pany were  without  characters,  there  were  a  few  very 
lively  and  interesting  maskers ;  among  whom,  we 
particularly  noticed  Bill  Ricii.monu,  as  the  Evipc.ror 
(if  Hayti,^  attended  by  Sutton,  as  a  sort  of  black 
Mr.  V — i\s — T — T  ;  and  Ikey  Pig  made  an  excel- 
lent L — s  D — XH — T.  The  beautiful  3Irs.  Crockey,* 
who  keeps  the  Great  Rag  Shop  in  Bermondsey,  went 
as  the  Old  Lady  of  Threadneedle  Street.  She  was 
observed  to  flirt  a  good  deal  with  the  black  BIr. 
V — Ns — T — T,  but,  to  do  her  justice,  she  guarded  her 
"  Hesperidum  mala"  with  all  the  vigilance  of  a  dra- 
gonoss.  Jack  Holmes,*  the  pugilistic  Coachman, 
personated  Lord  C — ST — R — gh,  and  sang  in  admira- 
ble style 

Ya-hip,  my  Hearties',  here  am  I 
Tliat  drive  the  Constitution  Fly. 

This  Sqr.g  (which  was  written  for  him  by  Mr. 


1  Fetters. 

2  Prisoner — This  being  the  only  bird  in  the  whole  range 
rf  Orniiholdsy  which  the  author  of  Lalla  Rookh  has  not 
i)re.ssecl  into  his  servi  e.  Mr.  Grejson  may  consider  himself 
very  luckv  in  bein^  able  to  lay  hold  of  it. 

3  His  Majesty  (in  a  Song  which  I  regret  I  cannot  give) 
professed  liis  intentions — 

To  take  to  strovg  measures  like  some  of  his  kin — 
To  turn  away  Cmnit  Lkmonade,  and  bring  in 
A  more  »7<i>((c(/  ministry  uudor  Duke  Gin! 

4  A  relative  of  poor  Crockey,  who  was  lair^ed  sometime 
since. 

5  The  same,  I  suppose,  that  served  out  Blake  (alias  Tom 
Toufrli.)  some  years  ago,  at  Wilsden  Green.  The  Fancy 
Gazette,  on  that  occasion,  remarked,  tiiat  poor  Holmes's 
lace  was  ''  rendered /»er/eclZ^  unintelligible." 


Greoson,  and  in  which  the  language  and  sentimenu 
of  Coachee  are  transferred  so  ingeniously  to  the  No- 
ble person  represented)  is  as  follows  : — 

YA-IIIP,  MY  HEARTIES! 

J'uiig  by  .JACK  HoL.Mts,  the  Coachmiui,  at  a  late  Mtt«qu» 
radeinSt.  Giles's,  in  Ihfi  charactf^r  of  LodC — 81— R— oh 
I  FIRST  was  hired  to  peg  a  Hack' 
They  call  "The  Erin,"  sometime  back. 
Where  soon  I  h.-arn'd  to  palter  Jlash^^ 
To  curb  the  tits^  and  lip  the  lash — 
Which  pleased  the  Master  of  the  Crown 
So  much,  he  had  me  up  to  town. 
And  gave  me  lot.s  of  (juidx'^  a  year 
To  tool^  "  The  Constitution"  here. 
So,  ya-hip.  Hearties  !  hero  am  I 
That  drive  the  Constitution  Fly. 

Some  wonder  how  the  Fly  holds  out, 

So  rotten  't  is,  within,  without ; 

So  loaded  too,  through  thick  and  thin. 

And  with  such  heavy  crelurs  In. 

But  Lord,  't  will  'ast  our  lime — or  if 

The  wheels  stiould,  now  and  then,  get  stiff, 

Oil  of  Pabn  's'^  the  thing  that,  flowing. 

Sets  the  7iaves  and  felloes''  going  ! 

So,  ya-hip,  Hearties !  etc. 

Some  wonder,  too,  the  tits  that  pull 
This  ruin  concern  along,  so  full, 
Should  never  back  or  bolt,  or  kick 
The  load  and  driver  to  Old  Nick. 
But,  never  fear — the  breed,  though  British. 
Is  now  no  longer  game  or  skittish  ; 
E.xcept  sometimes  about  their  corn, 
Tamer  Houi/hnhnms^  ne'er  were  bom. 
So,  ya-hip.  Hearties  !  etc. 

And  then  so  sociably  we  ride  ! — 
While  some  have  places,  snug,  inside. 
Some  hoping  to  be  there  anon, 
Through  many  a  dirty  road  hang  on. 
And  when  we  reach  a  filthy  spot 
(Piciity  of  which  there  are,  God  wot,) 
You'd  laugh  to  see,  with  what  an  air 
We  take  the  spatter — each  his  share ! 
So,  ya-hip.  Hearties !  etc. 


1  To  drive  a  hackney  coach.  Hack,  however,  seems  ic 
this  place  lo  mean  an  old  broken  down  stase-coach. 

2  To  talk  slang,  parliamentary  or  otherwise. 
.')  Hor.ics.  4  Sloney. 

5  A  process  carried  on  succi'Sstiilly  under  the  Roman  Em- 
perors, as  appears  from  what  Tacitus  says  of  the  "  hislru- 
mrnta  Rogni." — To  tovl  is  a  technical  phiisc  among  thu 
Knights  of  the  Whip;  thus,  that  illustrious  member  of  the 
Society,  Richard  Cypher,  Esq.  says  :  "  I've  dasb'd  at  every 
thing — pegg'd  at  AJcrvy — tool'd  a.  mail-coach." 

6  Money. 

7  In  Mr.  Gregson's  MS.  xhc^B  words  are  spelled  "  knavet 
and  felluies"  but  I  have  printed  them  according  lo  th« 
proper  wheelright  orthography." 

8  The  extent  of  Mr.  Gregson's  learning  will,  no  doubt. 
aston  <ii  the  reader;  and  it  appears  by  the  following  lini-j, 
frop  a  Panegyric  written  upon  him,  by  One  of  the  Fancy, 
that  he  is  also  a  considerable  adept  in  the  Latin  language 

"  As  to  sciences — boB  knows  a  little  of  all, 

And,  in  Latin,  to  show  that  he's  no  ignoramus, 

He  wrote  once  an  Ode  on  his  friend,  Major  Pnul. 
And  the  motto  was  Paulo  majora  canamut '" 


200 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  other  song  of  Mr.  Gregson,  which  I  have  been 
lucky  enough  to  lav  hold  of,  was  sung  by  Old 
Prosy,  the  Jew,  who  went  in  the  character  of  Major 
C — RTvv— GHT,  and  who  having  been,  at  one  time 
of  his  life,  apprentice  to  a  mountebanli  doctor,  was 
able  to  enumerate,  with  much  volubility,  the  virtues 
of  a  certain  infallible  nostrum,  which  he  called  his 
Annual  Pill.  The  pronunciation  of  the  Jew 
added  considerably  to  the  effect. 

THE  ANNUAL  PILL. 
Sung  by  Old  Prosy,  the  Jew,  in  the  Cliaractcr  of  Major 

»  C — RTW — GHT. 

V'iLL  nobodies  try  my  nice  Annual  Pill, 

Dat's  to  purify  every  ting  nashty  avay? 
Piess  ma  heart,  pless  ma  heart,  let  ma  say  vat  I  vill, 

Not  a  Chrishtian  or  Shentleman  minds  vat  I  say  ! 
'T  is  so  pretty  a  boks  !^ust  down  let  it  go, 

And  at  vonce,  such  a  radical  shange  you  vill  see, 
Dat  I'd  not  be  surprish'd,  like  de  horse  in  de  show, 

If  our  heads  all  were  found,  vere  our  tailsh  ought 
to  be! 
Vill  nobodies  try  my  nice  Annual  Pill,  etc. 

'Twill  cure  all  Electors,  and  purge  avay  clear 

Dat  mighty  bad  itching  dey've  got  in  deir  hands — 
'Twill  cure,  too,  all  Statesmen,  of  dullness,  ma  tear. 
Though  the  case  vas  as  desperate  as  poor  Mister 
Van's. 
Dere  is  noting  at  all  vat  dis  Pill  vill  not  reach- 
Give  de  Sinecure  Shentleman  von  little  grain, 
Pless  ma  heart,  it  vill  act  like  de  salt  on  de  leech, 
And  he'll  throw  de  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence,  up 
again ! 
Vill  nobodies  try  my  nice  Annual  Pill,  etc. 

'T  would  be  tedious,  ma  tear,  all  its  peauties  to  paint — 
But,  among  oder  Uv.gsfundamcntuUi/  wrong. 

It  vill  cure  de  Proad  Pottoni' — a  common  complaint 
Among  M.  P's.  and  weavers — from  sittirig  too 
long.'^ 

Should  symptoms  of  upeeching  preak  out  on  a  dunce, 
(Vat  is  often  de  case)  it  vill  stop  de  disease. 


1  Meaning,  I  jiresume,  Coalitic^n  Administrations. 

2  Whether  sedentary  habits  have  any  thing  to  do  with 
this  peculiar  shape,  1  cannot  determine  ;  but  that  some  have 
Bupposed  a  sort  of  connexion  between  tliein,  appears  from 
the  following  remark,  quoted  in  Kornniann's  curious  book, 
lie  yirginitatis  Jure — "Ratio  pertinam  lepida  est  apnd 
Ki-"hner.  in  Legato,  cum  nalura  illas  partes,  qua;  ad  ses- 
•loneni  sunt  destinatie,  laliores  in  faeniiniB  fecerit  quam  in 
riri»,  innuens  domi  eas  manere  deboto."    Cap.  40. 


And  pring  avay  all  de  long  speeches  at  vonce, 
Dat  else  vould,  like  tape-vorms,  come  by  degrees! 

Vill  nobodies  try  my  nice  Annual  Pill, 
Dat 's  to  purify  every  ting  nashty  avay  ? 

Pless  ma  heart,  pless  ma  heart,  let  ma  say  vat  I  vill, 
Not  a  Chrishtian  or  Shentleman  minds  vat  I  sny  I 


No.  V. 

The  following  poem  is  also  from  the  Morning  C.'ironicle, 
and  \v.\a  every  appearance  of  being  by  the  same  pen  a> 
the  two  otiiers  I  have(|Uoted.  The  Examiner,  indeed,  in 
extracting  it  from  the  Chronicle,  s:iys,  "  we  think  we  can 
guess  whose  easy  and  sparkling  hand  it  is." 

TO  SIR  HUDSON  LOWE. 


EfFare  causam  noniinis, 
Utrum  ne  mores  hoc  tui 
JN'oinen  dedere,  an  nomen  hoc 
Secuta  morum  regnla. 

J}usonius. 


Sir  Hudson  Lowe,  Sir  Hudson  Low 
(By  name,  and  ah  !  by  nature  so,) 

As  thou  art  fond  of  persecutions, 
Perhaps  thou'st  read,  or  heard  repeated, 
How  Captain  Gulliver  was  treated, 

When  thrown  among  the  Lilliputians. 

They  tied  him  down — these  little  men  did — 
And  having  valiantly  ascended 

Upon  the  Mighty  Man's  protuberance, 
They  did  so  strut!-— upon  my  soul, 
It  must  have  been  extremely  droll 

To  see  their  pigmy  pride's  exuberance ! 

And  how  the  doughty  mannikins 
Amused  themselves  with  sticking  pins 

And  needles  in  the  great  man's  breeches; 
And  how  some  very  little  things. 
That  pass'd  for  Lords,  on  scaffoldings 

Got  up  and  worried  him  with  speeches. 

Alas,  alas  !  that  it  should  happen 

To  mighty  men  to  be  caught  napping  ! — 

Though  different,  too,  these  persecutions; 
For  Gulliver,  there,  took  the  nap. 
While,  here,  the  Nap,  oh  sad  mishap. 

Is  taken  by  the  Lilliputians  ' 


RHYMES   ON   THE   ROAD, 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  JOURNAL 

OF  A 

TRAVELLING  MEMBER  OF  THE  POCOCURANTE  SOCIETY,  18)9 


TiiK  Gentleman,  from  whose  Journal  the  following 
extracts  are  taken,  was  obliged  to  leave  England  some 
yi'ars  ago  (in  consequence  of  an  unfortunate  attach- 
m':nt,  which  might  have  ended  in  bringing  him  into 
Doctors'  Commons,)  and  has  but  very  recently  been 
able  to  return  to  England.  The  greater  part  of  these 
poems  were,  as  he  himself  mentions  in  his  Introduc- 
tion, written  or  composed  in  an  old  aihclic,  for  the 
purpose  of  beguiling  the  eniuii  of  solitary  travelling  ; 
and  as  verses  made  by  a  gentleman  in  his  sleep  have 
lately  been  called  "  a  psiicltoloistcal  curiosity,"  it  is  to 
be  hoped  that  verses  made  by  a  gentleman  to  keep 
limsclf  awake  may  be  honoured  with  some  appella- 
tion equally  Greek. 


INTRODUCTORY  RHYMES. 

Different  Atliludes  in  which  Authors  compose. — Bayes, 
Henry  Stephens,  Herodotus,  etc. —  Wrilirii!  in  Bed. — 
in  the  Fields. — Plato  (md  Sir  Richard  Blachnore. — 
Fiddling  with  Gloves  and  Tuigs. — Madame  de 
Stael. — Rhyming  on  the  Road,  in  an  old  Caleche. 

What  various  attitudes,  and  ways. 

And  tricks,  we  authors  have  in  writing  ! 

While  some  write  sitting,  some,  like  Bayes, 
Usually  stand  while  they're  inditing. 

Poets  there  are,  who  wear  the  floor  out, 

Meiisuring  a  line  at  every  stride  ; 

While  some,  like  IIenrv  Stephens,  pour  out 
Rhymes  by  the  dozen,  while  they  ride.' 

Herodotus  wrote  most  in  bed; 

And  RiCHERAND,  a  French  physician, 
Declares  the  clock  work  of  the  head 

Goes  best  in  that  reclined  position. 
If  \ou  consult  MoNTAKiNE-  and  Plin'v  on 
The  subject,  't  is  their  johrt  opinion 
That  Thought  its  richest  harvest  yields 
Abroad,  among  the  woods  and  fields ; 
That  bards,  who  deal  in  small  retail. 

At  home  may,  at  their  counters,  stop  ; 
But  that  the  grove,  the  hill,  the  vale, 

Are  Poesy's  true  wholesale  shop. 


1  Pleraque  sua  carmina  equilans  coniposuit. —  Paranicht. 

y  Mes  pens6es  dorment,  si  je  Ips  assis. — J\Iontai(riie. 
Animus  eorum,  qui  in  uperlo  aere  amluihiiit,  atrollitur. — 
"liny. 


And  truly  I  suspect  they're  right — 

For,  many  a  time,  on  summer  eves, 
Just  at  that  closing  hour  of  light. 

When,  like  an  eastern  Prince,  who  leaves 
For  distant  war  his  llaram  bowers, 
The  Sun  bids  farewell  to  the  flowers, 
VVhose  heads  are  sunk,  whose  tears  are  flowing 
'i"\Iid  all  the  glory  of  his  going — 
Even  /  have  felt  beneath  those  beams, 

When  waud'ring  through  the  fields  alone, 
Thoughts,  fancies,  intellectual  gleams, 

That,  far  too  bright  to  he  my  own, 
Seem'd  lent  ine  by  the  Sunny  Power, 
That  was  abroad  at  that  still  hour. 

If  thus  I've  felt,  how  must  they  tee>. 

The  few,  whom  genuine  Genius  warms. 
And  stamps  upon  their  soul  his  seal. 

Graven  with  Beauty's  countless  forms  :— 
The  few  upon  this  earth  who  seem 
Born  to  give  truth  to  Plato's  dream, 
Since  in  their  souls,  as  in  a  glass. 

Shadows  of  things  divine  appear — 
Reflections  of  bright  forms  that  pass 

Through  fairer  worlds  t)eyond  our  sphere  . 

But  this  reminds  me  I  digress ; — 

For  Plato,  too,  produceo,  't  is  said 
(As  one  indeed  might  almost  guess,) 

His  glorious  visions  all  in  bed.' 
'T  was  in  his  carriage  the  sublime 
Sir  Richard  Blackmoke  used  to  rhyme. 

And  (if  the  wits  don't  do  him  wiong,) 
'Twixt  death  and  epics  pass'd  his  time, 

Scribbling  and  killing  all  day  long- 
Like  Phoebus  in  his  car,  at  ease, 

Now  warbling  forth  a  lofty  song, 
Now  murdering  the  young  Niobes. 

There  was  a  hero  'mong  the  Danes, ' 
Who  wrote,  we're  told,  'mid  all  the  paint 

And  horrors  of  exenteration. 
Nine  charming  odes,  which,  if  you  look. 

You'll  find  preserved,  with  a  translalion. 
By  Bartholi.\us  in  his  book.* 


1  The  only  authority  I  know  for  imputini  tnis  ,.racucr  if 
Pluto  and  Herodotus,  is  a  Latin  pouni  by  AI.  de  Valux  uu 
his  I?ed,  in  which  he  says. 

Lucifer  Hcrodutum  vidit  vosperque  cubar.tcm 
Descdit  totos  liic  Plato  ea.-pe  dies. 

2  E:idein  cura  nee  minores  inter  cruciatos  animnm  inieli 
cem  agenli  fuil  Asbiorno  Prudx  Danico  heroi.  cum  Uruso 

201 


202 


MOORE'S  WORICS. 


In  short,  't  were  endless  to  recite 

The  various  modes  in  which  men  write. 

Some  wits  are  only  in  the  mind 

When  beaux  and  belles  are  round  them  prating ; 
Some,  when  they  dress  for  dinner,  find 

Their  muse  and  valet  both  in  waiting, 
And  manage,  at  the  self-same  time, 
To  adjust  a  neckcloth  and  a  rhyme. 

Some  bards  there  are  who  cannot  scribble 
Without  a  glove,  to  tear  or  nibble, 
Or  a  small  twig  to  whisk  about — 

As  if  the  hidden  founts  of  Fancy, 
Like  those  of  water,  were  found  out 

By  mystic  tricks  of  rhabdomancy. 
Such  was  the  little  feathery  wand' 
That,  held  for  ever  in  the  hand 
Of  her  who  won  and  wore  the  crown 

Of  female  genius  in  this  age, 
Seem'd  the  conductor,  that  drew  down 

Those  words  of  lightning  on  her  page. 
As  for  myself — to  come  at  last, 

To  the  odd  way  in  which  /  write — 
Having  employed  these  few  months  past 

Chiefly  in  travelling,  day  and  night, 
I've  got  into  the  easy  mode. 
You  see,  of  rhyming  on  the  road — 
Making  a  way-bill  of  my  pages. 
Counting  my  stanzas  by  my  stages — 
'Twixt  lays  and  re-lays  no  time  lost — 
In  short,  in  two  words,  writing  post. 
My  '.'erses,  I  suspect,  not  ill 
Resembling  the  crazed  vehicle 
(An  old  cultche,  for  which  a  villain 
Charged  me  some  twenty  Naps  at  Milan) 
In  which  I  wrote  them — patch'd-up  things, 
On  weak,  but  rather  easy,  springs, 
lingling  along,  with  little  in  'em. 

And  (where  the  road  is  not  so  rough, 
Or  deep,  or  lofty,  as  to  spin  'em, 

Down  precipices)  safe  enough. — 
Too  ready  to  take  fire,  I  own. 
And  then,too,  nearest  a  break-down; 
But,  for  my  comfort,  hung  so  low, 
I  have  n't,  in  falling,  far  to  go. — 
With  all  this,  light,  and  swift,  and  airy, 

And  carrying  (which  is  best  of  all) 
But  little  for  the  Doganieri^ 

Of  the  Reviews  to  overhaul. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


EXTRACT  I. 

Geni!vii. 
/lew  of  the  Ldlte  of  Geneva  from  the  Jtira.^ — Anxious 
to  reach  it  before  the  Sim  went  down. — Obliged  to 
proceed  on  Foot. — Alps. — Mont  Blanc. — Effect  of 
Hie  Scene. 

'T  WAS  late — the  sun  had  almost  shone 
His  last  and  best,  when  I  ran  on. 


ipsum,  inl'  Blii.a  cxlralieiis,  itiiinaniti.'r  toitiueret,  tunc  fiiini 
DDvcin  cariiiina  cecinit,  etc. — Ilariholin.  de  causis  ciin- 
leyiipt.  murt. 

1  Mailc  of  paper,  twisled  up  lil<e  n  fim  or  feather. 

2  Custom-houae  oflicers.        3  Uotwccn  Vatluy  and  Gex. 


Anxious  to  reach  that  splend'c?  view 
Before  the  day-beams  quite  witndrew, 
And  feeling  as  all  feel,  on  first 

Approaching  scenes  where,  (hey  are  towi 
Such  glories  on  their  eyes  shall  burst 

As  youthful  bards  in  dreams  behold 
'Twas  distant  yet,  and,  as  I  ran. 

Full  often  was  my  wistful  gaze 
Turn'd  to  the  sun,  who  now  began 
To  call  in  all  his  out-post  rays. 
And  form  a  denser  march  of  light, 
Such  as  beseems  a  hero's  flight. 
Oh,  how  I  wish'd  for  Joshua's  power, 
To  stay  the  brightness  of  that  hour ! 
But  no — the  sun  still  less  became, 

Diminisli'd  to  a  speck,  as  splendid 
And  small  as  were  those  tongues  of  flame, 

That  on  th'  Apostles'  heads  descended. 

'T  was  at  this  instant — while  there  glow'd 

This  last,  intensest  gleam  of  light — 
Suddenly,  through  the  opening  road, 

The  valley  burst  upon  my  sight ! 
That  glorious  valley,  with  its  lake, 

And  Alps  on  Alps  in  clusters  swelling 
Mighty,  and  pure,  and  fit  to  make 

The  ramparts  of  a  Godhead's  dwelling  ■ 

I  stood  entranc'd  and  mute — as  they 

Of  Israel  think  th'  assembled  world 
Will  stand  upon  that  awful  day, 

When  the  Ark's  Light,  aloft  unfurl'd, 
Among  the  opening  clouds  shall  shine, 
Divinity's  own  radiant  sign  ! 
Mighty  Mont  Blanc!  thou  wert  to  me. 

That  minute,  with  thy  brow  in  heaven, 
As  sure  a  sign  of  Deity 

As  e'er  to  mortal  gaze  was  given. 
Nor  ever,  were  I  destined  yet 

To  live  my  fife  twice  o'er  again, 
Can  I  the  deep-felt  awe  forget — 

The  ecstasy  that  thrill'd  me  then  ! 

'T  was  all  that  consciousness  of  power, 
And  life,  beyond  this  mortal  hour, — 
Tliose  mountings  of  the  soul  within 
At  thoughts  of  Heaven — as  birds  begin 
By  instinct  in  the  cage  to  rise. 
When  near  their  time  for  change  of  skies- 
Th.-t  proud  assurance  of  our  claim 

To  rank  among  the  Sons  ot  Light, 
Mingled  with  shame — oh,  bitter  shame '- 

At  having  risk'd  that  splendid  right 
For  aught  thai  eaiJi,  ihrough  -ill  its  rai.ge 
Of  glories,  offers  in  exchange  ! 
'T  was  all  this,  at  the  instant  brought. 
Like  breaking  sunshine,  o'er  my  thought— 
'Twas  all  this,  kindled  to  a  glow 

Of  sacred  zeal,  which,  could  it  shine 
Thus  purely  ever — man  might  grow. 

Even  upon  earth,  a  thing  divine. 
And  be  once  more  the  creature  made 

To  walk  unstain'd  the  Elysian  shade  • 

No — never  shall  I  lose  the  trace 
Of  what  I've  felt  in  this  bright  place. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


203 


And  should  my  spirit's  hope  grow  weak — 

Should  I  O  God  !  e'er  doubt  thy  power, 
This  niigiity  sci^iie  again  I'll  seek, 

At  the  same  calm  and  glowing  hour; 
And  here,  at  the  sublimest  .shrine 

That  JVatnre  ever  rcar'd  to  Thee, 
Rekindle  all  that  hope  divine, 

Andyeei  my  immortality ! 


EXTRACT  II. 

Vtnice. 
Che  Fall  of  Venice  not  to  he  lamented. — Former  Glory. 
— Expedition  against  Constantinople. — Giustinia- 
nv<. — RrpuhJic. — Charactcr'uitics  of  the  old  Govern- 
ment.— Golden  Book. — Brazen  Mouths. — Spies. — 
Dungeons. — Present  Desolation. 

Mourn  not  for  Venice — let  her  rest 
In  ruin,  'mong  those  States  unblcss'd, 
Beneath  whose  gilded  hoofs  of  pride. 
Where'er  they  trampled,  Freedom  died. 
No — let  us  keep  our  tears  for  thcin. 

Where'er  they  pine,  whose  fall  hath  been 
Not  from  a  blood-stain'd  diadem. 

Like  that  which  deck'd  this  ocean-queen, 
But  from  high  daring  in  the  cause 

Of  human  Rights — the  only  good 
And  b'essed  strife,  in  which  man  draws 

His  powerful  sword  on  land  or  flood. 

Mourn  not  for  Venice — though  her  fall 

Be  awful,  as  if  Ocean's  wave 
Swept  o'er  her — she  deserves  it  all. 

And  Justice  triumphs  o'er  her  grave. 
Thus  perish  every  King  and  State 

That  run  the  guilty  race  she  ran, 
Strong  but  in  fear,  and  only  great 

By  outrage  against  God  and  man ! 

True,  her  high  spirit  is  at  rest. 

And  all  those  days  of  glory  gone. 
When  the  world's  waters,  east  and  west, 

Beneath  her  white-wing'd  commerce  shone  ; 
WTien,  with  her  countless  barks  she  went 

To  meet  the  Orient  Empire's  might,' 
And  the  Giustinianis  sent 

Their  hundred  heroes  to  that  fight.^ 

Vanish'd  are  all  her  pomps,  'tis  true. 
But  mourn  them  not — for,  vanish'd,  too, 

(Thanks  to  that  Power,  who,  soon  or  late, 

Hurls  to  the  dust  the  guilty  Great,) 

Are  all  the  outrage,  falsehood,  fraud. 
The  chains,  the  rapine,  and  the  blood. 

That  tiU'd  each  spot,  at  home,  abroad. 
Where  the  Republic's  standard  stood  ! 

Desolate  Venice  !  when  I  track 

Thy  haughty  coui'se  through  centuries  back, — 

1  Umler  tlie  Do^e  Miduieli,  in  1171. 

2  "  La  faniilli;  eEiliuio  das  Justiiiiuni,  I'line  des  phis  illus- 
Ires  de  Venise,  vnulul  marcher  t^tutp  entiere  dans  nctle  e\- 
pediiion ;  elle  fournit  cent  combalians;  c'etait  renouvekr 
I'fxcniple  d'une  illu^tre  faniille  de  Rjine;  le  inenie  mallieur  i 
le."  attendait." — J-Iistoric  de  Vciiise  par  Daru.  \ 


Thy  ruthless  power,  obeyed  but  curs'd, — 

The  stern  machinery  of  thy  State, 
Which  hatred  would,  like  steam,  have  bursl, 

Had  stronger  fear  not  chill'd  even  hate ; 
Thy  perfidy,  still  worse  than  aught 
Thy  own  unblushing  Sarpi'  taught, — 
Thy  friendship,  which,  o'er  all  beneath 
lis  shadow,  rain'd  down  dews  of  death,—* 
Thy  Oligarchy's  Book  of  Gold, 

Shut  against  humble  Virtue's  name,' 
But  opeii'd  wide  for  slaves  who  sold 

Their  native  land  to  thee  and  shame, — * 
Thy  all-pervading  host  of  spies. 

Watching  o'er  every  glance  and  breath, 
Till  men  look'd  in  each  other's  eyes. 

To  read  their  chance  of  life  or  death, — 
Thy  laws,  that  made  a  mart  of  blood, 

And  legalized  the  assassin's  knife, — ' 
Thy  sunless  cells  beneath  the  tlood. 

And  racks,  and  leads'^  that  burn  out  life ; — 
When  I  review  all  this,  and  see 

What  thou  art  sunC  and  crush'd  to  now ; 
Each  harpy  maxim,  hatch'd  by  thee, 

Return'd  to, roost  on  thy  own  brow, — 
Thy  nobles  towering  once  aloll, 

Now  sunk  in  chains — in  chains,  that  have 
Not  even  that  borrow'd  grace,  which  oft 

The  master's  fame  sheds  o'er  the  slave. 
But  are  as  mean  as  e'er  wc-e  given 
To  stitf-neck'd  Pride,  by  angry  Heaven — 
I  feel  the  moral  vengeance  sweet. 
And,  smiling  o'er  the  wreck,  repeat — 
"Thus  perish  every  King  and  .State, 

That  treads  the  steps  which  Venice  trod; 
Strong  but  in  fear,  and  only  great 

By  outrage  against  man  and  God !" 


EXTRACT  HI 

Venice. 

— d  B 's  Memoirs,  Written  by  himself. — R» 

Jlections,  when  about  to  read  them. 
Let  me,  a  moment — ere  with  fear  and  hope 
Of  gloomy,  glorious  things,  these  leaves  1  ope — 


1  The  celebrated  Fra  Paolo.  The  colleciion  of  maximt 
which  litis  lK)ld  nioiili  drew  up  ui  ilierequesi  of  the  Venetian 
Governmeiil,  for  Ihe  guidance  of  ihe  Secret  bKjuisition  of 
Slale,  are  so  atrocious  as  to  seem  rather  an  over-charged 
satire  U|)on  despotism,  than  a  Bysiem  of  pohcy  seriously  in 
culcated,  and  hut  too  readily  and  constantly  pursued. 

2  Conduct  of  Venice  towards  her  allies  and  dependen- 
cies, particularly  to  unt'orlunuto  Padua. — Fate  of  Francesco 
Carrara,  for  which  see  Daru,  vol.  ii.  p.  HI. 

3  "  A  I'exception  des  trente  citadins  admis  au  grand  con- 
soil  pendant  la  guerre  de  Chinzzi,  il  n'est  pas  ariivt   une 

Ic  fois  que  les  talens  ou  les  services  aieni  paru  li  cettt 
noblesse  urgucilleusc  des  litres  sutlisang  pour  s'asseoir  aver 
elle."— />u/-u. 

4  An)ong  thoso  admilled  to  the  honour  of  being  inscribe^ 
in  the  Libra  d'Oru  were  some  families  ofKresiia,  Treviso 
and  other  places,  whose  only  claim  to  that  distinctinn  wa 
the  zeal  wiih  which  they  prosiraled  themselves  and  tlie' 
coiiiiiry  at  the  feel  of  the  republic. 

5  By  ihe  infamous   "Valines  of  Ihe  Slate  [nquisilion,  not 
ilv  was  assassinalioi    .ccognized  as  a  regular  mode  of 

punishment,  but  this  secret  power  over  life  was  deleg  ned  to 
their  minions  at  a  distance,  with  nearly  as  much  facility  os 
a  licence  is  given  under  the  game  laws  of  England.  The 
only  restriction  seems  to  have  been  ihe  necessity  of  applying 
tor  a  new  ceilificale,  after  every  individual  e.\eccisc  of  Uie 
power. 

6  "  Les  prisons  des  plondu ;   c'est-a-dire  cos  foLrnaise* 


204 


MOORE'S  WORkS. 


As  oni^  in  fiiiry  tale,  to  whom  the  key 

Of  some  enchanter's  secret  halls  is  given, 
Doubts,  while  he  enters,  slowly,  tremblingly, 

If  he  shall  meet  with  shapes  from  hell  or  heaven — 
r^t  me,  a  moment,  ihink  what  thousands  live 
O'er  the  wide  earth  this  instant,  who  would  give, 
Gladly,  whole  sleepless  nights  to  bend  the  brow 
Over  these  precious  leaves,  as  I  do  now. 
How  all  who  know — and  where  is  he  unknown  ? 
To  what  far  region  have  his  songs  not  flown, 
Like  Psaphon's  birds,'  speaking  their  master's  name, 
In  every  language  syllabled  by  Fame? — 
How  all,  who  've  felt  the  various  spells  combined 
Within  the  circle  of  that  splendid  mind. 
Like  powers,  derived  from  many  a  star,  and  met 
Together  in  some  wondrous  amulet. 
Would  burn  to  know  when  first  the  light  awoke 
In  his  young  soul, — and  if  the  gleams  that  broke 
From  that  Aurora  of  his  genius,  raised 
More  bliss  or  pain  in  those  on  whom  they  blazed — 
Would  love  to  trace  the  unfolding  of  that  power. 
Which  hath  grown  ampler,  grander,  every  hour; 
And  feel,  in  watching  o'er  its  first  advance. 

As  did  the  Egyptian  traveller,-  when  he  stood 
By  the  young  Nile,  and  fathom'd  with  his  lance 

The  first  small  fountains  of  that  mighty  tlood. 

They,  too,  who  'mid  the  scornful  thoughts  that  dwell 

In  his  rich  fancy,  tinging  all  its  streams. 
As  if  the  Star  of  Bitterness  which  fell 

On  earth  of  old,  and  touch'd  them  with  its  beams. 
Can  track  a  spirit,  which,  though  driven  to  hate, 
From  Nature's  hands  came  kind,  affectionate ; 
And  which,  even  now,  struck  as  it  is  with  blight, 
Comes  out,  at  times,  in  love's  own  native  light — 
How  gladly  all,i  who  've  watch'd  these  struggling  rays 
Of  a  bright,  ruin'd  spirit  through  his  lays. 
Would  here  inquire,  as  from  his  own  frank  lips. 

What  desolating  grief,  what  wrongs  had  driven 
That  noble  nature  into  cold  eclipse — 

Like  some  fair  orb,  that,  once  a  sun  in  Heaven, 
And  born,  not  only  to  surprise,  but  cheer 
With  warmth  and  lustre  all  within  its  sphere, 
Is  now  so  quench'd,  that,  of  its  grandeur,  lasts 
Nought  but  the  wide  cold  shadow  which  it  casts ! 

Eventful  volume  !  whatsoe'er  the  change 

Of  scene  and  clime — the  adventures,  bold  and  strange: 

The  griefs — the  frailties,  but  too  frankly  told — 

The  loves,  the  feuds  thy  pages  may  unfold  ; 

If  truth  with  half  so  prompt  a  hand  unlocks 

His  virtues  as  his  fiiilings — we  shall  find 
The  record  there  of  friendships,  held  like  rocks. 

And  enmities,  like  sun-touch'd  snow,  rosign'd — 
Of  fealty,  cherish'd  without  change  or  chill. 
In  those  who  served  him  young,  and  serve  him  still — 
Of  generous  aid,  given  with  that  noiseless  art 
Which  wakes  not  pride,  to  many  a  wounded  heart — 
Of  acts — but,  no — not  from  himself  must  aught 
Of  the  bright  features  of  his  life  be  sought. 


ardentcs  qu'on  nvait  ilistribii6cs  en  pelite.s  cellulcB  sous  les 
IfrrnPRits  qui  coiivrr.-nt  lo  p:ilais." 

1  Psa|)hon,  in  otdor  to  attract  the  attention  of  tlie  world, 
tnnglit  multitudes  of  hirds  lo  S|ienk  his  name,  and  then  lot 
thcnti  fly  nwav  in  various  directions:  whencci  the  proverb, 
'  I'anphiinis  avr.S." 

2  liruco. 


While  they  who   court  the  world,  like  Milton  t 

cloud,' 
"Turn  forth  their  silver  lining"  on  the  crowd, 
This  gifted  Being  wraps  himself  in  night. 

And,  keeping  all  that  softens,  and  adorns, 
And  gilds  his  social  nature,  hid  from  sight. 

Turns  but  its  darkness  on  a  world  he  scorns 


EXTRACT  IV. 

Venice. 
The  Eriglish  to  be  met  with  every  where. — Alps  and 
Threadneedlc-street. — The  Simplon  and  the  Stocks. 
— Rage  for  travelling. — Blue  Stockuigs  among  the 
Wahabees. — Parasols  and  Pyramids. — Mrs.  Hop- 
kins and  the  Wall  of  China. 

And  is  there  then  no  earthly  place 
Where  we  can  rest,  in  dream  Elysian, 

Without  some  cursed,  round  English  face. 
Popping  up  near,  to  break  the  vision ! 

'Mid  northern  lakes,  'mid  southern  vines. 
Unholy  cits  we're  doom'd  to  meet; 

Nor  highest  Alps  nor  Apennines 

Are  sacred  from  Threadneedle-street ! 

If  up  the  Simplon's  path  we  wind. 
Fancying  we  leave  this  world  behind, 
Such  pleasant  sounds  salute  one's  ear 
As — "  Baddish  news  from  'Change,  my  dear^ 

"  The  Funds — (phew,  curse  this  ugly  hill !) 
Are  lowering  fast — (what !  higher  still  ?) — 
And — (zooks,  we're  mounting  up  to  Heaven  !)— 
Will  soon  be  down  to  sixty-seven." 

Go  where  we  may — rest  where  we  will. 
Eternal  London  haunts  us  still. 
The  trash  of  Almack's  or  Fleet-Ditch — 
And  scarce  a  pin's  head  difference  which 
Mixes,  though  even  to  Greece  we  run, 
With  every  rill  from  Helicon  ! 
And,  if  this  rage  for  travelling  lasts, 
If  Cockneys,  of  all  sects  and  castes, 
Old  maidens,  aldermen,  and  squires, 
Will  leave  their  puddings  and  coal  fires, 
To  gape  at  things  in  foreign  lands 
No  soul  among  them  understands— 
If  Blues  desert  their  coteries. 
To  show  off  'mong  the  Wahabees — 
If  neither  sex  nor  age  controls. 

Nor  fear  of  Mamelukes  forbids 
Young  ladies,  with  pink  parasols. 

To  glide  among  the  Pyramiils — ^ 
Why,  then,  farewell  all  hope  to  find 
A  spot  that 's  free  from  London-kind  ! 
Who  knows,  if  to  the  West  we  roam, 
But  we  may  find  some  Blue  "at  home" 

Among  the  Blacks  of  Carolina — 
Or,  flying  to  the  Eastward,  see 


'Did  a  sable  cl.. 11,1 


Tnrn  fortli  her  silver  liiinig  on  the  night." 

C]mus. 
2  It  was  pink   xjicncers,  I   believe,  that  the  iniuginanoC 
jf  ilic  French  iravulkr  conjured  up. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


205 


Some  Mrs.  Hopkin.s,  taking  tea 

And  toast  upon  the  Wall  of  Cliina! 


EXTRACT  V. 

Florenco. 

IVo — t  is  not  the  region  where  love's  to  be  found — 
Thev  have  boi:oms  that  sigh,  they  have  glances 
that  rove, 
They  have  language  a  Sappho's  own  lip  might  re- 
sound. 
When  she  warbled  her  best — but  they've  nothing 
like  Love. 

Nor  is  it  that  senlimnit  only  they  want. 

Which  Heaven  for  the  pure  and  the  tranquil  hath 
made — 
Calm,  wedded  affection,  that  home-rooted  plant, 

Which  sweetens  seclusion,  and  smiles  in  the  shade ; 

That  feeling,  which,  after  long  years  are  gone  by. 
Remains  like  a  portrait  we've  sat  for  in  youth. 

Where,  even  though  the  flusli  of  the  colours  may  fly, 
Tlie  features  still  live  in  their  first  smiling  truth ; 

''hat  union,  where  all  that  in  Woman  is  kind. 

With  all  tliat  in  Man  most  ennoblingly  towers, 
Jrow  wreathed  into  one — like  the  oolunm,  combined 
Of  the  strength  of  the  shaft  and  the  capitarsJZoujers. 

>f  this — bear  ye  witness,  ye  wives,  every  where, 
By  the  Arn'o,  the  Po,  by  all  Italy's  streams — 

Xthis  heart- wedded  love,  so  delicious  to  share. 
Not  a  husband  hath  even  one  glimpse  in  his  dreams. 

.?ut  it  is  not  this,  only — born,  full  of  the  light 
Of  a  sun,  from  whose  fount  the  lu.xuriant  festoons 

Of  *hese  beautiful  valleys  drink  lustre  so  bright. 
That,  beside  him,  our  sims  of  the  north  are  but 
moons ! 

We  mipht  fancy,  at  least,  like   their   climate  they 
burn'd. 
And  that  Love,  though  unused,  in  this  region  of 
spring. 
To  be  thus  to  a  tame  Household  Deity  turn'd. 
Would  yet  be  all  soul,  when  abroad  on  the  wing. 

And  there  mm/  be,  there  «7-e  those  explosions  of  heart. 
Which  burst,  when  the  senses  have  first  caught  the 
flame; 

Such  fits  of  the  blood  as  those  climates  impart, 
Where  Love  is  a  sun-stroke  that  maddens  I  he  frame. 

But  that  Passion,  which  springs  in  the  depth  of  the  soul, 
Whose  beginnings  are  virginly  pure  as  the  source 

Of  some  mountainous  rivulet,  destined  to  roll 

As  a  torrent,  ere  long,  losing  peace  in  its  course — 

A  course,  to  which  Modesty's  struggle  but  lend? 

A  more  head-long  descent,  without  chance  ofrecal; 
Hut  which  iModcsty,  even  to  the  last  edge  attends, 

And,  at  length,  throws  a  halo  of  tears  round  its  fill ! 

This  exquisite  Passion — ay,  exquisite,  even 

In  the  ruin  its  madness  too  oflen  hath  made. 
As  it  keeps,  even  then,  a  bright  trace  of  the  ^eaven, 


This  entireness  of  love,  which  can  only  be  found 
Where  Woman,  like  something  that's  holy,  watch'd 
over. 

And  fenced,  from  her  childhood,  with  purity  roun.j, 
Comes,  body  and  soul,  fresh  as  Spring,  to  a  lover 

Where  not  an  eye  answers,  where  not  a  hand  prcssesi 
Till  spirit  with  spirit  in  sympathy  move  ; 

And  the  Senses,  asleep  in  their  .sacred  recesses, 
Can  only  be  reach'd  through  the  Temple  of  Love 

This  perfection  of  Passion — how  can  it  be  found, 
Wliere  the  mysteries  Nature  hath  hung  round  th« 
tie 

By  which  souls  are  together  attracted  and  bound, 
Are  laid  open,  for  ever,  to  heart,  ear,  and  eye — 

Where  nought  of  those  innocent  doubts  can  exist, 
That  ignorance,  even  than  know'ledge  more  bright, 

Which  circles  the  young,  like  the  morn's  sunny  mist, 
And  curtains  them  round  in  their  own  native  light — 

Where  Experience  leaves  nothing  for  Love  to  reveal, 
Or  for  Fancy,  in  visions,  to  gleam  o'er  the  thought, 

But  the  truths  which,  alone,  we  would  die  to  conceal 
From  the  maiden's  young  heart,  are  the  ojtly  ones 
taught — 

Oh  no — 'tis  not  here,  howsoever  we're  given. 
Whether  purely  to  Hymen's  o?ie  planet  we  pray, 

Or  adore,  like  Sabasans,  each  light  of  Love's  heaven, 
Here  is  not  the  region  to  fix  or  to  stray ; 

For,  faithless  in  wedlock,  in  gallantry  gross. 
Without  honour  to  guard,  or  reserve  to  restrain, 

Wliat  have  they  a  husband  can  mourn  as  a  loss? — 
Wiiat  have  they  a  lover  can  prize  as  a  gain  ? 


EXTRACT  VI. 


Rome. 


Reflections  on  reading  De  Cerceau's  Accom.t  of  the 
Conspiracy  of  Rienzi,  in  1347. — The  Meeting  oj 
the  Conspirators  on  the  night  of  the  YMh  of  May.  - 
T7i«V  Procession  in  the  Moniinr  to  the  Capitol  — 
Rienzi's  Speech. 

'T  vv.AS  a  proud  moment — even  to  hear  the  words 

Of  Truth  and  Freedom  'mid  these  temples  breathed. 
And  see,  once  more,  the  Forum  shine  with  swords, 

In  the  Republic's  sacred  name  unsheathed — 
That  glimpse,  that  vision  of  a  brighter  day 

For  his  dear  Rome,  must  to  a  Roman  be — 
Short  as  it  was — worth  ages  pass'd  away 

In  the  dull  lapse  of  hopeless  slavery. 

'Twas  on  a  night  of  May — beneath  that  moo.i 
Which  had,  through  many  an  age,  seen  Time  uuti.ne 
The  strings  of  this  Great  Empire,  till  it  fell 
From  his  rude  hands,  a  broken,  silent  shell — 
The  sound  ofihe  church  clock,'  near  .Apr  lA.v'sTornU 
Summon'd  the  warriors,  who  had  risen  for  Rome, 


1  It  IS  nut  e:isy  lo  iliscovur  what  cliurcli  i:--  nicrtnl  by  Da 

Oerccau  here  ;— "  II  fii  I'rier  dans  Ifs  rui-s  de  Rome,  ii  Bon  da 

'ronipe,  nue  chaciin  eut  .a  se  tnuiver.  sans  amies,  la  nuit  do 

lonileniain,  dixneuvieme,  diins  I't^glise  au  clia't'iiii  nc  Saint 

The  heaven  of  Virtue,  fTin  which  it  has  stray'd — 1  .\uge  au  son  do  la  clc>r:he,  afin  de  iiouivoir  au  Bon  Flat  " 


206 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


To  meet  unarm'd,  with  nought  to  watch  them  there 
But  God's  own  Eye,  and  pass  the  night  in  prayer. 
Holy  beginning  of  a  holy  cause, 
WTien  heroes,  girt  for  Freedom's  combat,  pause 
Before  high  Heaven,  and,  humble  in  their  might, 
Call  down  its  blessing  on  that  awful  fight. 

At  dawn,  in  arms,  went  forth  the  patriot  band. 
And,  as  the  breeze,  fresh  from  the  Tiber,  fann'd 
Their  gilded  gonfalons,  all  eyes  could  see 

The  palm-tree  there,  the  sword,  the  keys  of  Hea- 
ven— ' 
Types  of  the  justice,  peace,  and  liberty. 

That  were  to  bless  them  when  their  chains  were 
riven. 
On  to  the  Capitol  the  pageant  moved, 

While  many  a  Shade  of  other  times,  that  still 
Around  that  grave  of  grandeur  sighing  roved. 

Hung  o'er  their  footsteps  up  the  Sacred  Hill, 
And  heard  its  mournful  echoes,  as  the  last 
High-minded  heirs  of  the  Republic  pass'd. 
Twas  then  that  thou,  their  Tribune  (name  which 

brought 
Dreams  of  lost  glory  to  each  patriot's  thought,) 
Didst,  from  a  spirit  Rome  in  vain  shall  seek 
To  call  up  in  her  sons  again,  thus  speak : — 

"Romans!  look  round  you — on  this  sacred  place 

There  once  stood  shrines,  and  gods,  and  godlike 
men — 
What  see  you  now  ?  what  solitary  trace 

Is  left  of  all  that  made  Rome's  glory  then? 
The  shrines  are  sunk,  the  Sacred  3Iount  bereft 

Even  of  its  name — and  nothing  now  remains 
But  the  deep  memory  of  that  glory,  left 

To  whet  our  pangs  and  aggravate  our  chains  ! 
Rut  sihall  this  be? — our  sun  and  sky  the  same, 

Treading  the  very  soil  our  fathers  trode, 
WTiat  withering  curse  hath  fallen  on  soul  and  frame, 

What  visitation  hath  there  come  from  Gou, 
To  blast  our  strength  and  rot  us  into  slaves, 
Hen',  on  our  great  forefathers'  glorious  graves  ? 
It  cannot  be — rise  up,  ye  Mighty  Dead, 

If  we,  the  living,  are  too  weak  to  crush 
These  tyrant  priests,  that  o'er  your  empire  tread. 

Till  all  but  Romans  at  Rome's  tainuness  blush !" 

'  Happy  Palmyra  !  in  thy  desert  domes, 

Where  only  date-trees  sigh  and  serpents  hiss; 
And  thou,  whoso  pillars  are  but  silent  homes 

For  the  stork's  brood,  superb  Persepolis  ! 
rtirice  happy  both  that  your  extinguish'd  race 
Have  loft  no  embers-  -no  half-living  trace — 
No  slaves,  to  crawl  around  the  once-proud  spot, 
Till  past  renown  in  present  shame 's  forgot ; 
While  Rome,  the  Queen  of  all,  whose  very  wrecks, 

If  lone  and  lifeless  through  a  desert  hurl'd. 
Would  wear  more  true  maguilicence  than  decks 

The  assoniblf'd  thrones  of  all  the  existing  world — 
Rome,  Rome  alone,  is  haunted,  stain'd,  and  cursed, 

Through  ev(!ry  spot  her  princely  Tiber  laves, 
Ry  living  human  things — the  deadliest,  worst. 

That  earth  engenders — tyrants  and  their  slaves  ! 


And  we' — oh  shame! — we,  wno  have  ponder'd  o'et 

The  patriot's  lesson  and  the  poets  lay ; 
Have  mounted  up  the  streams  of  ancient  lore, 

Tracking  our  country's  glories  all  the  way — 
Even  we  have  tamely,  basely  kiss'd  the  ground 

Before  that  Papal  Power,  that  Ghost  of  Her, 
The  World's  Imperial  iMistress — sitting,  crown'd 

And  ghastly,  on  her  mouldering  sepulchre  !' 
Rut  this  is  past — too  long  have  lordly  priests 

And  priestly  lords  led  us,  with  all  our  pride 
Withering  about  us — like  devoted  beasts, 
Dragg'd  to  the  shrine,  with  faded  garlands  tied. 
'T  is  o'er — the  dawn  of  our  deliverance  breaks! 
Up  from  his  sleep  of  centuries  awakes 
The  Genius  of  the  Old  Republic,  free 
As  first  he  stood,  in  chainless  majesty. 
And  sends  his  voice  through  ages  yet  to  come, 
Proclaiming  Rome,  Rome,  Rome,  Eternal  Rome  .' 


EXTRACT  VII. 

Rome. 
Mary  Magdalen. — Her  Story. — Numerous  Pictures 
of  her. — Correggio. — Giddo. — Raphael,  etc. — €0- 
nova's  two  exquisite  Statues. — The  Somariva 
Magdalen — Chanlreij^s  Admiration  of  Canova's 
Works. 

No  wonder,  Mary,  that  thy  story 

Touches  all  hearts — for  there  we  see 
The  soul's  corruption  and  its  glory, 

Its  death  and  life,  combined  in  thee. 
From  the  first  moment,  when  we  find 

Thy  spirit,  haunted  by  a  swarm 
Of  dark  desires,  which  had  inshrined 

Themselves,  like  demons,  in  thy  form. 
Till  when,  by  touch  of  Heaven  set  free, 

Thou  camest,  with  those  bright  locks  of  gold, 
(So  oft  the  gaze  of  Bethany,) 

And,  covering  in  their  precious  fold 
Thy  Saviour's  feet,  didst  shed  such  tears 
As  paid,  each  drop,  the  sins  of  years  I — 
Thence  on,  through  all  thy  course  of  love 

To  him,  thy  Heavenly  Master, — Him 
Whose  bitter  death-cup  from  above. 

Had  yet  this  sweetening  round  the  bnm, 
That  woman's  faith  and  love  stood  fast 
And  fearless  by  him  to  the  last ! 
Till — bless'd  reward  for  truth  like  thine  ! — 

Thou  wcrt,  of  all,  the  chosen  one. 
Before  whose  eyes  that  Face  Divine, 

When  risen  from  the  dead,  first  shone, 
That  thou  mightst  see  how,  like  a  cloud, 
Had  pass'd  away  its  mortal  shroud. 


!   Fnr  a  diiscripl-'iii  of  lliese  b;umi;T»,  fee  Notes. 


1  The  fine  Canzone'  of  Petrarch,  beginning  "Spirto  gen- 
til,"  is  su|)|i<)seil,  by  Vi)llaire  and  others,  to  have  been  ud 
dressed  to  Kiinzi;  but  there  is  inucli  more  evidence  of  iti 
hiving  been  written,  as  (!inf,'iien6  asserts,  to  the  young  Ste- 
phen Colonnii,  on  iiis  beins;  created  a  Senator  of  Rome. 
That  Pi!irareh,  however,  was  tilled  with  biifli  and  patriotic 
lio])os  by  the  fust  measures  of  this  pxtraiirdinary  man,  ap- 
pears from  one  of  his  letters,  quoted  by  De  Cerce'iu,  where 
i)(!  finys:  "  Pour  tout  dire,  en  iin  mot,  j'aitoste,  non  comma 
lecteur,  mais  comnie  K^moin  ocuhiire,  qu'il  nous  a  ranient) 
la  justice,  la  paix,  la  boime  foi,  la  s6curit6,  et  toutes  l«« 
autres  vcsiigos  de  I'ftge  d'or." 

2  See  Note. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  KOAD. 


207 


And  make  that  bright  revealment  known 
To  hearts  less  trusting  than  thy  own — 
All  is  atreoting,  cheering,  grand  ; 

The  kindliest  record  ever  given, 
Even  under  Ood's  own  kindly  hand, 

Of  what  Repentance  wins  from  Heaven  ! 

No  wonder,  Mary,  that  thy  face, 

In  all  its  touching  light  of  tears. 
Should  meet  us  in  each  holy  place, 

Where  man  before  his  God  appears, 
Hopeless — were  he  not  taught  to  see 
All  hope  in  Him  who  pardon'd  thee  ! 
\o  wonder  that  the  painter's  skill 

Should  oft  have  triumi)h'd  in  the  power 
or  keeping  thee  most  lovely  still 

Throughout  thy  sorrow's  bitterest  hour — 
That  soft  CoRRKciOio  should  ditluse 

His  melting  shadows  round  thy  form; 
That  GuiDo's  pale  unearthly  hues 

Should,  in  portraying  thee,  grow  warm  : 
That  all — from  the  ideal,  grand. 
Inimitable  Roman  hand, 
Down  to  the  small,  enamelling  touch 

Of  smooth  Cari,ino — should  delight 
In  picturing  her  who  "  loved  so  much," 

And  was,  in  spite  of  sin,  so  bright ! 

But,  Mary,  'mong  the  best  essays 

Of  Genius  and  of  Art  to  raise 

A  semblance  of  those  weeping  eyes — 

A  vision,  worthy  of  the  sphere 
Thy  faith  hath  given  thee  in  the  skies, 

And  in  the  hearts  of  all  men  here. 
Not  one  hath  equall'd,  hath  come  nigh 

Canova's  fancy  ;  oh,  not  one 
Hath  made  thee  feel,  and  live,  and  die 

In  tears  away,  as  he  hath  done. 
In  those  bright  images,  more  bright 
With  true  expression's  breathing  light 
Than  ever  yet  beneath  the  stroke 
Of  chisel  into  life  awoke  ! 
The  one,'  pourtraying  what  thou  wert 

In  thy  first  grief,  while  yet  the  flower 
Of  those  young  beauties  was  unhurt 

By  sorrow's  slow  consuming  power. 
And  mingling  earth's  luxurious  grace 

With  Heaven's  subliming  thoughts  so  well, 
We  gaze,  and  know  not  in  whith  place 

Such  beauty  most  was  form'd  to  dwell ! — 
The  other,  as  thou  look'dst  when  years 
Of  fasting,  penitence,  and  tears 
Had  worn  thee  down — and  ne'er  did  Art 

With  half  such  mental  power  express 
The  ruin  which  a  breaking  heart 

Spreads,  by  degrees,  o'er  loveliness  ! 
Those  wasted  arms,  that  keep  the  trace, 
Even  now,  of  all  their  youthful  grace — 
Those  tresses,  of  thy  charms  the  last 
Whose  pride  forsook  thee,  wildly  cast — 


1  This  statue  is  oni'  of  Iho  l;ist  works  of  Cuiiovn,  and  wn« 
lot  yet  in  inailjle  wlioii  I  left  Roiiu-.  The  o:her,  wliicli 
teems  to  prove,  in  contradiction  to  very  liish  authority,  that 
expression,  of  the  intensest  kind,  is  fully  within  tlie  sphere 
of  sculpture,  was  executed  many  years  affo,  and  is  in  the 
Oonsession  of  the  Count  Somariva  at  Paris. 


Those  features,  even  in  fading  worth 

The  freshest  smiles  to  others  given, 
And  those  sunk  eyes,  that  see  not  earth, 
But  wiiose  last  looks  are  full  of  Heaven! 

Wonderful  artist !  praise  like  mine- 
Though  springing  from  a  soid  that  feels 
Deep  worship  of  those  works  divine. 

Where  Genius  all  his  light  reveals — 
Is  little  to  the  words  that  came 
From  him,  thy  peer  in  art  and  fame. 
Whom  I  have  known,  by  day,  by  night. 
Hang  o'er  thy  marble  with  delight, 
And,  while  his  lingering  hand  would  steal 

O'er  every  grace  the  taper's  rays,' 
Give  thee,  with  all  the  generous  zeal 
Such  master-spirits  only  feel. 

That  best  of  fime — a  rival's  praise  ! 


EXTRACT  VIII. 

Les  CharmeltOB. 
A  Vixit  to  the  House  where  Roux.ieau  lived  vnlh  Ma, 
dame  de  Warena. — Their  Mewige. — Itx  Gross 
ne.tx. — Clmide  Anet. — Reverence  vjith  iihirh  th. 
Spot  is  now  visited. — Absurdity  of  this  hliiul  Dev 
tion  to  Fame. — Feelings  excited  hi/  the  Brauli/  ar-f 
Seclu.'<iori  of  the  Scene. — Disturbed  hi/  its  A.^xuna- 
lions  with  Rousseau's  History. — ImpoMures  of  ^fm 
of  Genius. — Their  Power  of  mimicking  all  the  bis 
Feelings,  Love,  Ind^'.pendence,  etc. 

Strange  power  of  Genius,  that  can  throw 
O'er  all  that 's  vicious,  weak,  and  low, 
Such  r;;agic  lights,  such  rainbow  dyes, 
As  dazzle  even  the  steadiest  eyes  ! 

About  a  century  since,  or  near, 
A  middle-aged  Madame  lived  here, 
W^ith  character,  even  worse  than  most 
Such  middle-aged  Madames  can  boast. 
Her  footman  was — to  gloss  it  over 
With  the  most  gentle  term — her  lover ; 
Nor  yet  so  jealous  of  the  truth 

And  charms  of  this  impartial  fair, 
As  to  deny  a  pauper  youth, 

W^ho  join'd  their  snug  manage,  his  share 
And  there  they  lived,  this  precious  three, 

With  just  as  little  sense  or  notion 
Of  what  the  world  calls  decency. 

As  hath  the  sea-calf  in  the  ocean. 
And,  doubtless,  'mong  the  grave,  and  good. 
And  gentle  of  their  neighbourhood, 
If  known  at  all,  they  were  but  known 

As  strange,  low  people,  low  and  bad^ 
3Iadame,  herself,  to  footmen  prone. 

And  her  young  pauper,  all  but  mad. 
Who  could  have  thought  this  very  spot 

Would,  one  day,  be  a  sort  of  shnne. 
Where — all  its  grosser  taints  forgot. 

Or  gilt  by  Fancy  till  they  shine — 
Pilgrims  woukl  meet,  from  many  a  shore. 
To  trace  eairh  mouldering  chamber  o'er  , 


1  Canova  always  shows  his  fine  statue,  the  Voncre  Vio 
citrice,  by  the  light  of  a  small  candle. 


208 


3I00RE'a  WORKS. 


Voung  bards  to  dream  of  virtuous  fame, 
Voung  maids  to  lisp  De  Waren's  name, 
And  mellower  spinsters — of  an  age 
Licensed  to  read  Jean  Jacques's  page — 
To  picture  all  those  blissful  hours 
He  pass'd  in  these  sequester'd  bowers, 
With  his  dear  Maman  and  his  flowers  ! 
Spinsters,  who — if,  from  glowing  heart 

Or  erring  head,  some  living  maid 
Had  wander'd  even  the  thousandth  part 

Of  what  this  worthy  Maman  stray'd— 
Would  bridle  up  their  virtuous  chins 
In  horror  at  her  sin  of  sins. 
And — could  their  chaste  eyes  kill  with  flashes — 
Frown  the  fair  culprit  into  ashes  ! 

'T  is  too  absurd — 't  is  weakness,  shame, 
This  low  prostration  before  Fame — 
This  casting  down,  beneath  the  car 
Of  Idols,  whatsoe'er  they  are. 
Life's  purest,  holiest  decencies. 
To  be  career'd  o'er  as  they  please. 
No — let  triumphant  Genius  have 
All  that  his  loftiest  wish  can  crave. 
If  he  be  worshipp'd,  let  it  be 

For  attributes,  his  noblest,  first — 
Not  with  that  base  idolatry, 

Wliich  sanctifies  his  last  and  worst. 

I  may  be  cold — may  want  that  glow 

Of  high  romance,  which  bards  should  know; 

That  holy  homage,  which  is  felt 

In  treading  where  the  great  have  dwelt — 

This  reverence,  whatsoe'er  it  be, 

I  fear,  I  feel,  I  have  it  not. 
For  here,  at  this  still  hour,  to  me 

The  charms  of  this  delightful  spot — 
Its  calm  seclusion  from  the  throng. 

From  all  the  heart  would  fain  forget — 
This  narrow  valley,  and  the  song 

Of  its  small  murmuring  rivulet — 
The  flitting  to  and  fro  of  birds, 

Tranquil  and  tame  as  they  were  once 
In  Eden,  ere  the  startling  words 

Of  man  disturb'd  their  orisons  ! — 
Those  iitiie,  shadowy  paths,  that  wind 
Up  the  hiil  side,  with  iVuit-trees  lined, 
And  lighted  only  by  the  breaks 
The  gay  wind  in  the  foliage  makes. 
Or  vistas  here  and  there,  that  ope 

Through  weeping  willows,  like  the  snatches 
Of  far-off  scenes  of  light,  which  Hope, 

Even  through  the  shade  of  sadness,  catches  !- 
All  this,  which — could  I  once  but  lose 

The  memory  of  those  vulgar  tics, 
Whose  grossness  all  the  heaveilliest  hues 

Of  (ienius  can  no  more  disguise, 
Than  the  sun's  beams  can  do  away 
The  fillh  of  fens  o'er  which  they  play — 
This  scene,  which  would  have  fill'd  my  heart 

With  thoughts  of  all  that  happiest  is — 


Of  Love,  where  self  hath  only  part. 

As  echoing  back  another's  bliss — 
Of  solitude,  secure  and  sweet. 
Beneath  whose  shade  the  Virtues  meet , 
Which,  while  it  shelters,  never  cnilla 

Our  sympathies  with  human  woe, 
But  keeps  them,  like  sequester'd  rills, 

Purer  and  freslier  in  their  flow — 
Of  happy  days,  that  share  their  beams 

'T  wixt  quiet  mirth  and  wise  employ — 
Of  tranquil  nights,  that  give  in  dreams 

The  moonliglit  of  the  morning's  joy  ! — 
All  this  my  heart  could  dwell  on  here, 
But  for  those  hateful  memories  near, 
Those  sordid  truths,  that  cross  the  track 
Of  each  sweet  thought,  and  drive  them  back 
Full  into  all  the  mire,  and  strife, 
And  vanities  of  that  man's  life, 
Who,  more  than  all  that  e'er  have  glow'd 

With  Fancy's  flame  (and  it  was  riis 
If  ever  given  to  mortal)  showed 

What  an  impostor  Genius  is — 
How  with  that  strong,  mimetic  art 

Which  is  its  life,  and  soul,  it  takes 
All  shapes  of  thought,  all  hues  of  heart, 

Nor  fefils,  itself,  one  throb  it  wakes — 
How  like  a  gem  its  light  may  smile 

O'er  the  dark  path,  by  mortals  trod, 
Itself  as  mean  a  worm,  the  while. 

As  crawls  along  the  sullying  sod — 
What  sensibility  may  fall 

From  its  false  lip,  what  plans  to  bless, 
While  home,  friends,  kindred,  country,  all, 

Lie  waste  beneaf.h  its  selfishness — 
How,  with  the  pencil  hardly  dry 

From  colcaring  up  such  scenes  of  love 
And  beauty,  as  make  young  hearts  sigh. 

And  dream,  and  think  through  Heaven  they  io«« 
They,  who  can  thus  describe  and  move, 

The  very  workers  of  these  charms, 
Nor  seek,  nor  ask  a  Heaven  above 

Some  Maman's  or  Theresa's  arms  ! 

How  all,  in  short,  that  makes  the  boast 
Of  their  false  tongues,  they  want  the  most , 
And  while,  with  Freedom  on  their  lips, 

Sounding  her  timbrels,  to  set  free 
This  bright  world,  labouring  in  the  eclipse 

Of  priestcraft  and  of  slavery. 
They  may,  themselves,  be  slaves  as  low 

As  ever  lord  or  patron  made. 
To  blossom  in  his  smile,  or  grow, 

Like  stunted  brushwood,  in  his  shade 

Out  on  the  craft — I'd  rather  be 

One  of  those  hinds  that  round  me  tread, 
With  just  enough  of  sense  to  see 

The  noon-day  sun  that 's  o'er  my  head, 
Than  thus,  with  high-built  genius  cursed 

That  hath  no  heart  for  its  foundation, 
Be  all,  at  once,  that 's  brightest — worst — 

Sublimest — meanest  in  creation  ' 


Page  203,  line  57. 

Thy  pertiily,  still  wurso  ihan  nusht 
'I'liV  own  uiililufhiii^  Sari'I  tnii^lit. 
TiTE  spirit  in  which  these  maxims  of  Father  Paul 
»re  written,  may  be  sufficiently  judged  from  the  in- 


de  eonduite  trac^e  par  des  hommes  graves,  h  .eurs 
successcurs,  et  consignee  dans  des  statuts." 

The  cases  in  which  assassination  is  ordered  by 
these  statutes  are  as  follow  : — 

"  Un  ouvriLT  de  I'arsenal,  un  chet  ae  ce  qu'on  ap- 


'tr-jctions  which  he  gives  for  the  management  of  the  pelle  parmi  les  marins  le  monstrance,  passait-il  au 
Venetian  colonies  and  provinces.  Of  the  former  he  service  d'une  puissance  etrangere,  il  fallait  ie  faire 
says: — "  11  faut  les  trailer  comme  des  animaux  fero-|assassiner,  surtout  si  c'etait  un  homme  repute  brave 
ces,  les  rogner  les  dents,  et  les  grilles,  les  humilierjet  liabile  dans  sa  profession." — {Art.  3,  des  Slaluls.) 
souvent,  surtout  leur  oter  les  occasions  de  s'aguerrir.  "  Avait-il  commis  quclque  action  qu'on  ne  jugail 
Du  pain  et  le  baton,  voila  ce  qu'il  leur  faut ;  gardons  pas  a  propos  de  punir  juridiquement,  oc  devait  ie 
I'humanite  )>our  une  meilleure  occasion."  faire  empoisonner." — (Art.  14.) 

For  the  treatment  of  the  provinces  he  advises  thus:  "  Un  artisan  passait-il  a  I'etranger  en  v  exportani 
"Tendre  a  depouiller  les  villes  de  leurs  privileges,  quelque  precede  de  Tindustrie  nationale :  c'etait  cn- 
faire  que  les  habitans  s'appauvrissent,  et  que  leurs  core  un  crime  capital,  que  la  loi  inconnue  ordonnait 
bions  soicnt  achetes  par  les  Venitiens.  Ceux  qui,  de  punir  par  un  assassinat." — (Art.  20.) 
dans  les  conseils  municipaux,  se  niontreront  ou  plusi  Tlie  facility  with  which  they  got  rid  of  their  Duke 
audacieux  ou  plus  devoues  aux  interets  de  la  popula-lof  Bedfords,  Lord  Fitzwilliams,  etc.  was  admirable  ■ 
tion,  il  faut  les  perdre  ou  les  gagner  a  quelque  prix  it  was  thus : — 


que  ce  soit :  enfin,  s'iZ  se  trouve  dans  les  provinces 
qnelqnes  chefs  de  parti,  il  faut  les  exterminer  sous  un 
prelcxte  qii/iconq-ue,  nuiis  en  evitaiit  de  rccourir  a  la 
justice  ordinaire.  Que  le  poison  fasse  I'ojfice  du  hour- 
reau,  cela  est  mains  odieiu:  et  beaucoup plus  profitable." 

Page  203,  note. 

Rv  ttie  Inniiiious  slatiites  of  tlif  ?(ate  Inquisition,  etc. 
M.  Daru  has  given  an  abstract  of  these  Statutes, 
from  a  manuscript  in  the  Bibliotheque  du  Roi,  and  it 
is  hardly  credible  that  such  a  system  of  treachery 
and  cruelty  should  ever  have  been  established  by  any 
governtnent,  or  submitted  to,  for  an  instant,  by  any 
pe(i[)le.  Among  various  precautions  against  the  in- 
trigues of  their  own  nobles,  we  find  the  following: — 
"  Pour  persuader  aux  etrangers  qu'il  etait  ditHcile  et 
dangereux  d'entretenir  quelque  intrigue  secrete  avec 
les  nobles  Venitiens,  on  imagina  de  fiiire  avertir  mys- 
terieusement  le  Nonce  du  Pape  (afin  que  les  autres 
ministres  en  fussent  informes)  que  I'lnquisition  avait 
autorise  les  patriciens  a  poignarder  quiconque  essaie- 
rait  de  tenter  leur  fidelite.  Mais  craignant  que  les 
ambassadeurs  ne  pretassent  foi  difficilement  a  une 
deliberation,  qui  en  eflct  n'existait  pas,  I'lnquisition 
voulait  prouver  qu'elle  en  etait  capable.  Elle  or- 
douna  des  reclierches  pour  decouvrir  s'il  n'y  avait 
pas  dans  Venise  quelque  exile  audessus  du  commun, 
qui  eiit  rompu  son  ban  ;  ensuite  un  des  patriciens  qui 
etaienl  aux  gages  du  tribunal,  recut  la  mission  d'.is- 
sassiner  ce  malheure«x,  et  I'ordre  de  s'en  vanter,  en 
disant  qu'il  s'etail  porte  a  cct  acte,  parce  que  ce  banni 
etait  I'agent  d'un  ministre  etranger,  et  avait  cherche 
a  le  corrompre." — "  Kemarquons,"  adds  M.  Dam, 
"  que  ceci  n'est  pas  une  simple  anecdote  ;  c'est  une 
mission  projetee,  dcliberee,  ecrite  d'avance;  une  ri'gle 


"  Le  patricien  qui  se  pormettait  la  moindre  proo"? 
centre  le  gouvernement,  etait  atimonete  deux  fois,  et 
a  la  troisieme  noi/e  comme  incorrigible. — {Art.  39.) 

Page  205,  line  77. 

Ri'llc.xiDiis  on  riMilnjr,  etc. 
Tne  "Conjuration  de  Nicolas  Gabrini,  dit  de  Ri- 
enzi,"  by  the  Jesuit  de  Cerceau,  is  chiefly  taken  frcm 
the  much  more  authentic  work  of  Foriifiocca  oa  *ia 
same  subject.     Rienzi  was  the  son  of  a  laundress. 

Page  206,  line  9. 

Tlmir  iiild.'d  !;ant"i  ons. 

"  Les  gentilshommes  conjures  poitaient  dev-int  lui 
trois  etendarts.  Nicolas  Guallato,  surnomme  le  hon 
diseur,  portait  le  premier,  qui  etait  de  couleur  ro-j-* 
et  plus  grand  que  les  autres.  On  y  voyait  des  carac- 
teres  d'or  avec  une  fenmie  assize  sur  deux  lions, 
tenant  d'une  main  le  globe  du  monde,  et  de  I'autre 
une  Palme  pour  representer  la  viUe  de  Rome. 
C'etait  le  Gonfalon  de  la  Liherte.  Le  Second,  a 
fonds  blanc,  avec  un  St.  Paul  tenant  de  la  droire  une 
Ejiee  nue  et  de  la  gauche  la  couronne  de  Justice,  etait 
porte  par  Etienne  3Lagnacuccia,  notaire  apostolique. 
Dans  le  troisieme,  St.  Pierre  avait  en  main  les  clefs 
de  la  Concorde  et  de  la  Paix.  Tout  cela  insinuait  le 
(lessein  de  Rienzi,  qui  etait  de  retablir  la  liberte,  la 
justice,  et  la  paix." — Du  Cerceau,  Uv.  2. 

Page  206,  line  63. 

That  Ghost  of  r?..- 
The  world's  Iinponal  .^listre.ss. 
This  image  is  borrowed  from  Hobbes,  whose  words 
are,  as  near  as  I  can  recollect : — ''  For  what  is  the 
Papacy,  but  the  Ghost  of  the  old  Roman  Empire 
sitting  crowned  on  the  grave  thereof?" 


F.U5I.ES  FOR  TIIK 


»!»**      »»»*♦»*♦ 


Eripe. 


tu  RegibuB  alas 

Virgil.  Georg.  lib.  iv. 

clip  the  wings 

Of  these  high-flying,  arbitrary  Kings. 

DrydeiVs  Translation. 


FABLE  I. 

THE  DISSOLUTION  OF  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 

A  Dream. 

I've  had  a  dream  that  bodes  no  good 
Unto  the  Holy  Brotherhood. 
i  may  be  wrong,  but  I  confess — 

As  far  as  it  is  right  or  lawful 
For  one,  no  conjuror,  to  guess — 

It  seems  to  me  extremely  awful 

Methought,  upon  the  Neva's  flood 

A  beautiful  lee  Palace  stood  ; 

A  dome  of  frost-work,  on  the  plan 

Of  that  once  built  by  Empress  Anne,' 

Which  shone  by  moonlight — as  the  tale  is — 

Like  an  aurora  borealis. 

[n  this  said  palace — furnish'd  all 

And  lighted  as  the  best  on  land  are — 
I  dream'd  there  was  a  splendid  ball, 

Given  by  the  Emperor  Alexander, 
To  entertain,  with  all  due  zeal. 

Those  holy  gentlemen  who  've  shown  a 
Regard  so  kind  for  Europe's  weal. 

At  Troppau,  Laybach,  and  Verona. 

The  thought  was  happy,  and  designed 
To  hint  how  thus  the  human  mind 
May — like  the  stream  imprison'd  there — 
Be  check'd  and  chili'd  till  it  can  bear 
The  heaviest  Kings,  that  ode  or  sonnet 
E'er  yet  be-praised,  to  dance  upon  it. 

And  all  were  pleased,  and  cold,  and  stately, 

Shivering  in  grand  illuminanon — 
Admired  the  superstructure  greatly. 

Nor  gave  one  thought  to  the  foundation. 
iVIuch  too  the  Czar  himself  exulted, 

To  all  pir'.bcian  fears  a  stranger, 
As  Madame  Krudener,  when  consulted. 

Had  pledged  her  word  there  was  no  danger. 
So,  on  he  cajjer'd,  fearless  quite. 

Thinking  himself  extremely  clever, 
And  vvaltz'd  away  with  all  his  might, 

As  if  the  frost  would  last  for  ever. 


1  "  Jt  is  wnll  known  thit  th<'  K:iipresrt  Anne  built  a  piilncn 
01  ice.  on  lhi«  Neva,  in  174(1,  which  was  fifly-lwo  feet  in 
'engtn,  anri  when  illuinin  ileil  liad  a  surprising  efFocl." — 
Pinkerti'n. 

210 


Just  fancy  how  a  bard  like  me, 

Who  reverence  monarchs,  must  have  ''emUeo 
To  see  that  goodly  company 

At  such  a  ticklish  sport  assembled. 

Nor  were  the  fears,  that  thus  astounded 

My  loyal  soul,  at  all  unfounded  ; 

For,  lo !  ere  long,  those  walls  so  massy 

Were  seized  with  an  ill-omen'd  drippinp, 
And  o'er  the  floors,  now  growing  glassy 

Their  Holinesses  took  to  slipping. 
The  Czar,  half  through  a  Polonaise, 

Could  scarce  get  on  for  downright  stumbling, 
And  Prussia,  though  to  slippery  ways 

So  used,  was  cursedly  near  tumbling. 

Yet  still  't  was  who  could  stamp  the  floor  most, 
Russia  and  Austria  'mong  the  foremost. 
And  now,  to  an  Italian  air. 

This  precious  brace  would  hand  in  hand  po ; 
Now — while  old  ******  from  his  chair, 
Intreated  them  his  toes  to  spare — 

Call'd  loudly  out  for  a  fandango. 

And  a  fandango,  'faith,  they  had. 

At  which  they  all  set  to  like  mad — 

Never  were  Kings  (though  small  the  expense  it 

Of  wit  among  their  Excellencies,) 

So  out  of  all  their  princely  senses. 

But,  ah  !  that  dance — that  Spanish  dance- 
Scarce  was  the  luckless  strain  begun, 

W^Vien,  glaring  red — as  't  were  a  glance 
Shot  from  an  angry  southern  sun — 

A  liglit  through  all  the  chambers  flamed, 
Astonishing  old  Father  Frost, 

Who,  bursting  into  tears,  exclaim'd, 

"  A  thaw,  by  Jove  ! — we're  lost,  we're  lost ' 

Run,  F !  a  second  Waterloo 

Is  come  to  drown  you — .sauve  quipeuf ' 

Why,  why  will  monarchs  caper  so 

In  palaces  without  foundations  ? 
Instantly  all  was  in  a  flow  : 

Crowns,  fiddles,  sceptres,  decorations , 
Those  royal  arms,  that  look'd  so  nice. 
Cut  out  in  the  resplendent  ice ; 
Those  eagles,  liaiulsonicly  proVnien 

With  double  heads  for  douldc  dealings — 
IIow  fast  the  globi:s  and  sceptres  glided 

Out  of  their  claws  on  all  the  ceilintrs ! 


FABLES,  ETC. 


211 


Proud  Prussia's  double  bird  of  prey, 
T.imc  as  a  spatch-cock,  slunk  away; 
While — just  like  France  horselt;  when  she 

Proclaims  how  great  her  naval  skill  is — 
Poor  ******'  drowumg Jleurs-de-li/s 

Imagined  themselves  ?/)ate/--lilies. 
And  no'  alone  rooms,  ceilings,  shelves, 

But — still  more  fatal  execution — 
The  Great  Leg-itimatcb  themselves 

Seem'd  in  a  state  of  dissolution. 
The  indignant  Czar — when  just  about 

To  issue  a  sublime  Ukase — 
"Whereas,  all  light  must  be  kept  out" 

Dissolved  to  nothing  in  its  blaze. 
Next  Prussia  took  his  turn  to  melt. 
And,  while  his  lips  illustrious  felt 
The  influence  of  this  southern  air, 

Some  word  like  "Constitution,"  long 
Conccal'd  in  frosty  silence  there. 

Came  slowly  thawing  from  his  tongue. 
While  ******,  lapsing  by  degrees. 

And  sighing  cut  a  faint  adieu 
To  trulfles,  salmis,  toasted  cheese, 

And  smoking  yb/irf^s,  quickly  grew 

Himself  mto  a  fondu  too  ; — 
Or,  like  that  goodly  Kmg  they  make 
Of  sugar,  for  a  tweltlh-night  cake, 
W^hen,  in  some  urchin's  mouth,  alas. 
It  melts  into  a  shapeless  mass  ! 

In  short,  I  scarce  could  count  a  minute 
Ere  the  bright  dome,  and  all  within  it — 
Kings,  Fiddlers,  Emperors — all  were  gone  ! 

And  nothing  now  was  seen  or  heard 
But  the  bright  river,  rushing  on, 

ilappy  as  an  enfranchised  bird. 
And  prouder  of  that  natural  ray, 
Shining  along  its  chainless  way — 
More  proudly  happy  thus  to  glide 

In  simple  grandeur  to  the  sea, 
Tnan  when  in  sparkling  fetters  tied. 
And  deck'd  with  all  that  kingly  pride 

Could  bring  to  light  its  slavery! 

Such  is  my  dream — and,  I  confess, 

I  tremble  at  its  awfulness. 

That  Spanish  dance — that  southern  beam — 

But  I  say  nothing — there  's  my  dream — 

And  iMadame  Krudener,  the  she-prophet, 

May  make  just  what  she  pleases  of  it. 


FABLE  IL 

THE    LOOKIXG-GLASSES. 

PruPin. 
Where  Kings  have  been  by  mol)-elections 

Raised  to  the  throne,  't  is  strange  to  see 
WTiat  citfi^rent  anc  wnat  odd  perfoctions 

3Ieri  nave  required  in  royalty. 
Some,  likcing  monarchs  large  and  plumpv, 

Have  chosen  their  Sovereigns  by  the  weight; 
Some  wish'd  them  tall ;  some  thought  your  dumpy, 

Dutch-built  the  true  Legitimate.' 

1   Thi!  Oijihs  hail  «  l:iw  lo  choose   always  u  stiort  thick 
man  for  their  kiii". — Munsler,  Cosmug.  lib.  iii.  |i.  ItU. 


The  Easterns,  in  a  Prince,  't  is  said. 
Prefer  what  's  call'd  a  joltcr-head ;' 
The  Egyptians  weren't  at  all  partic'lar. 

So  that  their  Kings  had  not  red  hair — 
Tliix  fault  not  even  the  greatest  stickler 

For  tile  blood-royal  well  could  bear 
A  thousand  more  such  illustrations 
3Iight  be  adduced  from  various  nations; 
But,  'mong  the  many  tales  they  tell  us, 

Touching  the  acquired  or  natural  right 
Which  some  men  have  to  rule  their  fellows, 

There 's  one  which  I  shall  here  recite  :- 

Fable. 
There  was  a  land-»-to  name  the  place 

Is  neither  now  my  wish  nor  duty — 
Where  reign'd  a  certain  royal  race. 

By  right  of  their  superior  beauty. 

What  was  the  cut  legitimate 

Of  these  great  persons'  chins  and  noses. 
By  right  of  which  they  ruled  the  state. 

No  history  i  have  seen  discloses. 

But  so  it  was — a  settled  case — 

Some  act  of  Parliament,  pass'd  snuglj, 

Had  voted  them  a  beauteous  race. 
And  all  their  fiithful  subjects  ugly 

As  rank,  indeed,  stood  high  or  low. 
Some  change  it  made  in  visual  organs; 

Your  Peers  were  decent — Knights,  so  so— 
But  all  your  common  people  gorgons  ! 

Of  course,  if  any  knave  but  hinted 
That  the  King's  nose  was  turn'd  awry. 

Or  that  the  Queen  (God  save  us  I)  squinted — 
The  judges  doom'd  that  knave  to  die. 

But  rarely  things  like  this  occurr'd  : 
The  people  to  thcir'King  were  duteous, 

And  took  it,  on  his  royal  word. 

That  they  were  frights  and  he  was  beauteous 

The  cause  whereof,  among  all  classes. 
Was  sii.iply  this  . — these  island  elves 

Had  never  yet  seen  looking-glasses. 
And,  therefore,  did  not  know  themselves. 

Sometimes,  indeed,  their  neighbours'  faces 
Might  strike  them  as  more  full  of  reason, 

More  fresh  than  those  in  certain  places — 
But,  Lord  I  the  very  thought  was  treason .' 

Besides,  howe'er  we  love  our  neighbour, 
And  take  his  face's  part,  't  is  known 

We  never  half  so  earnest  labour, 

As  when  the  fice  attack'd  's  our  own. 

So,  on  they  went — the  crowd  believing 
(As  crowds  well  govern'd  always  do. J 

Their  rulers,  too,  themselves  deceivmg — 
So  old  the  joke  they  thought  't  true. 

But  jokes,  we  know,  if  they  too  far  go. 
Must  have  an  end  ;  and  so,  one  day. 


1  "In  a  Prince,  a  jollcr  head  is  invaluable,   —"nentat 
Field  f:vnri^ 


212 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Upon  that  coast  there  was  a  cargo 
Of  looking-glasses  cast  away. 

'T  was  said,  some  Radicals,  somewhere, 
Had  laid  their  wicked  heads  together. 

And  forced  that  ship  to  founder  there- 
While  some  believe  it  was  the  weather. 

However  this  mi^ht  be,  the  freight 
Was  landed  without  fees  or  duties; 

And,  from  that  hour,  historians  date 
The  downfall  of  the  race  of  beauties. 

The  looking-glasses  got  about, 

And  grew  so  common  through  the  land, 

That  scarce  a  tinker  could  walk  out 
Without  a  mirror  in  his  hand. 

Comparing  faces,  morning,  noon. 

And  night,  their  constant  occupation— 

By  dint  of  looking-glasses,  soon 
They  grew  a  most  reflecting  nation. 

In  vain  the  Court,  aware  of  errors 
In  all  the  old,  established  mazards. 

Prohibited  the  use  of  mirrors. 
And  tried  to  break  them  at  all  hazards : 

In  vain — their  laws  might  just  as  well 
Have  been  waste  paper  on  the  shelves  ; 

That  fatal  freight  had  broke  the  spell ; 
People  had  look'd — and  knew  themselves 

If  chance  a  Duke,  of  birth  sublime, 

Presumed  upon  his  ancient  face 
'Some  calf-head,  ugly  from  all  time,) 

They  popp'd  a  mirror  to  his  Grace — 

Just  hinting,  by  that  gentle  sign, 

How  little  Nature  holds  it  true. 
That  what  is  call'd  an  ancient  line 

Must  be  the  line  of  Beauty  too. 

From  Dukes'  they  pass'd  to  regal  phizzes, 
Compared  them  proudly  with  their  own. 

And  cried,  "  How  could  such  monstrous  quizres, 
In  Beauty's  name,  usurp  the  throne?" 

Tliey  then  wrote  essays,  pamphlets,  books, 

I'p""  cosmctical  economy. 
Which  made  the  King  try  various  looks, 

Bv'i  none  improved  his  physiognomy. 

And  satires  at  the  Court  they  level  I'd, 
And  small  lampoons,  so  full  of  slynesses, 

That  soon,  in  short,  they  quite  be-devil'd 
Their  Majesties  and  Royal  Highnesses. 

At  length — but  here  I  drop  the  veil, 
To  spare  some  loyal  folks'  sensations: 

Besides,  what  follows  is  the  tale 
Of  all  such  late-enlightcn'd  nations ; 

Of  all  to  whom  old  Time  discloses 

A  truth  they  should  have  sooner  known — 

T^at  Kings  have  neither  rights  nor  noses 
A  whit  diviner  than  their  own. 


FABLE  III. 

TITE    FLY   AND    THE   BULLOCK. 

Proe7n. 
Of  all  that,  to  the  sage's-survey 
This  world  presents  of  topsy-turvey. 
There  's  nought  so  much  disturbs  his  patience 
As  little  minds  in  lofty  stations. 
'Tis  like  that  sort  of  painful  wonder 
Which  slight  and  pigmy  columns  under 

Enormous  arches  give  beholders  ; 
Or  those  poor  Caryatides, 
Condemned  to  smile  and  stand  at  ease. 

With  a  whole  house  upon  their  shoulders 

If,  as  in  some  few  royal  cases. 

Small  minds  are  bur7i  into  such  places — 

If  they  are  there,  by  Right  Divine, 

Or  any  such  sufficient  reason, 
Why — Heaven  forbid  we  should  repine  .— 

To  wish  it  otherwise  were  treason ; 
Nay,  even  to  see  it  in  a  vision. 
Would  be  what  lawyers  call  misprision. 

Sir  Robert  Filmer  says — and  he. 

Of  course,  knew  all  about  the  matter — 
"  Both  men  and  beasts  love  monarchy  : 

Which  proves  how  rational — the  latter 
Sidney,  indeed,  we  know,  had  quite 
A  different  notion  from  the  knight ; 
Nay,  hints  a  King  may  lose  his  head 

By  slipping  awkwardly  his  bridle  : 
But  this  is  Jacobin,  ill-bred. 
And  (now-a-days,  when  Kings  are  led 

In  patent  snaffles)  downright  idle. 

No,  no — it  is  n't  foolish  Kings 
(Those  fi.x'd,  inevitable  things — 
Bores  paramount,  by  right  of  birth) 

That  move  my  wrath,  but  your  pretenders 
Your  mushroom  rulers,  sons  of  earth. 

Who,  not  like  t' others,  crown'd  offenders 
(Regular  <rratia  Dei  blockheads. 
Born  with  three  kingdoms  in  their  pockets,) 
Nor  leaving,  on  the  scale  of  mind. 
These  royal  Zeros  far  behind. 
Yet,  with  a  brass  that  nothing  stops, 

Push  up  into  the  loftiest  stations. 
And,  though  too  dull  to  manage  shops 

Presume,  the  dolts,  to  manage  nations 

This  class  it  is  that  moves  my  gall. 
And  stirs  up  spleen,  and  bile,  and  all 
While  other  senseless  things  appear 
To  know  the  limits  of  their  sphere — 
While  not  a  cow  on  earth  romances 
So  much  as  to  conceit  she  dances — 
While  the  most  jumping  Frog  we  know  of, 
Would  scarce  at  Astley's  hope  to  show  off— 
Your  ****s  and  ****s  dare. 

Pigmy  as  are  their  minds,  to  set  them 
To  ami  business,  any  where. 

At  any  time  that  fools  will  let  them. 
But  leave  we  here  these  upstart  things — 
My  business  is,  just  now,  with  Kings ; 
To  whom,  and  to  their  right-line  glory, 
I  dedicate  the  following  storv  ■ 


FABLES,  ETC. 


213 


Fa'jie. 
TiiK  wise  iD'jii  oT  Kgypi  were  secret  as  dummies; 

And,  even  wheii  they  most  condescended  to  teach, 

Tiicy   pack'd    nji    their  meaning,  as    they  did  their 

muinniies, 

Ii!  Fc  many  wrappers,  'twas  out  of  one's  reach. 

They  were  also,  good  people,  much  given  to  Kings — 
Fond  of  monarchs  and  crocodiles,  monkeys  and 
mystery, 

IJats,  hicraphants,  blue-bottle  dies,  and  such  things — 
As  will  partly  appear  in  this  very  short  history. 

A  Scythian  philosopher  (nephew,  they  say, 
To  that  other  great  traveller,  young  Anacharsis)- 

Stepp'd  into  a  temple  at  Memphis  one  day. 
To  have  a  short  peep  at  their  mystical  farces. 

He  saw  a  brisk  blue-bottle  Fly  on  an  altar,' 
Made    much    of,   and   worshipp'd    as  something 
divine  ; 

While  a  large  handsome  Bullock,  led  there  in  a  halter, 
Before  it  lay  stabb'd  at  the  foot  of  the  shrinp 

Surprised  at  such  domgs,  he  whisper'd  his  teacher — 
"  If 't  is  n't  impertinent,  may  I  ask  why 

Should  a  Bullock,  that  useful  and  powerful  creature. 
Be  thus  offered  up  to  a  blue-bottle  Fly  ?" 

"  No  wonder,"  said  t'  other,  "you  stire  at  the  sight. 
But  we  as  a  S3nil)()l  of  monarchy  view  it: 

That  Fly  on  the  shrine  is  Legitimate  Right, 

And  that  Bullock  the  people  that's  sacnliced  to  it." 


FABLE  IV. 


CHURCH    AND    STATE, 


Proem. 

"Tliemi)ment  any  religion  becomes  national,  or  esi.ililish- 
ad,  its  purity  must  certainly  be  lost,  because  it  is  then  ini- 
.lossiblo  to  keep  it  unconnected  with  men's  interests;  and, 
if  connected,  it  must  evidenlly  be  perverted  by  them." — 
Soaiiie  .Itnyns. 

Thus  did  Soame  .Ie\y.\s — though  a  Tory, 
A  Lord  of  Trade  and  the  Plantations — 

Feel  how  Religion's  simple  glory 
Is  stained  by  State  associations. 

When  Catherine,  after  murdering  Poles 

Appcal'd  to  the  benign  Divinity, 
Then  cut  them  up  in  protocols, 
.Made  fractions  of  their  very  souls — ^ 

All  in  the  name  of  the  bless'd  Trinity ; 
Or  when  her  grandson,  Alexander, 
That  mighty  northern  salamander, 
Whose  icy  touch,  felt  all  about, 
Puts  every  fire  of  Freedom  out — 
When  he,  too,  winds  up  his  Ukases 
With  Gou  and  the  Panagta's  praises — 
When  he,  of  royal  saints  the  type, 

In  holy  water  dips  the  sponge. 


According  to  iElian,  it  was  in  the  island  of  Leucadia 
ilipy  practised  this  ceren.ony — rusiv  /iouv  t«<;  ,uui»i;. — De 
Inimal.  lib.  ii.  cap.  o. 
2  Ames,  demiames,  etc 


With  which,  at  one  imperial  wipe, 

He  would  all  human  rights  expunge  ! 
When  ♦♦  +  +  ♦*  (whom,  aa  King  and  eater. 
Some  name  ***-*  +  +  +,  and  scene  ***  *****«» 
Calls  down  "Saint  I^ouis'  God"  to  witness 
The  right,  humanity,  and  fitness 
Of  sending  eighty  thousana  Solons- 

Sages  with  muskets  and  laced  coats — 
To  cram  instruction,  iiohiis  volens, 

Down  the  poor  struggling  Spaniard's  throata-- 
I  can't  help  thinking  (though  to  Kings 

I  must,  of  course,  like  other  men,  bow) 
That  when  a  Christian  monarch  brings 
Religion's  name  to  gloss  these  things — 

Such  blasphemy  out-Bcnbows  Benbow ! 

Or — not  so  f  u-  for  facts  to  roam. 
Having  a  i'aw  much  nearer  home — 
When  we  see  churchmen,  who,  A'  ask'd, 
"  Must  Ireland's  slaves  be  tithed  .t.id  task'd, 
And  driven,  like  negroes  or  Croats, 

That  j/f'w  may  roll  in  wealth  and  bliss?" 
Look  from  beneath  their  shovel  hats 

W'ith  all  due  pomp,  and  answer  "  Yes  !" 
But  then,  if  question'd,  "Shall  the  brand 
Intolerance  flings  throughout  that  land. 
Betwixt  her  palaces  and  hovels, 

Suflering  nor  peace  nor  love  to  grow, 
Be  ever  quench'd  ?" — from  the  same  shovels 

Look  grandly  forth,  and  answer  "  No  !" — 
Alas,  alas  !  have  t/ir.<c  a  claim 
To  merciful  Ilcrigion's  name  ? 

If  more  you  want,  go,  see  a  bevy 
Of  bowing  parsons  at  a  levee 
(Chusing  your  time,  when  straw  's  before 
Some  apoplectic  bishop's  door :) 
There,  if  thou  canst  with  life  escape 
That  sweep  of  lawn,  that  press  of  crape, 
Just  watch  their  rev'rences  and  graces, 

Should'ring  their  way  on,  at  all  risks, 
And  say,  if  those  round  ample  faces 

To  heaven  or  earth  most  turn  their  disks  7 

This,  this  it  is — Religion,  made, 
'Twixt  Church  and  State,  a  truck,  a  trade- 
This  most  ill-matrh'd,  unholy  Co. 
From  wlience  the  ills  we  witness  flow- 
The  war  of  many  creeds  with  one, 
The  extremes  of  tao  much  faitu,  and  none 
The  qualms,  the  fumes  of  sect  and  sceptic. 
And  all  that  Reason,  grown  lyspeptic 
By  swallowing  forced  c  "irv"  -J 5  creeds 
From  downright  indisrestir"-!  '>reeds  ; 
Till,  'twixt  old  bigotrr  ind  new, 
'Twixt  Blasphemy  and  Cant — thp  ^w/^ 
Rank  ills  with  which  this  age  is  cursed- 
We  can  no  more  tell  whkh  is  worst. 
Than  erst  could  Egypt,  when  so  rich 
In  various  plagues,  dctennine  which 
She  thought  most  pestilent  and  vile — 
Her  frogs,  like  Benbow  and  Carlile, 
Croaking  their  native  mud-notes  loud. 
Or  her  fat  locusts,  like  a  cloud 
Of  pluralists.  obeselv  lowering, 
At  once  benighting  and  devouring  ' 


214 


MOORE  S  WORKS. 


This  —this  It  IS  —and  here  I  pray 

Those  sapient  wits  of  the  Reviews, 
Who  make  us  poor,  dull  authors  say, 

x\ot  what  we  mean,  but  what  they  choose  ; 
Who  to  our  most  abundant  shares 
Of  nonsense  add  still  more  of  theirs, 
4.nd  are  to  poets  just  such  evils 

As  caterpillars  find  those  flies' 
That,  not  content  to  sting  like  devils. 

Lay  eggs  upon  their  backs  likewise — 
To  guard  against  such  foul  deposits. 

Of  others'  meanings  in  my  rhymes 
'A  thing  more  needful  here  because  it 's 

A  subject  ticklish  in  these  times,) 
I  here  to  all  such  wits  make  known, 

INIonthly  and  weekly.  Whig  and  Tory, 
'Tis  thix  Religion — this  alone — 

I  aim  at  in  the  following  story : 

Fable. 

When  Royalty  was  young  and  bold. 
Ere,  touch'd  by  Time,  he  had  become — 

If 't  is  not  civil  to  say  old — 
At  least,  a  ci-devant  jeiine  homme. 

One  evening,  on  some  wild  pursuit. 

Driving  along,  he  chanced  to  see 
Religion,  passing  by  on  foot, 

And  took  him  in  his  vis-t-vis. 

This  said  Religion  was  a  friar. 

The  humblest  and  the  best  of  men, 
Who  ne'er  had  notion  or  desire 

Of  riding  in  a  coach  till  then. 

"I  say" — quoth  Royalry,  who  rather 

Enjoy'd  a  masquerading  joke — 
"  I  say,  suppose,  my  gfiod  old  father, 

You  lend  me,  for  a  while,  your  cloak." 

The  friar  consented — little  knew 

What  tricks  the  youth  had  in  his  head ; 

Besides,  was  rather  tempted,  too. 
By  a  laced  coat  he  got  in  stead. 

Away  ran  Royalty,  slap-dash. 

Scampering  like  mad  about  the  town  ; 

Broke  windows — shiver'd  lamps  to  smash. 
And  knock'd  whole  scores  of  watchmen  down. 

While  nought  could  they  whose  heads  were  broke. 
Learn  of  the  "  why"  or  the  "  wherefore," 

Except  that  't  was  Religion's  cloak 
The  gentleman,  who  crack'd  tliem,  wore. 

Meanwhile,  the  Friar,  whose  head  was  turn'd 
By  the  laced  coat,  grew  frisky  too — 

Look'd  big — his  former  habits  spurn'd — 
And  storm'd  about  as  great  men  do — 

Dealt  much  in  pompous  oaths  and  curses — 
Said  "  Damn  you,"  often,  or  as  bad — 

Laid  claim  to  other  people's  purses- 
In  short,  grew  either  knave  or  mad. 


1  "Till!  gn:nl«st  liumlicr  of  tlio  iclHwuinon  tiil)n  are  S"Pn 
•(■■ilin!;  ii|iMii  tli<;  hack  oi'tb^  catiTiiillni',  ntnl  dMrtin.'x  at  ilif- 
•f-r.'nt  iniorviils  theii  itinsrs  into  lis  body — at  every  dart  they 
lepoiit  an  egg." — (ioldivnth 


As  work  like  this  was  unbefitting 

And  flesh  and  blood  i  o  longer  hce  '* 

The  Court  of  Common  Stnse  then  B-tt^rtf 
Surnmon'd  the  culprits  both  before  it 

Where,  after  hours  in  wranglin;^  spent 
(As  courts  must  wrongle  to  decide  wej/.) 

Religion  to  Saint  Luke's  was  sent. 
And  Royalty  pack'd  off  to  Bridew  jL: 

With  this  proviso — Should  they  be 
Restored  in  due  time  to  their  sense* 

They  both  must  give  security 

In  future,  against  such  offences — 

Religion  ne'er  to  lend  hi.i  cloak. 

Seeing  what  dreadful  work  it  leads  to  , 

And  Royalty  to  crack  his  joke — 
But  not  to  crack  poor  people's  heads,  loo 


FABLE  V. 

TtfE    LITTLE    GRAND    LAMA. 

Proem. 
Novella,  a  young  Bolognese, 

The  daughter  of  a  learn'd  law  doctor,' 
Who  had  with  all  the  subtleties 

Of  old  and  modem  jurists  stock'd  her, 
Was  so  exceeding  fair,  't  is  said. 

And  over  hearts  held  such  dominion, 
That  when  her  father,  sick  in  bed, 
Or  busy,  sent  her,  in  his  stead. 

To  lecture  on  the  Code  Justinian, 
She  had  a  curtain  drawn  before  her. 

Lest,  if  her  charms  were  seen,  the  studentA 
Should  let  their  young  eyes  wander  o'er  he/ 

And  quite  forget  their  jurisprudence.* 
Just  so  it  is  with  Truth — when  seen. 

Too  fair  and  bright — 't  is  from  behind 
A  light,  thin  allegoric  screen, 

She  thus  can  safest  teach  mankind. 

Fahle. 

In  Thibet  once  there  reign'd,  we  're  told, 

A  little  Lama,  one  year  old — 

Raised  to  the  throne,  that  realm  to  bless. 

Just  when  his  little  Holiness 

Had  cut — as  near  as  can  be  reckon'd — 

Some  say  his^«/  tooth,  some  his  second. 

Chronologers  and  verses  vary, 

Which  proves  historians  should  be  wary. 

We  only  know  the  important  truth — 

His  Majesty  had  cut  a  tooth.'' 

And  much  his  subjects  were  enchanted. 
As  well  all  Lamas'  subjects  may  be. 


1  Andreas. 

2  fiuaiid  1  (•.\o\\  oi''-ii|ii^  d'nueuuo  fissoine,  il  envoyai* 
NovcUe,  SM  fille,  en  S'ni  lien  li'e  aux  esclinlos  en  rliarje.  a* 
afin  HUP  la  biaiitii  d'  i-Vc  n'  emp^ehat  la  pensfte  des  nynnU 
elle  avoit  nne  pelile  cotirfuie  devant  elle. — Christ,  do  Pise 
cm  lies  Jennies,  p.  TL  ebap.  Sfi. 

3  Pee  Tiir)i.rr\i  Embassy  to  Tliibet  for  an  aeeonnt  of  hii 
in'erview  witb  the  Ijamn.  "'reslioo  I.ania  (he  says;  was  al 
tbis  time  eisbteoii  monC'S  old.  Tbonirb  be  was  unable  h 
speali  a  wiird,  h"  inndc;  tbe  most  expressive  siens,  nnd  con 
ducted  biinself  wilb  aslonishinff  iliffnity  and  (ieconim  * 


FABLES,  ETC.                                                             21.5 

And  would  have  given  their  heads,  if  wanted. 

That  they  and  theirs  stood  by  the  King, 

To  maliC  tee-tDtunis  lif  the  baby 

Throughout  his  measles  and  his  chin-cough. 

As  !<c  was  there  by  Uigl;'  1/iviiic 

When  others,  thinking  him  consumptive. 

;What  lawyers  full  Ji:-e  JJicino, 

Had  ratted  to  the  heir  Presumptive  ! — 

Meaning  a  right  to  yours,  f.nd  mine, 

But,  still — though  much;idmiring  Kings 

Ami  every  body's  goods  and  rhino) — 

(And  chiefly  those  in  leading-strings)  — 

Of  course  his  faitiiful  subjects'  purses 

They  saw,  with  shame  and  grief  of  soul. 

Were  ready  with  their  aids  and  succours — 

There  was  no  longt-r  now  the  wise 

Nothing  was  seen  but  pension'd  nurses. 

And  constitutional  control 

And  the  land  groan'd  with  bibs  and  tuckers. 

Of  fnrcli  before  their  ruler's  eyes  ; 

But  that,  of  late,  such  pranks,  and  tricks, 

Oh !  had  there  been  a  Hume  or  Bennel 

And  freaks  occurr'd  the  wliole  day  long, 

Then  sitting  in  the  Thibet  Senate, 

As  all,  but  men  with  bishopricks. 

Ye  gods,  what  room  for  long  debates 

Allow'd,  even  in  a  King,  were  wrong — 

I'pon  the  Nursery  Estimates  ! 

Wherefore  it  was  they  humbly  pray'd 

What  cutting  down  of  swaddling-clothes 

That  Honourable  Nursery, 

And  pin-a-fores,  in  nightly  battles  ! 

That  such  reforms  be  henceforth  made, 

What  calls  for  papers  to  expose 

As  all  good  men  desired  to  sec ; — 

The  waste  of  sugar-plums  and  rattles  ! 

In  other  words  (lest  they  might  seem 

But  no— if  Tliibet  had  M.  Ps., 

Too  tedious,)  as  the  gentlest  scheme 

They  were  far  better  bred  than  these ; 

For  putting  all  such  pranks  to  rest, 

Nor  gave  the  slightest  opposition, 

And  in  its  bud  the  mischief  nipping — 

Uur  ng  the  Monarch's  whole  dentition 

They  ventured  humbly  to  suggest 

His  Majesty  should  have  a  whipping! 

Hut  lihort  this  calm  ;  for,  just  when  he 

Had  reach'd  the  alarming  age  of  three, 

Wlien  this  was  read — no  Congreve  rocket. 

When  royal  natures — and,  no  doubt 
Those  of  oil  noble  beasts — break  out, 

Discharged  into  the  Gallic  trenches, 

E'er  e(niaird  the  tremendous  shock  it 

The  Lama,  who  till  then  was  quiet. 

Produced  upon  the  Nursery  Benches. 

Show'd  symptoms  of  a  taste  for  riot ; 

The  Bishops,  who  of  course  had  votes, 

And,  ripe  for  mischief,  early,  late, 
;         Without  regard  for  Church  or  State, 

By  right  of  age  and  petticoats. 

Were  lirst  and  foremost  in  the  fuss — 

Made  free  with  whosoe'er  came  nigh — 

"  What,  whip  a  Lama ! — suffer  birch 

Tweak'd  the  Lord  Chancellor  by  the  nose. 

To  touch  his  sacred infamous  ! 

Turn'd  all  the  Judges'  wigs  awry, 

Deistical ! — assailing  thus 

And  trod  on  the  old  General's  toes — 

The  fundamentals  of  the  Church  ! 

?clted  the  Bishops  with  hot  buns, 
Rode  cock-horse  on  the  City  maces, 

No — no — such  patriot  plans  as  these 

(So  help  them  Heaven — and  their  sees!) 

And  shot,  from  little  devihsh  guns, 

They  held  to  be  rank  blasphemies.'" 

Hard  peas  into  his  subjects'  faces. 

The  alarm  thus  given,  by  these  and  other 

In  short,  such  wicked  pranks  he  play'd. 

Grave  ladies  of  the  Nursery  side. 

And  grew  so  mischievous  (God  bless  him !) 

Spread  through  the  land,  till,  such  a  pothei 
Such  party  squabbles,  far  and  wioe, 

That  his  chief  Nurse — though  with  the  aid 

Of  an  Archbishop — was  afraid. 

When  in  these  moods,  to  comb  or  dress  him  ; 

Never  in  history's  page  had  been 
Recorded,  as  were  then  between 

And  even  the  persons  most  inclined 

For  Kings,  through  thick  and  thin,  to  stickle. 

The  Whippers  and  Non-whippers  seen. 
Till,  things  arriving  at  a  state 

Thought  him  (if  they  'd  but  speak  their  mind, 

Which  gave  some  fears  of  revolution. 
The  patriot  lords'  advice,  though  late, 

Which  they  did  not)  an  odious  pickle. 

Was  put  at  last  in  execution. 

At  length,  some  patriot  lords — a  breed 

The  Parliament  of  Thibet  met — 

Of  animals  they  have  in  Tliibet, 

The  little  Lama,  call'd  before  it. 

Extremely  rare,  and  fit,  indeed. 

Did,  then  and  there,  his  whipping  get. 

For  folks  like  Pidcock  to  exhibit — 

And  (as  the  Nursery  Gazette 

Some  patriot  lords,  seeing  the  length 

Assures  us)  like  a  hero  bore  it. 

To  which  things  went,  combined  their  strength. 

And  penn'd  a  manly,  plain  and  free 

And  though  'mong  Thibet  Tories,  some 

Ifemonstrince  to  the  Nursery  ; 

Lament  that  Royal  JMartyrr/om 

hi  which,  protesting  that  they  yielded 

(Please  to  observe,  the  letter  D 

To  none,  that  ever  went  before  'em — 

In  this  last  word  's  pronounced  like  B,} 

In  loyalty  to  him  who  wielded 

Yet  to  the  example  of  that  Prince 

The  hereditary  pap-spoon  o'er  'em — 

So  much  is  Thibet's  land  a  debtor, 

That,  as  for  trea>oii,  't  was  a  thing 

'Tis  said,  her  little  Lamas  since 

That  made  them  almost  sick  to  think  of— 

Have  all  behaved  themselves  7mich  betto» 

21G 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


FABLE  VI. 


THE    E.'SLTINGUISHERS. 


Thougji  soldiers  a.*  the  true  supports, 
The  .'.crral  allies  of  Courts, 
Woe  to  the  3Ionarch  who  depends 
Too  7iiHrh  on  his  red-coated  friends  ; 
For  even  soldiers  sometimes  think — 

Nay,  Colonels  have  heen  known  to  reason,- 
And  reasoners,  whether  clad  in  pink. 
Or  red,  or  blue,  are  on  the  brink 

(Nine  cases  out  of  ten)  of  treason 

Not  many  soldiers,  1  believe,  are 

As  fond  of  liberty  as  Mina ; 
Else — woe  to  Kings,  when  Freedom's  ^vei 

Once  turns  into  a  Scurletinu  ! 
For  then — but  hold — 'tis  best  to  veil 
My  meaning  in  the  following  tale : — 

Fuble. 
A  LORD  of  Persia,  rich  and  great, 
Just  come  into  a  large  estate. 
Was  shock'd  to  find  he  had,  for  neighbours, 
Close  to  his  gate,  some  rascal  Ghebers, 
Whose  fires,  beneath  his  very  nose 
In  heretic  combustion  rose. 
But  lords  of  Persia  can,  no  doubt. 

Do  \\  hat  they  will — so,  one  fine  morning. 
He  turn  d  the  rascal  (Jhebers  out. 

First  giving  a  few  kicks  for  warning. 
Then,  thanking  Heaven  most  piously, 

He  knock'd  their  temple  to  the  ground, 
Blessing  himself  for  joy  to  see 

Such  Pagan  ruins  strew'd  around. 
But  much  it  vex'd  my  lord  to  find. 

That,  while  all  else  obey'd  his  will, 
The  fire  these  Ghebers  left  behind — 

Do  what  he  would — kept  burning  still. 
Fiercely  he  storm'd,  as  if  his  frown 
Could  scare  the  bright  insurgent  down  ; 
But  no — such  fires  are  headstrong  things. 
And  care  not  much  for  lords  or  kings. 
Scarce  could  his  lordship  well  contrive 

The  flashes  in  one  place  to  smother. 
Before — hey,  presto — all  alive, 

They  sprung  up  freshly  in  another. 

At  length,  when,  spite  of  prayers  and  damns 

'T  was  foiuid  the  sturdy  tlame  defied  him, 
His  stewards  came,  with  low  salams, 

Olfering,  by  contract,  to  provide  him 
Some  large  extinguishers  (a  plan 
'Vluch  used,  they  said,  at  Ispahan, 
v^ienna,  Petersburgh — in  short, 
Wlierever  light 's  Ibrbid  at  court) — 
Machines  no  lord  shoidd  be  without, 
Wnich  would,  at  once,  put  promptly  out 
Fires  of  all  kinds — from  staring  stark 
Volcanos  to  the  tiniest  spark — 
Till  all  things  slept  as  dull  and  dark 


As,  in  a  great  lord's  neighbourhood, 

'T  was  right  and  fitting  all  things  should. 

Accordingly,  some  large  supplies 

Of  these  Extinguishers  were  furnish'd 
(All  of  the  true,  imperial  size,) 

And  there,  in  rows,  stood  black  and  burniuh'd. 
Ready,  where'er  a  gleam  but  shone 
Of  light  or  fire,  to  be  clapp'd  on. 

But,  ah  !  how  lordly  wisdom  errs, 
In  trusting  to  extinguishers  ! 
One  day,  when  he  had  left  all  sure 
(At  least  believed  so,)  dark,  secure — 
The  flame,  at  all  its  exits,  entries. 

Obstructed  to  his  heart's  content. 
And  black  extinguishers,  like  sentries, 

Placed  upon  every  dangerous  vent — 
Ye  gods  !  imagine  his  amaze. 

His  wrath,  his  rage,  when,  on  returning, 
He  found  not  only  the  old  blaze. 

Brisk  as  before,  crackling  and  burning — 
Not  only  new,  young  conflagrations. 
Popping  up  round  in  various  stations — 
But,  still  more  awful,  strange,  and  dire, 
The  Extinguishers  themselves  on  fire  ! ! ' 
They,  they — those  trusty,  blind  machines 

His  lordship  had  so  long  been  praising, 
As,  under  Providence,  the  means 

Of  keeping  down  all  lawless  blazing, 
W^ere  now  themselves — alas,  too  true 
The  shameful  fact — turn'd  blazers  too. 
And,  by  a  change  as  odd  as  cruel, 
Instead  of  dampers,  served  for  fuel ! 

Thus,  of  his  only  hope  bereft, 

"What,"  said  the  great  man,  "must  be  done  T 
All  that,  in  scrapes  like  this,  is  left 

To  great  men  is — to  cut  and  run. 
So  run  he  did  ;  while  to  their  grounds 

The  banish'd  Ghebers  bless'd  return'd : 
And,  though  their  fire  had  broke  its  bounds. 

And  all  abroad  now  wildly  burn'd. 
Yet  well  could  they,  who  loved  the  flame. 
Its  wand'ring,  its  excess  reclaim ; 
And  soon  another,  fairer  dome 
Arose  to  be  its  sacred  home. 
Where,  cherish'd,  guarded,  not  confin'd, 
The  living  glory  dwelt  inshrined. 
And,  shedding  lustre,  strong  but  even, 
Though  born  of  earth,  grew  worthy  Heaven 

Moral. 

The  moral  hence  my  Muse  infers 
Is — that  such  lords  are  simple  elves. 

In  trusting  to  extinguishers 
That  are  combustible  themselves. 


1  The  •ilea  of  this  fable  was  caught  from  one  of  thost 
brilhant  mots  which  abound  in  the  conversiition  cf  m^ 
Irienil,  the  author  of  Ihe  Letters  to  Julia — a  production 
wliicli  conliiiiis  some  of  th<!  liappiest  Bpeciinena  of  iilajrful 
poetry  llial  have  appeared  M  this  or  any  age. 


CORRUPTION  AND  INTOL.ERANCE  ; 

TWO  POEMS. 


PREFACE. 


The  practice  which  has  lately  been  introducccl  into 
literature,  of  writing  very  long  notes  upon  very  indif- 
fe'-ent  verses,  appears  to  me  rather  a  happy  invention; 
(or  It  supplies  us  with  a  mode  of  turning  stupid  poetry 
to  account ;  and  as  horses  too  dull  for  the  saddle  may 
serve  well  enough  to  draw  lumber,  so  poems  of  this 
kind  make  excellent  beasts  of  burden,  and  will  bear 
notes,  though  they  may  not  bear  reading.  Besides, 
the  comments  in  such  cases  are  so  little  under  the  ne- 
cessity of  paying  any  servile  deference  to  the  text, 
that  they  may  even  adopt  that  Socratic  dogma, 
"Quod  supra  nos  nihil  ad  nos." 

In  the  first  of  the  following  poems,  I  have  ventured 
to  speak  of  the  Revolution  in  language  which  has 
sometimes  been  employed  by  Tory  writers,  and 
which  is  therefore  neither  very  new  nor  popular. 
But,  however  an  Englishman  may  be  reproached 
with  ingratitude,  for  appreciating  the  merits  and  re- 
sults of  a  tneasure  which  he  is  taught  to  regard  as  the 
source  of  his  liberties — however  ungrateful  it  might  he 
in  Alderman  Birch  to  question  for  a  moment  the  pu- 
rity of  that  glorious  era  to  which  he  is  indebted  for 
the  seasoning  of  so  many  orations — yet  an  Irishman, 
who  has  none  of  these  obligations  to  acknowledge,  to 
whose  country  the  Revolution  brought  nothing  but 
injury  and  insult,  and  who  recollects  that  the  book 
of  3Iolyueux  was  burned,  by  order  of  \Villiam's 
Whig  Parliament,  for  daring  to  extend  to  unfortunate 
Ireland  those  prir.ciples  on  which  the  Revolution  was 
professedly  founded — an  Irishman  nuuj  venture  to 
criticise  the  measures  of  that  period,  without  expos- 
ing himself  either  to  the  imputation  of  ingratitude,  or 
the  suspicion  of  being  influenced  by  any  popish  re- 
mains of  jacobitism.  No  nation,  it  is  true,  was  ever 
blessed  with  a  more  golden  opportunity  of  establish- 
ing and  securing  its  liberties  for  ever  than  the  con- 
juncture of  Eighty-eight  presented  to  the  people  of 
Great  Britain.  But  the  disgraceful  reigns  of  Charles 
and  James  had  weakened  and  degraded  the  national 
character.  The  bold  notions  of  popular  right,  which 
had  arisen  out  of  the  struggles  between  Charles  the 
First  and  his  Parliament,  were  gradually  supplanted 
by  those  slavish  doctrines  for  which  Lord  11 — kesb-ry 
eulogizes  the  churchmen  of  that  period;  and  as  the 
Reformation  had  happened  too  soon  for  the  purity  of 
religion,  so  the  Revolution  came  too  late  for  the 
spirit  of  liberty.  Its  advantages  accordingly  were  for 
he  most  part  specious  and  transitory,  while  the  evils 
which  it  entailed  are  still  felt  and  still  incJ-easing.   By 


rendering  unnecessary  the  frequent  exercise  of  pre- 
rogative, that  unwieldy  power  which  cannot  move  c 
step  without  alarm,  it  limited  the  only  interference 
of  the  Crown  which  is  singly  and  independently  ex- 
posed before  the  people,  and  whose  abuses  are  there- 
fore obvious  to  their  senses  and  capacities  :  like  the 
myrtle  over  a  certain  statue  in  Minerva's  temple  at 
Athens,  it  skilfully  veiled  from  their  sight  the  only 
obtrusive  feature  of  royalty.  At  the  same  time,  how- 
ever,  that  the  Revolution  abridged  this  unpopular 
attribute,  it  amply  compensated  by  the  substitution  of 
a  new  power,  as  much  more  potent  in  its  eticct  as  it 
is  more  secret  in  its  operations.  In  the  disposal  of 
an  immense  revenue,  and  the  e.ttensive  patronage  an- 
nexed to  it,  the  first  foundations  of  this  power  of  the 
Oown  were  laid  ;  the  innovation  of  a  standing  army 
at  once  increased  and  strengthened  it,  and  the  few 
slight  barriers  which  the  Act  of  Settlement  opposed 
to  Its  progress  have  all  been  gradually  removed  dur- 
ing the  whiggish  reigns  that  succeeded,  till  at  length 
this  spirit  of  influence  is  become  the  vital  principle  of 
the  state,  whose  agency,  subtle  and  unseen,  pervades 
every  part  of  the  constitution,  lurks  under  all  it? 
forms,  and  regulates  all  its  movements;  and,  like  the 
invisible  sylph  or  grace  which  presides  over  the  mo- 
tions of  beauty, 

"Illam,  quicquid  agil,  quo(|iiu  vestigia  fleciit, 
Comprmit  fur.im  subsi*(initurque." 

The  cause  of  liberty  and  the  Revolution  are  so  ha- 
bitually associated  by  Englishmen,  that,  probably,  in 
objecting  to  the  latter  I  m,  y  be  thought  hostile  oi  in- 
dilferent  to  the  former ;  but  nothing  can  be  mr>re 
unjust  than  such  a  suspicion ; — the  very  object  which 
my  humble  animadversions  would  attain  i.s,  that  in  the 
crisis  to  which  I  think  England  is  hastening,  and  be- 
tween which  and  foreign  subjugation  she  may  soon 
be  compelled  to  choose,  the  errors  and  omissions  of 
1688  may  be  remedied,  and  that,  as  she  then  had  a 
Revolution  without  a  Reform,  she  may  now  seek  a 
Reform  without  a  Revolution. 

In  speaking  of  the  parties  which  have  so  long  agi- 
tated England,  it  will  be  observed  that  I  lean  as  little 
to  the  Whigs  as  to  their  adversaries.  Both  factions 
have  been  equally  cruel  to  Ireland,  and  perhaps 
equally  insincere  in  their  efforts  for  the  liberties  of 
England.  There  is  one  name,  indeed,  connected 
with  whiggism,  of  which  I  can  never  think  but  with 
veneration  and  tenderness.  As  justly,  however, 
miplit  the  light  of  the  sun  be  claimed  by  any  particu- 
lar nation,  as  the  sanction  of  that  name  be  assumed 
by  any  party  whatever:  3Ir.  Fox  belonged  to  map 
kind,  and  they  have  lost  in  him  their  ablest  friend 

217 


218 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


With  respect  to  the  few  lines  upon  Intolerance, 
which  I  have  subjoined,  they  are  but  the  imperfect 
beginning  of  a  long  series  of  Essays,  with  which  1 
here  menace  my  readers,  upon  the  same  important 
subject.  I  shall  look  to  no  higher  merit  in  the  task, 
than  that  of  giving  a  new  form  to  claims  and  remon- 
strances, which  have  been  often  much  more  elegantly 
urged,  and  which  would  long  ere  now  have  produced 
their  effect,  but  that  the  minds  of  some  men,  like  the 
pupil  of  the  eye,  contract  themselves  the  more,  the 
stronger  light  there  is  shed  upon  them. 


CORRUPTION, 

AN  EPISTLE. 


G-i^KTXl    Si     XVTl     TOUTjUV,   U^'    UtV     XTTQKjjKS    KXl     VSVOTHX.&V    i\ 

Zf.Kxi.     TxuTX    S'  EiTTi    Ti  ;    i^il^o?,    £'    Ti;    eit-tifis    Ti- 

XV     TOTJTOIS      TiJ      iTTlTlfJLX'      T  XKXX  ^      TTXVTX^      OtTX       £JC      TOU 
S-af'.So-AiiV       >ipTl)TX>. 

Demosth.  Philipp.  iii. 


Boast  on,  my  friend — though,  stript  of  all  beside, 
Thy  struggling  nation  still  retains  her  pride  :' 
That  pride  which  once  in  genuine  glory  woke, 
Wlien  Marlborough  fought,  and   brilliant   St.  John 

spoke ; 
That  pride  which  still,  by  time  and  shame  unstung, 
Outlives  e'en  Wh^tel  ""cke's  sword  and  H*wksb'ry's 

tongue! 
Boast  on,  my  friend,  while  in  this  humbled  isle,^ 
Where  honour  mourns  and  freedom  fears  to  smile, 
Where  the  bright  light  of  England's  fame  is  known 
But  by  the  baleful  shadow  she  has  thrown 
On   all   our   fate^ — where,  doom'd   to  wrongs   and 

slights. 
We  hear  you  talk  of  Britain's  glorious  rights. 


1  Angh  suos  ac  sua  omnia  impense  miiantur;  cajtera? 
naliones  <i(;spectui  habent. — Barclay  (as  quoted  in  one  of 
Dryden's  prufaces.) 

2  Englaml  began  very  early  to  feel  the  effecis  of  cruelty 
towards  lior  (iepcndencif;s.  "The  severity  of  her  Govern- 
ment (says  Maephersoii)  contributed  more  tn  deiirive  her  of 
[he  conlinen'al  dominions  of  the  family  <if  Plantagenet  ihan 
the  arms  of  France." — Si'e  liis  History,  vol.  i.  page  111. 

3  "  By  the  total  reduction  of  the  kingdom  of  Ire'and,  in 
1691  (says  Burke,)  the  ruin  of  the  native  Irish,  and  in  a 
great  measure  too  of  the  first  races  of  the  English,  was  com- 
pletely accomplished.  The  new  English  interest  wns  settled 
with  as  solid  a  stability  as  any  thing  in  huinat]  affairs  can 
look  for.  All  the  penal  laws  of  that  un()aralleled  code  of 
oppression,  which  were  made  after  the  last  event,  were  ma- 
nifestly the  effects  of  national  hatred  and  scorn  towards  a 
ftonf|uered  people,  whom  the  victors  delighted  to  tram|)le 
upon,  and  were  not  at  all  afraid  to  provoke."  Yet  this  is 
the  era  to  which  the  wise  Common  Council  of  Dublin  refer 
as  for  "invaluable  blessing-i,"  etc.  And  this  is  the  era 
whieh  such  Governors  as  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  R-ehm-tid 
think  it  politic  to  commemorate,  in  the  eyes  of  my  insulted 
!oun'ryinon,  by  an  annual  procession  rounil  the  statue  of 
King  William! 

An  unvarying  trait  of  the  policy  of  Great  Britain  towards 
Ireland  has  neeii  her  selection  of  such  men  to  govern  us  as 
were  le  ist  likidv  to  devuite  into  Justice  and  liberal  ty,  and 
^he  alarm  whieh  she  has  taken  when  any  conscientious 
Viceroy  has  shown  symptoms  of  departure  from  the  old 
rode  of  prejudice  and  oiipression.  Our  most  favourite 
Governors  havo  accordmgly  been  our  Bhorlest  visitors,  and 


As  weeping  slaves,  that  under  hatches  lie, 

Hear  those  on  deck  extol  the  sun  and  sky  ! 

Boast  on,  while  wandering  through  my  native  haunin 

I  coldly  listen  to  thy  patriot  vaunts, 

."^na  feel,  though  close  our  wedded  countries  twino 

More  sorrow  for  my  own  than  pride  from  thino 

Yet  pause  a  moment — and  if  truths  severe 

Can  find  an  inlet  to  that  courtly  ear 

Which  loves  no  politics  in  rhyme  but  P — e's, 

And  hears  no  news  but  W — rd's  gazetted  lies ; 

If  aught  can  please  thee  but  the  good  old  saws 

Of  "Church  and  State,"  and  "William's  matchless 

laws," 
And  "  .\cts  and  Rights  of  glorious  Eighty-eight,"— 
Things,  which  though  now  a  century  out  of  date, 
Still  serve  to  ballast,  with  convenient  words, 
A  few  crank  arguments  for  speeching  Lords — ' 
Turn,  while  I  tell  how  England's  freedom  found, 
Where  most  she  looked  for  life,  her  deadliest  wound 
How  brave  she  struggled,  while  her  foe  was  seen, 
How  faint  since  Influence  lent  that  foe  a  screen; 
How  strong  o'er  James  and  Popery  she  prevail'd, 
How  weakly  fell,  when  Whigs  and  gold  assail'd.^ 


the  first  moments  of  their  popularity  have  in  general  been 
the  last  of  their  guvernmcnt.  'I'Ims  sir  Aniluiny  Bellingham, 
after  the  death  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  was  recalled,  "  for  not 
suHiciently  consulting  the  English  interests,"  or,  in  other 
words,  for  not  shooting  the  re{iuisite  quantity  of  wild  Irish. 
The  same  kind  of  delinquency  led  to  the  recall  of  Sir  .lohn 
Perrol,  in  Elizabeths  lime,  and  to  that  of  the  Earl  of  Rad 
niir,  in  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  of  whom  Lord  Or- 
ford  siiys,  "  We  are  not  told  how  he  disappointed  the  King's 
expectaiions,  probably  not  by  too  great' complaisance,  not 
why  his  administration,  which  Burnet  calls  jiist^  was  dis 
liked.  If  it  is  true  that  he  was  a  good  governor,  the  pre- 
sumption will  be  that  his  rule  wis  nut  disliked  by  those  to 
whom  but  from  whom  he  was  sent." — Royal  and  JVoblt 
Jluthors. 

We  are  not  without  instances  of  the  same  illiberal  policy 
in  our  own  times. 

1  II  never  seems  to  occur  to  those  orators  and  addressers 
who  round  off  so  many  sentences  and  pnragraphs  with  the 
Bill  of  Rights,  the  Act  of  Seitlemeni,  etc.  that  all  the  pro- 
visions which  these  Acts  coiitained  for  the  preservation  of 
parliatrient;irv  independence  have  been  long  laid  aside  as 
romantic  and  troublesome.  The  Revolution,  as  its  greatest 
admirers  acknowledge,  was  little  more  than  a  recognition 
of  ancient  privileges,  a  restoration  of  that  old  Gothic  struc- 
ture which  was  brought  from  the  woods  of  Germany  into 
England.  Edward  the  First  had  long  before  made  a  similat 
recognition,  and  had  even  more  expressly  reverted  to  the 
first  principles  of  the  constitution,  by  declaring  that  "the 
people  should  have  their  laws,  liberties- and  tree  customs, 
as  largely  and  wholly  as  they  have  used'to  hai'e  the  same 
at  any  time  they  had  them."  But,  luckilv  for  the  Crowa 
and  its  interests,  the  concessions  both  of  Edward  and  of  Wil- 
liam have  been  equally  vague  and  verbal,  equally  theoreti- 
cal and  insincere.     The  feudal  sys'em  was  continued,  not- 

wiihstanding  the  former,  and  Lord  M 's  htmest  head  is 

upon  his  shoulders,  in  spite  of  the  latter.  So  that  I  confess 
I  never  meet  with  a  politician  who  seriously  quotes  the  De- 
claration of  Rights,  etc.  to  prove  the  actual  existence  of 
English  liberty,  that  I  do  not  think  of  the  Marquis,  whom 
Montesquieu  mentions,  (re)  who  set  about  looking  for  mines 
in  the  Pyrenees,  upon  the  strength  of  authorities  which  he 
had  read  in  some  ancient  nuthors.  The  poor  Manpiig 
toiled  and  searched  in  vain.  He  quoted  his  authorities  to 
the  last,  but  he  ftnind  no  mines  after  all. 

2  The  chief,  perhaps  the  only,  adviinlnge  which  has  re- 
sulted from  the  system  of  influence,  is  the  tranquil,  uninter- 
rupted flow  which  it  has  given  to  the  administration  of 
Government.  If  Kings  mnst  be  paramount  in  the  Smto 
(and  their  Ministers  at  least  seem  to  think  so,)  the  country 
is  indebted  to  the  Revolution  for  enabling  them  to  become 
so  qnii'tlv,  and  for  removing  so  skilfully  the  dr.nger  of  those 
shocks  and  collisions  which  the  alarmin  ;  efforts  of  prerogn 
tive  never  failed  to  produce. 

'a)  Liv.  xxi.  chap.  11 


CORRUPTION. 


2ir, 


While  Kings  were  poor,  and  all  those  schemes  un- 
known 
VVIiicli  drain  the  People,  but  enricli  the  Throne; 
Ere  ^et  a  yielding  Commons  had  sujjpHcd 
Those  chains  ol'gold  i)y  which  llieniselves  are  tied  ; 
Then  proud  Prerogative,  untaugiii  to  creep 
With  Bribery's  silent  foot  on  Freedom's  sleep,' 

ll  is  tliu  Diiture  of  u  people  in  goiifral  lo  ultend  but  to  llie 
exiurn  lis  of  Govermnuiil.  Haviii;;  in^illier  Uisuri!  m.r  ubili- 
.y  to  discuss  its  measures,  they  look  no  deeper  tliuii  llie  sur- 
I'aco  lor  ilieir  utility,  and  no  lartlier  than  the  present  lor  liieir 
consequences.  Mrs.  Muciiuluy  has  said  ol"  a  certain  period, 
"The  people  at  this  lime  were,  as  the  peojile  of  Great 
Britain  always  are,  lialt"-stupi(l,hall'-druiik,  and  hall-asleep;" 
diul  however  we  may  dissent  IVoin  this  petulant  eftusum  of 
a  Scotch-woman,  it  must  be  owned  tiial  the  reasoning  p..w- 
ers  (if  John  Bull  aie  not  very  easily  culled  into  action,  and 
hat  even  where  he  does  condescend  lo  exert  Iheni,  it  is  like 
Dogberry's  display  of  his  reading  and  writing,  "where  there 
is  no  need  of  such  vanity  ;"  as  upon  that  deep  i|uestion  about 
the  dangirs  of  the  church,  which  was  submitted  for  his  dis- 
sussion  by  Mr.  I'-rc-v-l  at  the  late  elections,  ll  follows, 
however,  from  this  apathy  of  the  people,  that  as  long  as  no 
glaring  exertion  of  power,  no  open  violation  of  fotms  is  ob- 
truded upon  them,  it  is  of  very  little  consefiuenco  how  mat- 
ters are  managed  behind  the  curtain;  and  a  few  quiet  men, 
getting  close  to  the  ear  of  the  'riirone,  may  whisper  aivay 
the  salvation  of  the  country  so  inaudibly,  ihat  ruin  will  be 
divested  of  half  its  alarming  preparatives.  If,  in  addiiion  to 
this  slumber  of  the  people,  a  great  majority  of  those  whom 
Ihoy  have  deputed  to  watch  for  them,  can  be  induced,  by 
any  irresistible  argument,  to  jirefer  the  safety  of  the  govern- 
ment to  the  integrity  of  the  constitution,  and  to  think  a  con- 
nivance at  the  encroachments  of  power  less  troublesome 
than  the  dilliculties  which  would  follow  reform,  I  cannot 
iiiiagine  a  more  traniiuil  state  of  affairs  than  must  necessa- 
rily'result  from  such  general  and  well-regulated  acquies- 
cence. Instead  of  vain  and  agitating  elforts  lo  establish 
that  speculative  balance  of  the  constilution,  which  perhaps 
has  iii.'ver  existed  but  in  the  pages  of  Montrsquieu(a)  and 
de  Liiline,  a  preponderance  would  be  silently  yielded  to  one 
of  the  three  estates,  which  would  carry  the  other  twoahiiost 
insensibly,  but  elTectually,  along  wilh  it;  ;ind  even  though 
the  path'  might  lead  eventually  to  dfsiruetion,  yet  its  Sj^e- 
cious  and  gilded  smoothness  would  almost  atone  for  tne 
liangei — like  Milion's  bridge  over  (,'haos,  it  would  lead 
"  Smooth,  easy,  inoffensive,  down  to  ****. 

1  Though  the  Kings  of  England  were  most  uiiroyally 
harassed  and  fettered  in  all  their  pursu  ts  by  pe'-uniary  dif- 
ficulties, before  the  provident  enactments  of  William's  reign 
liari  opened  to  the  Crown  iis  present  souics  of  wealth,  yet 
we  must  not  attribute  to  the  Revolutionary  Whigs  ihe  credit 
altogether  of  inventing  this  art  of  givernmenl.  Its  advan- 
tages h  id  long  been  understood  by  ministers  and  favourites, 
though  the  limits  of  the  royal  revenue  previ^nled  them  from 
exercising  it  with  etTecl.  In  the  reign  of  .Mary,  indeed,  the 
gold  of  Spain,  being  added  to  the  usual  resources  of  the 
Throne,  produced  such  a  spirit  of  ductility  in  her  Parlia- 
ments, that  the  price  for  which  each  member  had  sold  him- 
self was  publicly  ascertained  :  and  if  Charies  the  Fir.st  could 
have  commanded  a  similar  .supply,  it  is  nut  too  much  to 
suppose  that  the  Commonweal; h  never  would  have  existed. 
But  it  was  during  the  reign  of  the  second  Charles  that  the 
nearest  approaches  were  made  to  that  pecuniary  system 
which  our  debt,  our  funds,  and  our  taxis,  have  since  bniuiht 
to  such  perfection;  and  Clifford  and  Danhy  would  not  dis- 
grace even  the  present  times  of  political  venality.  Still, 
however,  the  experiment  was  but  partial  and  imperfect,  (A) 
and  aliended  wiih  scarcely  any  other  advantage  than  that  of 
Busgc^sting  the  uses  lo  which  the  power  of  the  purse  has  been 
since  converted,  just  as  the  fuimiiia'in>;  dust  of  ihe  chemists 
may  have  prepared  the  way  for  the  invention  of  gunpowder. 

(a)  Montesquieu  seems  not  a  little  satisfied  with  his  own 
ingenuitv  in  finding  out  the  character  of  the  English  from 
the  nature  of  their  political  institutions ;  but  it  apjiears  to 
tne  somewhat  like  tliat  easy  sagacity  by  which  I.avater  has 
liiscovered  the  genius  of  fhakspeare  in  his  feauires. 

(A1  Pee  Preface  to  a  Collection  of  Debates,  etc.  in  1(194 
and  lfi95,  for  an  account  of  the  public  tables  kept  at  West- 
.iiinster,  in  Charles  the  Second's  time,  "  to  feed  the  betrayers 
of  their  country."  The  pavmcnt  of  each  day's  work  was 
left  under  their  resiiective  plates. 


Frankly  avow'd  his  bold  enslaving  plan. 

And  claim'd  a  right  from  (iod  to  trample  man ! 

But  Liithfr's  light  had  loo  much  warm'd  mankind 

For  Ilatiipdcn's  truths  to  linger  long  behind ; 

Nor  then,  when  king-like  Popes  had  fallen  so  low 

Could  pojie-iike  Kings'  escape  the  levelling  blow. 

That  ])onderous  sceptre  (in  whose  place  we  bow 

To  the  light  talisman  of  influence  now,) 

Too  gross,  too  visible  to  work  the  spell 

Whicii  3Iodern  Power  performs,  in  fragments  fell : 

In  fragments  lay,  till,  patch'd  and  painted  o'er 

With  lleurs-de-lys,  it  siione  and  scourged  once  more 

'T  was  tlieii,  my  friend,  thy  kneeling  nation  quatf'd 

Long,  long  and  dei^p,  the  churchman's  opiate  draughi 

Of  tame  obedience — till  her  sense  of  right 

And  pulse  of  glory  secm'd  extinguish'd  quite. 

And  Britons  slept  so  sluggish  in  their  chain. 

That  wakening  Freedom  call'd  almost  in  vain  ! 

Oh  England  !  England  !  what  a  chance  was  thine, 

When  the  last  tyrant  of  that  ill-starr'd  line 

Fled  from  his  sullied  crown,  and  left  thee  free 

To  found  thy  own  eternal  liberty  ! 

How  bright,  liow  glorious  in  that  sun-shine  hour, 

Might  patriot  hands  have  raised  the  triple  tower* 

Of  British  freedom  on  a  rock  divine. 

Which  neither  force  could  storm  nor  treachery  mine  1 

But  no — the  luminous,  the  lofty  plan, 

Like  mighty  Babel,  scem'd  too  bold  for  man ; 

The  curse  of  jarring  tongues  again  was  given 

To  thwart  a  work  which  raised  men  near  to  Heaven  ! 

While  Tories  marr'd  what  Whigs  had  scarce  begun,' 

While  Whigs  undid  what  Whigs  themselves  had  done,* 

1  The  drivelling  correspondence  beiween  James  I.  and 
his  "dogSteeme"  (the  Duke  ot  Buckingham,)  which  wo 
find  among  ilie  Hanlwick  Papers,  suliiciently  shows,  if  we 
wanted  such  illustration,  inio  what  doling,  idiotic  brains  the 
plan  of  arbitrary  power  may  enter. 

2  Tacitus  has  expressed  his  opinion,  in  a  passage  very 
frequently  quoted,  that  such  a  distribution  of  power  as  the 
theory  of  the  British  constitution  exhibits  is  merely  a  subject 
of  bright  speculation,  "  a  syslein  more  easily  jiraised  than 
practised,  and  which,  even  could  it  happen  to  e.\ist,  would 
certainly  not  prove  permanent;"  and,  in  irnth,  if  we  reflect 
on  the  English  bisiory,  we  shall  feel  very  much  inclined  to 
agree  with  Tacitus.  We  shall  find  that  at  no  periorl  what- 
ever has  this  balance  of  the  three  estates  existed  ;  that  the 
nobles  predominated  till  the  policy  id'  Henry  VII.  and  his 
successor  ri'duced  their  weight  by  breaking  up  the  feudal 
system  of  property;  that  the  power  of  the  Crown  became 
then  supreme  and  absolute,  till  the  bold  encroachmenis  o^ 
the  Commons  subverted  the  fabric  altogether ;  that  the  alter- 
nate ascendancy  of  prerogative  and  privilege  distracted  the 
[leriod  which  followed  the  Restoration;  and  that,  lastly,  the 
Arts  of  Ui.-^8,  by  laying  the  foundation  of  an  unbounded 
court  influence,  have  secured  a  preponderance  lo  the  Throup 
which  every  succeeding  year  increases.  So  that  the  British 
constitution  has  neviT  perhaps  existed  but  in  theory. 

3  "Those  two  thieves  (says  Ralph)  beiween  whom  the 
nation  was  crucified." — Use  and  .^Ause  vf  ParliamenU, 
page  IG4. 

4  The  monarchs  of  Great  Britain  can  never  be  sufticienlly 
ffrateful  for  that  generous  spirit  which  led  the  Revclutionary 
Whigs  to  give  away  the  Crown,  without  imposing  any  of 
those  restrain's  or  stipulations  which  other  men  might  have 
taken  advantage  of  such  a  moment  to  enforce,  and  in  fram- 
ing of  which  they  had  so  good  a  model  lo  follow  as  the 
limitations  proposed  by  the  Lords  Essex  and  Halifax,  in  tlip 
debate  upon  the  Exclusion  Pill.  They  not  imly  condescend- 
ed, however,  to  accept  of  places,  but  they  look  care  that 
these  dignities  should  be  no  impediment  to  their  "voice  po- 
tential" in  affairs  of  legislation ;  and  thouirh  an  Acl  was 
after  manv  years  suflTered  to  pass,  whicli  by  one  of  its  arti 
cles  disqualified  placemen  from  serving  us  members  of  the 
House  of  (^oinmons,  yet  it  was  not  alli  .ved  to  inierfere  with 
the  influence  of  the  reigning  monarch,  nor  indeed  with  ihai 
of  his  successor  Anne,  as  the  purifying  clause  h  m  not  to 


220 


MOORE'S  WOllKS. 


The  time  was  lost,  and  William,  with  a  smile, 
oaw  Freedom  weeping  o'er  the  unliuish'd  pile ! 
Hence  all  the  ills  you  suffer,  hence  remain 
Such  galling  frugincnts  of  that  feudal  chain,' 
Whose  hnks,  around  you  by  the  Norman  Hung, 
Though  loosed  and  broke  so  often,  still  have  clung. 
Hence  sly  Prerogative,  like  Jove  of  old. 
Has  turn'd  his  thunder  into  showers  of  gold. 
Whose  sdent  courtship  wins  securer  joys,^ 
Taints  by  degrees,  and  ruins  without  noise. 


t.ike  lifleet  till  aller  tlie  decease  of  tlie  latter  sovereign,  and 
niiB  very  consideraluly  repealed  it  altogether.  So  tliat,  as 
re|ireseiilation  lias  eoiUiuued  ever  since,  if  the  Knig  were 
Biiiiple  enough  to  send  to  foreign  courts  anibassadorfi  who 
were  inosi  oi  tlieni  in  the  pay  ol  those  courts,  he  would  be 
"usl  as  I'aithfuily  represeuted  as  his  people.  It  wouid  he 
endless  to  enumerate  all  the  favours  which  were  conlerred 
upon  William  by  those  "apostate  Whigs."  They  coinph- 
menled  hiin  wilh  the  first  suspension  of  the  Habeas  Corpus 
Act  which  h;id  been  hazarded  since  the  confirmation  of  that 
privilege;  and  this  example  of  our  Deliverer's  reign  has  not 
been  lost  upon  any  of  his  successors.  They  promoted  the 
estuhhshment  of  a  .■standing  army,  and  circulated  in  its  de- 
fence the  celebrated  "Balancing  Letter,"  in  which  it  is 
insinuated  that  England,  even  then,  in  her  boasted  hour  of 
regeneration,  was  arrived  at  such  a  pitch  of  faction  ami  cor- 
rii]ition,  that  nothing  could  keep  her  in  order  but  a  VVhig 
niinistiy  and  a  standing  army.  They  refused,  as  long  as 
they  could,  to  shorten  the  duration  of  Parliaments  ,  and, 
(hough  the  declaration  of  rights  acknowledged  the  n';cessity 
of  such  a  rel'orm,  they  were  able,  by  arts  not  unknown  to 
modern  ministers,  to  brand  those  as  traitors  and  republicans 
who  urged  it.(a)  But  the  grand  and  distinguishing  trail  of 
their  measures  was  the  power  which  they  gave  to  tI.eCrov.n 
of  annihilating  the  freedom  of  elections,  of  muddying  for 
ever  that  stream  of  reiircseutation,  which  had,  even  in  the 
most  agitated  times,  reilected  some  features  of  the  people, 
but  which  then,  for  the  first  tiine,  became  the  Pactolus  of 
the  Court,  and  grew  so  daikened  wilh  sands  of  gold,  that  it 
served  for  the  peo;ile's  mirror  no  longer.  We  need  but  con- 
sult the  writings  of  that  time,  to  understand  the  astonish- 
ment then  excited  by  measures,  which  the  practice  of  a  cen- 
tury has  rendered  not  only  famil'.ar  but  necessary.  See  a 
pamphlet  railed  "The  Danger  of  mercenary  Parliamenls," 
mm;  Slate  Tracts,  Will.  III.  vol.  ii.  p.  (538;  and  see  also 
"  Some  Paradoxes  presented  as  a  New  Year's  Gift."  {State 
Poeiiiii,  vol.  iii.  p.  3-"-) 

1  The  la.st  great  wound  given  to  the  feudal  system  was 
the  Act  of  the  12th  of  Charles  II.  which  abolished  the  tenure 
of  knishts'  service  in  cupite,  and  which  Blackstone  com- 
pares, for  its  salutary  influence  upon  property,  to  the  boasted 
provisions  of  Magna  Charta  itself  Yet  even  in  this  Act  we 
see  the  effects  of  that  counteriictlng  spirit,  that  Arimanius, 
which  has  weiikend  every  effort  of  the  English  nation  to- 
wards liberty,  v  liich  allowed  but  half  the  errors  of  Popery 
to  be  removed  at  the  Reformation,  and  which  planted  more 
abuses  than  it  sulfered  to  be  rooted  out  at  the  Revolution. 
The  exclusion  of  copyholders  from  their  share  of  elective 
riglits  was  permitti^d  to  remain  as  a  brand  of  feudal  servi- 
tude, iind  as  an  obstacle  to  the  rise  of  that  strong  counti:r- 
balaiicc  which  an  equal  representation  of  pro|ierty  would 
oppose  to  the  weight  of  the  Crown.  If  the  managets  of  the 
Revolution  hud  been  sincere  in  their  wishes  for  rifbrm,they 
Would  not  only  have  taken  this  fetter  off  the  rights  of  elec- 
tion, hut  they  would  have  renewed  the  mode  adopted  in 
Cromwell'.-  time  of  increasing  the  number  of  knights  of  the 
shire,  to  the  exclusion  of  those  rotten  insignificant  boroughs, 
whicli  have  tainted  the  whole  muss  of  the  constitution. 
Lord  ClariMiilon  calls  this  meiisure  of  Cromwell's  "  an  al- 
teration fit  to  be  more  warranlably  made,  and  in  a  better 
time."  It  formed  pari  of  Mr.  Pitt's  plan  in  1783;  bin  Mr. 
Pill's  phin  of  rclorm  was  a  kind  of  dramatic  jiiefe,  about 
}s  likely  to  he  acted  as  Mr.  Sheridan's  "  Foresters." 

•i  fore  cnim  tiitiim  iter  el  patens. 

Converse  in  pretiiiin  Deo. 
Auium  per  inedios  ire  satelliles. 


.a)  See  a  Pnmpldet,  pulilisbed  in  lfi03,  upon  the  King's 
ref^csing  to  sign  the  'I'rieniiial  Bill,  called  "  A  Discourse?  be- 
Iwoen  a  Yeomiin  of  Kent  iind  a  Knight  of  a  Shir(^" — 
"  Hereupon  (says  the  Yeoman)  the  genllemnn  grew  angry, 
and  said  that  I  talked  like  a  base  cominunwealth  man." 


While  Parliaments,  no  more  those  sacred  things 
Which  make  nnd  rule  the  destiny  of  Kings, 
Like  loaded  dice  by  ministers  are  thrown, 
.And  each  new  set  of  sharpers  cog  their  own  ! 
Hence  the  rich  oil,  that  from  the  Treasury  steals 
And  drips  o'er  ail  the  Constitution's  wheels, 
Giving  the  old  machine  such  pliant  play,' 
That  Court  and  Commons  jog  one  jotless  way 
While  Wisdom  trembles  for  the  crazy  car, 
So  gilt,  so  rotten,  carrying  fools  so  far! 


Et  perrumpere  amat  saxa,  pntentius, 
Ictu  fulmineo.  Horat.  lib.  iii.  od.  16. 

The  Athenians  considered  seduction  so  much  mure  dan- 
Serous  than  force,  that  the  penalty  for  rape  was  merely  a 
pecuniary  fine,  while  the  nuilt  of  seductiim  was  punished 
with  death.  Anl  though  it  must  be  owned  that,  diirin!»  the 
reign  of  that  ravisher,  Pre'osative,  the  poor  Constitution 
was  treated  like  .Miss  (^uneiiuiid  amon?  the  Bulgarinns;  yi  I 
1  agree  with  the  nrincipie  of  the  Athenian  law,  that  her  pre- 
sent stMte  of  willing  self  abandoiiment  is  much  more  hope- 
less and  irrpclaimahie,  and  calls  for  a  more  signal  vengeance 
upon  her  seducers. 

It  would  be  amusing  to  trace  the  history  o\'  Prerogative 
from  the  date  of  its  slreiiglh  under  the  Tudor  pi-inces,  when 
Henry  VII.  and  his  successes  "taught  the  people  (as  JVa- 
thaniel  Bacon  says)  (a)  to  dance  to  the  tune  of  .Allegiance," 
to  the  period  of  the  Revolution,  when  the  Throne,  in  its 
attacks  upon  libeity,  began  to  exchange  the  noisy  exjilosions 
of  Prerogative  for  the  silent  and  etfectual  air-gun  of  Infiu- 
ence.  In  considering  it  loo  since  that  memorable  era,  we 
shall  find  that,  while  the  royal  power  has  been  abridged  in 
branches  where  it  might  be  made  conducive  to  the  interests 
of  the  peojile,  it  has  been  left  in  full  and  unshaoklad  vigour 
against  almost  every  point  where  the  integrity  of  the  con- 
stitution is  vulnerable.  For  instance,  the  power  of  charter- 
ing boroughs,  to  vvhoso  capricious  abuse  in  the  hands  of  the 
Stuarts  we  are  indebted  for  mo.-tof  the  present  anomalies  of 
representation,  might,  if  suffered  to  remain,  have  in  soms 
degree  atoned  for  its  mischief  by  restoring  the  old  unchar- 
tered boroughs  to  their  rights,  and  widening  more  equally 
the  basis  of  the  legislature.  But,  by  the  Act  of  Union  with 
Scotland,  this  part  of  the  prerogative  was  removed,  lest 
Liberty  should  have  a  chance  of  being  healed  even  by  ihe 
rust  of  the  spear  which  had  wounded  her.  The  pow-er, 
however,  of  creating  peers,  which  has  generally  been  exer- 
cised/ur  the  government  ngaivst  the  constitution,  is  leit  in 
free,  umpialified  activity;  notwithstanding  the  example  of 
that  celebrated  Bill  for  Ihe  limitatiin  of  this  ever-budding 
branch  of  prerogative,  which  was  proposed  in  the  reign  of 
George  I.  under  the  jieculiar  sanction  and  recommendation 
of  the  ("ourt,  but  which  the  Whigs  rejected  wilh  that  clm- 
racieristic  delicacy,  which  has  generally  prevented  them, 
when  in  office  themselves,  from  taking  any  uncourtly  advan- 
tage of  the  Throne.  It  will  be  recollected,  however,  that 
the  creation  of  the  twelve  peers  by  the  Tories  in  Anne's 
reign  (a  measure  which  Swift,  like  a  true  party  man,  de 
fends,)  gave  these  upright  Whigs  all  possible  alarm  for  their 
liberties. 

With  regard  to  this  generous  fit  about  his  prerogative 
which  seized  the  good  king  George  I.,  historians  have  said 
that  Ihe  paroxysm  origuiaied  more  in  hatred  to  his  son  than 
in  love  to  the  constitution :  (ft)  but  no  person  aciiuainted 
wilh  Ihe  annals  of  the  three  Georges,  could  possibly  sus|iect 
any  one  of  those  gracious  Monarehs  cither  of  ill-will  to  nis 
heir,  or  inditference  for  the  constitution. 

1  "They  drove  so  fust  (says  Welwood  of  the  Ministers 
of  Charles  I.,)  (hat  it  was  no  wonder  that  the  wheels  and 
chariot  broke."  (Memoirs,  ji.  3").) — But  this  fatal  acciden', 
if  we  may  judge  from  experience,  is  to  he  imputi-d  less  (o 
the  follv  and  imne'uosity  of  the  drivers,  than  to  Ihe  want  of 
that  suppling  oil  from  the  Treasury  which  has  been  found 
BO  necessary  to  make  a  government  like  that  of  Fngland  run 
uoothly.  If  Charles  had  been  as  well  prov  ded  with  this 
article  as  his  successors  have  been  since  Ihe  happy  Revolu- 
tiim,  his  Commons  would  never  have  merited  from  I  ho  Throne 
the  harsh  appellation  of  "seditions  vipers,"  hut  wiaild  liiive 
been  (as  they  are  now,  and  I  trust  always  will  In)  "dutifii! 
nmons," — "  loyal  Commons,"  etc.  etc.  and  would  have 
eiven  him  ship-money,  or  any  other  sort  of  money  he  might 
take  a  fincy  to. 

in)    m.itnric.  niiil  Potifii-.  Visc'^ir.'se,  etc.  part  ii.  p.  114 
(h)  Coxe  says  thiit  thin  Bil'  was  projected  by  Sunderinnd 


CORRUPTION. 


221 


And  the  duped  people,  hourly  doom'd  to  pay 
The  sums  thai  brihe  their  hbcrti(!s  away,' 
Like  a  young  caulc,  who  h;is  lent  his  phiine 
To  fledge  the  sh.itt  by  which  he  meets  his  doom, 
See  their  own  feathers  pluck  d,  to  wing  the  dart 
Which  rank  corruption  destines  for  their  heart ! 


1  'itu:  |»Tiu(l  lliiil  irEiiiiodiaKjIy  succi'uUs  a  coiDualioii  lias 
bouii  callid  M:ry  ajilly  lliL-  HiJiicy-ino.iii  ol' 11  rui^Mi ;  uml  il 
we  su|i|)i)au  tlic  'I'liruuu  to  be  tlie  wil'o,  uml  tliu  t'coiilu  thu 
husband, (u)  I  kimw  no  butlur  uiudul  ol'a  iiialriiiioiilal  Iraiis- 
actiun,  nor  oiio  lliall  would  sooner  rucotninund  lo  a  woman 
jf  -pint,  than  tliut  which  the  arran<(e[iienl.s  of  10^8  alioul. 
In  the  first  place,  she  must  not  only  ohiain  ironi  her  hnsband, 
an  allowance  of  pin-money  or  civil-list  esiublishmenl,  suf- 
ticieul  to  re[ider  hor  indepemleni  olliis  rapnce,  but  she  must 
also  prevail  on  liini  to  make  her  the  steward  of  his  estates, 
and  lo  intrust  her  with  the  management  of  all  his  pecuniaiy 
concerns.  I  need  not  tell  a  woiiian  of  sense  Id  what  spirited 
uses  she  may  turn  sm^h  cuncessions.  lie  will  soon  become 
BO  tnme  and  docile  under  her  hands,lhat  she  may  make  him 
play  the  slraiij^est  and  most  amusing  tricks,  such  as  quarrel- 
ling with  Ins  nearest  aiul,  dearest  relations  about  a  dish  of 
lea,(i)  a  turban, (c)  or  a  warfare  ;((/)  preparing  his  house  fir 
defence  against  robbeis,  by  putting  tetters  and  handcuils  on 
two-lhirds  of  its  inmates;  employing  l--nn—g  and  P-rc-v-1 
m  his  sickest  nionients  to  read  to  him  alternately  .loe  Miller 
and  the  Uatecliism,  with  a  thousand  other  diverting  incon- 
sistencies. If  her  spouse  have  still  enough  of  sinso  remain- 
ing to  grumble  at  the  ridiculous  e,\hibition  which  she  makes 
of  him,  let  her  withhold  from  him  now  and  then  the  righl.-. 
of  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act  (a  mode  of  (iroceeding  whic'h  tlie 
women  of  .Athens  once  adopted,)  (n)  and  if  tlie  good  man 
oves  such  privileges,  the  inierrnption  will  soon  restore  him 
.0  submiss'On.  If  liis  former  wife  were  a  Papist,  or  had  any 
tendency  that  way,  1  would  advise  my  fair  Sovereign,  w  licn- 
ever  he  begins  to  argue  with  her  unpleasantly,  to  shout  out 
'  No  Popery,  no  Popery  I"  as  loud  as  she  can,  into  his  ears,' 
and  it  is  astonishing  what  an  effect  it  will  have  in  disconcert- 
ing all  his  .irgnmen's.  This  method  was  tried  lately  by  an 
old  woman  of  Northampton,  ;ind  with  much  success.  Seri- 
ously, this  convenient  bu:,'bear  of  Popery  is  by  no  means  the 
east  amonj  the  numberless  auxilinries  which  the  Revolution 
h;is  innrshilled  on  the  side  of  the  Throne. — Those  unskilful 
tyrants,  Charles  and  Ja'nes,  ins'ead  of  profiting  wisely  by 
that  useful  subserviency  which  has  always  distinguished  tlio 
ministers  of  our  religious  establishment,  were  blind  cnniigh 
to  plan  the  ruin  of  this  best  bulwark  of  their  power,  and 
connected  their  designs  upon  the  Church  so  clo.sely  wiih 
their  attacks  upon  the  Constitution,  that  they  identified  in 
the  minds  of  the  people  the  interests  of  their  religion  and 
their  liberties.  During  those  times,  therefore,  "  No  Popery" 
was  the  watchword  of  freedom,  and  served  to  keep  the  pub- 
lic spirit  awake  against  the  invasions  of  bigotry  and  prero- 
gative. The  Revolution,  however,  by  removing  this  object 
of  jealousy,  has  prodncerl  a  reliance  on  the  orthodo.xy  of 
the  Throne,  of  which  the  Throne  has  not  failed  to  take  every 
possible  advantage,  and  the  cry  of  "  No  Popery"  having,  by 
this  means,  lost  its  power  of  alarming  the  people  against  the 
encroachments  of  the  Crown,  has  served  ever  since  the  very 
different  purpose  of  strengthening  the  Crown  against  the 
claims  and  striiirsles  of  the  people.  The  danger  of  the 
Ctiiircli  from  Papisis  and  Pretenders  was  the  chief  prete.vt 
for  the  repeil  of  the  Triennial  Bill,  for  the  adofition  of  a 
standing  army,  for  the  numerous  suspensions  of  the  Habeas 
Corjius  .-Vet,  and,  in  short,  f()r  all  those  spirited  infractions 
of  the  Ciinstitiition  by  which  the  reiins  of  the  last  century 
were  so  eminently  distinguished.  We  have  seen  too,  very 
lately,  how  the  same  scarecrow  alarm  has  enabled  the 
Throne  to  select  its  ministers  from  men,  whose  servility  is 
their  only  claim  to  elevation,  and  who  are  pledged  (if  such 
un  alternative  could  aris")  to  take  part  with  the  scruples  of 
the  King  against  the  salvation  of  the  empire. 


But  soft !  my  friend — I  hear  thee  proudly  say, 

"  What  I  shall  I  li.sten  to  the  impious  lay, 

That  dares,  with  Tory  license,  to  profane 

Tin;  brigiit  becjuests  ol' William's  glorious  reign  ? 

Sliail  liie  great  wisdom  of  our  patriot  sires. 

Whom  II — wk — sb — y  quotes   and  savoury  B-  -rck 

admires, 
Be  slander'd  thus  ?  shall  honest  St — le  agree 
Witli  virtuous  R — se  to  call  us  pure  and  free, 
Vet  fail  to  prove  it?  Shall  our  patent  pair 
Ofvvi.se  State-Poets  waste  their  words  in  air. 
And  P — e  unheeded  breathe  his  prosperous  strain, 
And  C — nil — ng  take  the  jjcojjWs  scime  in  vain  ?"' 

The  people !— ah  !  that  Freedom's  form  should  stay 
Where  Freedom's  Spirit  long  hath  pass'd  away  ' 
That  a  false  smile  should  play  around  the  dead, 
And  flush  the  features  where  the  soul  has  fled  !" 
When  Rome  had  lost  her  virtue  witli  her  rights, 
Wlien  her  foul  tyrant  sat  on  Caprea;'s  heights' 
Amid  his  niflian  spies,  and  doom'd  to  death 
Each  noble  name  they  blasted  vvitii  their  breath ! 
Even  then  (in  mockery  of  that  golden  time. 
When  the  Republic  rose  revered,  sublime. 
And  her  free  sons,  diffused  from  zone  to  zone, 
Gave  kings  to  every  country  but  their  own,) 
Even  then  the  Senate  and  the  Tribunes  stood. 
Insulting  marks,  to  show  how  Freedom's  Hood 
Had  dared  to  tlow,  in  glory's  radiant  day, 
And  how  it  ebb'd,  for  ever  ebb'd  away  !* 


(n)  This  is  contrary  to  the  symbolical  language  of  pro- 
phecy, in  which  (accnnling  to  Sir  Isaac  Newton)  the  King 
IS  the  husband,  and  the  people  the  wife.  See  Faber,  on  the 
Prophecies. — I  would  bej  leave  to  suggest  to  Mr.  Faber,  that 
his  friend  Sir  R-ch — d  M-sgr-ve  can,  in  his  own  proper  per- 
son, supply  him  with  an  exposition  of  "the  Horns  of  the 
neast." 

(*)   America.  (c)  India.  (rf)  Ireland. 

(f!)  See  the  liysistrata  of  .Aristophanes. — "The  following 
s  the  form  of  suspension,  as  he  gives  it: 


1  Somebody  has  said  "  Uuand  lous  ies  Poetes  seraien 
noyes,  ce  ne  serait  pas  grand  duiiimage  ;"  but  I  am  awure 
that  lliis  would  be  most  uncivil  language  at  a  time  wlieii  oui 
binli-day  odes  and  state-jiapers  are  written  by  such  pretty 
poets  as  Mr.  P-e  and  Mr.  C-im-ng.  I  can  assure  the  latter, 
too,  that  I  think  iiim  (like  his  wuter-proof  colleague  Loid 
C-stl-r-gii)  reserved  for  a  very  diiiurent  fate  from  that 
which  the  author  I  have  just  (|uoled  imagines  for  his  poeti- 
cal fraternity.  All  I  wish  is,  that  he  would  change  places 
Willi  his  brother  P-e,  by  w  liicli  means  we  should  have  some 
what  less  prose  in  our  odes,  and  certainly  less  poetry  in  oui 
politics. 

2  "  It  is  a  scandal  (said  Sir  Charles  Sedley  in  William' 
reign)  that  a  G<ivernmeiit  so  sick  at  heart  as  ours  is,  should 
look  so  well  in  the  face;"  and  Edmiin* Burke  has  said,  in 
the  present  reign,  "  When  the  people  conci.'ivo  that  laws 
and  tribunals,  and  even  pojiular  assemblies,  are  perverted 
from  the  ends  of  their  institution,  they  find  in  these  names 
of  degenerated  establishments  only  new  motives  lo  discon- 
tent. Those  bodies  which,  when  loll  of  life  and  beauty,  lay 
in  their  arms  and  were  their  joy  aiiU  comfort,  when  dead 
and  putrid  become  more  loathsome  from  the  remembrance 
of  foriiKir  endearmenU." — Tlwughts  vn  the  present  Dis 
contents,  1770. 

3 tutor  haberi 

Principis,  Augusta  Caprearum  in  rupe  sedentis 
Cum  grege  Ciialdaio.  Juvenal.  Sat.  x.  v.  92 


The  senate  still  continued,  during  the  reign  of  Tiberius,  lo 
manage  all  Ihe  business  of  ihe  public  ;  the  money  was  then 
and  long  after  coined  by  their  auihorily,  and  every  other 
pui'lic  alfair  n.ceived  their  sanction. 

We  are  told  by  Taci'us  of  a  certain  race  of  men,  who 
were  paricnlarly  useful  to  the  Roman  Kirpcrors:  they 
were  calleii  "  Instrumenta  regiii,"  or  "Court  'Fools,"  from 
which  it  appears,  that  my  Lords  M-lgr-ve,  Ch-lh-m,  etc 
etc.  are  bv  no  means  things  of  modern  invention. 

4  There  is  something  very  touching  in  what  Tacitus  tcllt 
us  of  the  hopes  that  revived  in  a  few  patriot  bosoms,  when 
the  death  of  .Augustus  was  near  approaching,  and  the  fond 
expectation  with  which  they  began  "bona  hberiaiis  iinras 
sum  ilisscrere." 

Ferguson  says,  that  Cn>sar's  interference  with  the  rightt 
of  election  "  made  the  subversion  of  the  Republic  more  fell 
than  any  of  the  former  acts  of  his  power  "—  Roman  lit 
public,  book  v.  chap.  1 


222 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Oil !  look  around — though  yet  a  tyrant's  sword 

N'lr  haunts  you»  sleep  nor  trembles  o  er  your  board, 

Though  blood  be  belter  drawn  by  modern  quacks 

With  Treasury  leeches  than  with  sword  or  axe  ; 

Yet  say,  could  even  a  prostrate  Tribune's  power, 

Or  a  mock  Senate,  in  Rome's  servile  hour, 

[nsult  so  much  the  rights,  the  claims  of  man. 

As  doth  that  fetter'd  mob,  that  free  divan, 

Of  noble  tools  and  honourable  knaves. 

Of  pension'd  patriots  and  privileged  slaves? 

That  party-colour'd  mass,  which  nought  can  warm 

But  quick  Corruption's  heat — whose  ready  swarm 

Spread  their  light  wings  in  Bribery's  golden  sky, 

Buzz  for  a  period,  lay  their  eggs,  and  die  ! 

That  greedy  vampire,  which  from  Freedom's  tomb 

Comes  forth  with  all  the  mimicry  of  bloom 

Upon  its  lifeless  cheek,  and  sucks  and  drains 

A  people's  blood  to  feed  its  putrid  vems  ! — 

'  Heavens,  what  a  picture  !" — yes,  my  friend,  H  is 

dark— 
"  But  can  no  light  be  found,  no  genuine  spark 
Of  former  fire  to  warm  us  ?  Is  there  none 
To  act  a  Jlarvell's  part?"' — I  fear,  not  one. 
To  place  and  power  all  public  spirit  tends. 
In  place  and  power  all  public  spirit  ends  ;^ 
Like  hardy  plants,  that  love  the  air  and  sky. 
When  out,  't  will  thrive,  but  taken  in,  \  will  die  ! 

Not  bolder  truths  of  sacred  freedom  hung 
From  Sidney's  pen  or  burn'd  on  Fox's  tongue. 
Than  upstart  Whigs  produce  each  market-night. 
While  yet  their  conscience,  as  their  purse,  is  light ; 
While  debts  at  home  excite  their  care  for  those 
Which,  dire  to  tell,  their  much-loved  country  owes. 
And  loud  and  upright,  till  their  price  be  known, 
They  thwart  the  King's  supplies  to  raise  their  own — 
But  bees,  on  flowers  alighting,  cease  their  hum — 
So,  setding  upon  places,  Whigs  grow  dumb  ! 
And  though  1  feel  as  if  indignant  Heaven 
Must  think  that  wretch  too  foul  to  be  forgiven, 
Who  basely  hangs  the  bright,  protecting  shade 
Of  Freedom's  ensign  o'er  Corruption's  trade,' 
And  makes  the  sacred  flag  he  dares  to  show 
His  passport  to  the  market  of  her  foe  I — 


1  Andrew  Marvell,  ihe  honest  opposer  of  the  court  during 
the  reiun  of  Clnirles  the  Sicond,  and  the  lust  Meinher  ol' 
Parliiiinent  who,  according  to  the  anck/it  mode,  look  wages 
from  his  ci>nstiluents.  How  very  much  the  Commons  have 
changed  tlieir  |my-mastersl — Sec  the  State-I'uems  foi  some 
rudi-  hilt  spirited  effusions  of  Andrew  Marvel). 

2  The  ("ollowing  artless  speech  of  Sir  Francis  Winning- 
ton,  in  the  reign  of  CharUis  the  Second,  will  amuse  those 
who  are  fully  aware  of  Hie  porCection  which  we  have  at- 
tained in  that  system  of  Government  whose  humhle  begin- 
nings seem  to  have  astonished  Ihc^  worthy  Baronet  so  much. 
"  r  ilid  observe  (says  he)  that  all  tho-^e  who  had  pensions, 
and  most  of  those  who  had  oflices,  voted  all  of  a  side,  as 
Ihcry  were  directed  l)y  some  sreat  ofTicer,  exactly  as  if  their 
business  in  this  House  had  been  to  preserve  their  pensions 
and  otii'-es.  and  no'  to  make  laws  for  the  good  ortliem  who 
sent  iher:)  her.'." — lie  alludes  to  that  Parliament  which  was 
culled,  ]i:ir  fTccllrvc,  the  Pensionary  Parliament !  a  dis- 
lini'tion,  ho'viver,  which  it  has  long  lost,  and  which  we 
merely  give  it  from  old  custom,  just  as  we  say  The  Irish  Re- 
jcMion. 

;(  u  W',i|i,  they  prom'flo  them  liberty,  they  themselves  arc 
Ihe  sirrv-.nts  of  coriuption."  2  Pet.  ii. — I  suggest,  with 
much  rl^ierencp,  to  th"  expounders  of  Scripture-Prophecy, 
ivhetlier  Mr.  Onn-ng  •»  not  at  present  fulfillin?  the  prediciion 
■>f  "(he  •••otfers."  who  were  to  come  "  in  tlie  last  days." 


Yet,  yet  I  own,  so  venerably  dear 

Are  Freedom's  grave  old  anthems  to  mv  eai, 

That  I  enjoy  them,  though  by  rascals  sung, 

And  reverence  Scripture  even  from  Satan's  tongue 

Nay,  when  the  Constitution  has  expired, 

I'll  have  such  men,  like  Irish  wakers,  hired 

To  sing  old  Habeas  Corpus  by  its  side. 

And  ask,  in  purchased  ditties,  why  it  died  ?' 

See  that  smooth  Lord,  whom  nature's  plastic  pains 

•Seem'd  to  have  destined  for  those  Eastern  reigns 

When  eunuchs  flourish'd,  and  when  nerveless  things 

That  men  rejected  were  the  choice  of  Kings.^ 

Even  he,  forsooth  (oh,  mockery  accurst !) 

Dared  to  assume  the  patriot's  name  at  first — ' 

Thus  Pitt  began,  and  thus  begin  iiis  apes  ; 

Thus  devils,  whe n^r,'?*  rais'd,  take  pleasing  shapes- 

But  oh,  poor  Ireland  !  if  revenge  be  sweet 

For  centuries  of  wrong,  for  dark  deceit 

And  withering  insult — for  the  Union  thrown 

Into  thy  bitter  cup,"  when  that  alone 

Of  slavery's  draught  was  wanting^ — if  for  this 

Revenge  be  sweet,  thou  hasl  that  demon's  bliss ; 


1  I  b'lieve  it  is  in  t'ollouina  tlie  (o:pse  to  the  giave,  and 
.lot  at  the  wakes  (as  we  call  the  watching  of  the  dead,)  that 
tills  elegiac  howl  of  my  countryinen  is  performed.  Spenser 
says,  that  our  hoivl"is  heathenish,  and  proceeds  from  a 
despair  of  salvation."  If  so,  I  think  England  may  join  in 
chorus  with  us  at  jiresent. — The  Abbe  de  Motraye  tells  us, 
that  the  Jews  in   ihe  Easi   address  their  dead  in  a  similar 

viiianner,  and  s  ly,  "  Hu  !  IIu  1  Hu  !  why  did  you  die  ?  Hadn't 
yuu  a  wife?  Had'iit  you  a  long  pipe?"  etc.  etc.  (See  his 
Travels.)  I  thought  "for  a  long  time  with  Vallancey,  tnal 
we  were  a  colony  I'f  Carihaginians ;  but  from  this  passage 
of  de  Molraye,  and  from  the  way  in  which  Mr.  P-rc-v-f 
would  have  us  treated,  1  begin  to  suspect  we  are  no  beltei 
than  .lews. 

2  According  to  Xenophon,  the  chief  circumstance  which 
recommended  eunuchs  to  the  service  of  Eastern  princes, 
was  ihe  ignominious  station  whicli  they  held  in  society, and 
the  probabdity  of  their  being,  upon  this  account,  more  de- 
voted to  the  will  and  caprice  oFa  master,  from  whose  notice 
alone  they  derived  consideration,  and  in  whose  favour  they 
found  a  refuge  from  the  contempt  of  mankind.  AJo^oi 
3vt;;  01  euvcvj^oi  Tzx.(,y.  toi;  xKKOif;  oevjptuiroi;  x»>  Ji« 
TOUTO     JiCTTTOTOU    ffflXOUfOU     T^rpOtr  Js  0  UTXl .   (a) But    I    doubt 

whether  even  an  Kisiern  Prince  would  have  chosen  an  en 
tire  Administration  u|)on  this  principle. 

3  Does  LordC-sil-i — gh  remember  the  reforming  Renolu- 
tions  of  his  early  days  1 

4  "And  in  the  cup  an  Union  shall  be  thrown." 

Hamlet 
Three  Cs  were  branded  in  the  SibylMne  books,  as  fatal  to 
the  peace  and  liberties  of  Rome.  Tpix  xx^-n-at  xstxirxa 
(Cornelius  Svlla,('oiii"lius  Cinna,  and  Cornelius  Lentulus.) 
(A)  Anil  three  Cs  will  be  remembered  in  Ireland  as  long  as 
C-md-n  and  cruelty,  Cl-re  and  corruption,  C-stl-r — gV  atid 
contempt,  are  altiteralively  and  approi)rialely  associated. 

5  Among  the  many  measures  which,  since  the  Revt)lu- 
tion,  have  contr  huted  to  increase  the  influence  of  the 
Throne,  and  to  feed  U[i  this  "  Aaron's  serpent  of  the  con- 
stitution to  its  present  healthy  and  respectable  mairnitude, 
thiTc  have  been  few  more  nutritive  than  the  Scotch  and 
Irish  Unions.  Sir  .Tolin  Parker  said,  in  a  debate  upon  the 
foimer  question,  that  "he  would  submit  it  to  ^he  House, 
whether  men  who  had  basely  betrayed  their  trust,  Dv  giving 
up  their  independent  constitution,  were  fit  to  be  admitted 
into  the  English  House  of  Commons."  But  Sir  John  wou?' 
have  known,  if  he  had  not  been  out  of  place  at  the  timn, 
that  the  pliancy  of  such  materials  was  not  among  Ihe  lead 
of  their  recommendations.  Indeed  the  promoters  of  the 
Scotch  Union  were  by  no  means  disappointed  in  the  lead 
ing  object  of  their  measure,  for  the  triumphant  majorities  of 
the  Coin'-parlv  in  Parliament  inay  be  dated  from  the  ad 
mission  of  the  4.5  and  the  Ifi.  Once  or  twice,  upon  the  altera 

(ff)  Sec  a  pamphlet  on  the  Union,  by  "a  Philosopher  " 
(/))  See  a  Treatise  by  Pontua  De  Thiard,  "  De  recta  No 
minum  Impositione,"  ».  4lf 


INTOLERANCE. 


223 


For  oh  !  't  is  more  than  hell's  revenge  to  sec 
That  England  trusts  the  men  who  've  rnin'd  thee ! 
That,  in  these  awful  il.iys,  when  every  hour 
Creates  some  new  or  blasts  some  ancient  power, 
When  proud  Napoleon,  like  the  burning  shield' 
Whose  hght  compell'd  each  wondering  foe  to  yield, 
vVith  baleful  lustre  blinds  the  brave  and  free, 
And  dazzles  Europe  into  slavery  ! 
That,  in  this  hour,  when  patriot  zeal  should  guide, 
When  Mind  should  rule,  and — Fox  should  not  have 

died, 
All  that  devoted  England  can  oppose 
'J'o  enemies  made  fiends,  and  friends  made  foes. 
Is  the  rank  refuse,  the  despised  remains^ 
Of  that  unpitying  power,  whose  whips  and  chains 
Made  Ireland  first,  in  wild,  adulterous  trance. 
Turn    false   to    England's    bed,    and    whore    with 

France  I — 
Those  hack'd  and  tainted  tools,  so  foully  fit 
For  the  grand  artizan  of  mischief,  I'-tt, 
So  useless  ever  but  in  vile  employ. 
So  weak  to  save,  so  vigorous  to  destroy ! 
Such  are  the  men  that  guard  thy  threaten'd  shore, 
Oh  England !  sinking  England  !'  boast  no  more. 

tion  ot'tiioir  l;i\v  ot'  Iruiisoii  anil  tiie  iiiipoHllioii  of  the  malt- 
tiix  (measures  which  were  In  direct  violation  of  the  Act  of 
Union,)  these  worthy  North  Briions  arrayed  themselves 
op|iosiiion  lo  the  Court;  but  finding  this  etlort  for  their 
country  unavailinj,  they  prudently  determined  lo  think 
thenceforward  of  themselves,  and  few  men  have  kept  lo  a 
laudable  resolution  more  firmly. — The  effect  of  Irish  repre 
Bentaiion  upon  the  liberties  of  England  will  be  no  less  per- 
ceptible and  no  less  permanent. 

OuJ"  oyi  TATPOr 

Atin-STKi  ANTEAAONTOi:.  (a) 

The  infusion  of  such  cheiip  and  useful  ingredients  as  my 
Lord  L-mr-ck,  Mr.  D-nn-s  15r-wne,  etc.  etc.  into  the  Legis- 
laln/e,  must  act  as  a  powerful  alterative  on  the  (Constitution, 
ond  clear  it  by  degrees  of  all  the  troublesome  humuurs  of 
honesty. 

1  The  magician's  shield  in  Ariosto: — 

E  tolto  per  vertii  dello  splendors 
La  libtTlale  a  lora.     Cant.  2. 
We  are  told  that  C;esar's  code  of  morality  was  contained 
in  the  following  lines  of  Euripides,  which  that  great  man 
very  frecpiently  repeated: 

EcTi-jj  yxf  x^ixstv  xp*J  rvprnvvtS^^  -z^s^t 

This  appears  to  he  also  the  moral  code  of  Bonaparts. 

2  Wh(Mi  the  Duke  of  Buckinaham  was  assassinated, 
Charles  flie  Firs',  as  a  tribute  to  his  memory,  continued  all 
his  creatures  in  the  same  pos's  and  favours  which  they  had 
enjoyed  under  ibiir  patron;  and  much  in  the  same  manner 
do.we  see  the  country  sacrificed  to  the  manes  of  a  Minister 
Bt  present. 

It  is  invidious  perhaps  to  look  for  parallels  in  the  reign 
of  Charles  the  First,  but  tho  ex;)edient  of  threatening 
the  (^mimnns  with  dissolution,  vvhicli  has  lately  been  played 
off  with  much  eclat,  appears  to  have  been  frerpien'lv  re- 
sorted to  at  that  period.  In  one  instance  Hume  tells  us, 
that  the  King  sent  his  Lord  Keeper  [vot  his  .Icftrr)  lo  me- 
nace the  Ilousi',  that,  unless  they  despatched  a  certain  Bill 
for  subsidies,  they  n  ust  ex|)ect  to  sit  no  longer.  Bv  similar 
threats  the  excise  upon  beer  and  ale  was  carried  in  Charles 
the  Second's  reign.  It  is  edifying  to  know,  that  though  Mr 
C'-nn-n"  despises  Puffindorf,  he  has  no  objection  to  prece- 
(len's  derivpil  from  the  Court  of 'he  Stuarts. 

'^  The  followins  proohetic  remarks  occur  in  a  letter  written 
by  Sir  Robert  Trilhit,  wl  o  attended  <he  Duke  of  Bedford  to 
Paris  in  17()2.     Talkinj;  of  states  which  h.ave  grown  power- 

(«)  From  .\ratns  (v.  71.5,)  a  poet  who  wrote  upon  astro- 
nomy, though,  as  Cicero  assures  us,  he  knew  nothing  vvliat- 
ffver  about    the   subject — ^just   as   the   great  Harvey  wrote 

'  De  lienerat'on,"  though   he  had    as  little  to  do  with  the 

■•fcttcr  as  my  (,ord  Viscount  C 


INTOLERANCE, 

PART  TIIE  FIRST 


"  This  clamour,  which  pretends  to  be  raised  nrr  the  »afcf 
of  Religion,  has  almost  worn  out  the  very  appearance  of  it 
and  rendered  us  not  only  the  most  divided  but  the  most  im 
moral  people  upon  the  face  of  the  ean\\."— Addison,  Free 
Iwldcr,  No.  37. 


Start  not,  my  Friend,  nor  think  the  3Iuse  will  stain 
Iler  classic  fingers  with  the  dust  profane 
Of  Bulls,  Decrees,  and  fulminating  scrolls, 
That  took  such  freedom  once  with  royal  souls,' 


ful  in  commerce,  he  says,  "According  lo  the  nature  nnd 
common  course  of  things,  there  is  a  confederacy  ug:ijnst 
them,  and  conae()ucntly  in  the  same  (irojiortion  as  they  in- 
crease in  riches,  ihey  approach  to  destruction.  The  address 
of  our  King  William,  m  making  all  Europe  lake  the  alarm 
at  France,  has  brought  that  coiinlry  before  us  near  that  ine- 
vitable period.  We  must  necessarily  have  our  turn,  and 
Great  Britain  will  attain  it  as  soon  as  France  shall  have  a 
declaimer  with  organs  as  proper  for  thai  political  purpose 

as  were  those  of  our  William  1  he  Third Wiih- 

out  doubt,  my  Lord,  Great  Britain  must  lower  her  flight. 
Europe  will  remind  us  of  the  balance  of  commerce,  as  slio 
has  reminded  France  of  the  balance  of  power.  The  ad- 
dress of  our  statesmen  will  immortalize  them  by  contriving 
for  us  a  descent  which  shall  not  he  a  fall,  by  making  us 
rather  resemble  Hi. Hand  than  Carthage  and  Venice." — Let- 
ters on  the  French  J^at.ion. 

I  The  king-deposing  ilocirine,  notwithstanding  its  many 
mischievous  absurdities,  was  of  no  little  service  to  the  cause 
of  political  liberty,  by  inculcating  the  right  of  resistance  to 
tyranis,  and  asserting  the  will  of  the  [leople  to  be  the  only 
true  fountain  of  power.  Bellarmine,  the  most  violent  of  Ihe 
advocates  for  papal  authority,  was  one  of  ihe  first  to  main- 
tain (see  De  Pontif.  lib.  i.  c'a(i.  7,)  "That  Kings  have  not 
their  authority  or  office  immediaiely  from  God  nor  his  law, 
bill  only  from  the  law  of  nations ;"  and  in  King  James's 
"  Defence  of  the  Rights  of  Kings  against  Cardinal  Perron," 
we  find  his  Majesty  expressing  strong  indignation  against 
the  Cardinal  for  having  a.sserted  "  t,  nl  lo  the  deposing  of  a 
King  the  consent  of  the  people  must  be  obtained" — "  for  fay 
these  words  (says  .lames)  the  people  are  exalted  above  the 
King,  and  made  the  judges  ol  he  King's  depo.-lng."  |).  42t. 
— Even  in  Mariana's  celebrated  book,  where  the  nonsense 
of  bigotry  does  not  interfere,  there  are  some  liberal  and  en- 
lightened ideas  of  government,  of  Ihe  restraints  which  should 
he  imposed  upon  Royal  power,  of  the  subordination  of  tho 
Throne  to  Ihe  interests  of  Ihe  people,  e'c.  etc.  (De  Rege  et 
Regis  Institutionc.  See  particularly  lib.  i.  cap.  (5.  8,  and 
9.)— It  is  rather  remarkable,  too,  that  England  should  he 
indebted  to  another  Jesuit,  for  the  earliesf  defence  of  that 
principle  upon  which  the  Revolnlion  was  founded,  nainclv, 
the  right  of  the  people  to  change  the  succession. — (See 
Do'eman's  "Conferences,"  wri'ten  in  support  of  the  title  of 
Ihe  Infanta  of  Spain  against  tliat  of  James  I.) — When  Eng- 
lishmen, therefore,  say  tliat  popery  is  the  religion  ofslaier», 
Ihey  should  not  only  i-ecollect  that  their  boasted  Constiinlion 
is  tlie  work  and  bequest  of  Popish  ances'nrs;  ihev  should 
not  nnlv  remember  the  laws  of  Edward  HI.  "under  whom 
Csnys  Bolingbroke)  the  constiiu'ion  of  our  Parliaments,  and 
the  whole  form  of  our  Government,  became  rci'uced  in"o 
belter  form:"  but  they  should  know  tha'  even  the  errors  of 
Popery  have  leaned  to  the  cause  of  liberty,  ai'd  that  Papists, 
however  mistaken  their  motives  may  have  been,  were  Ihe 
first  prmnnlgators  of  Ihe  doctrines  which  led  lo  Ihe  Revolu- 
tion.— But,  in  truth,  Ihe  political  principles  of  the  Roman 
Cniholics  have  jenerally  been  made  lo  suit  the  convenience 
of  their  oppressors,  and  they  have  been'  represented  alter- 
nately as  slavish  or  refractnrv,  according  as  a  pretext  tor 
tormintinj  them  was  wanlin?.  The  same  '  iconsis'ency 
has  marked  everv  other  io'putation  against  lem.  They 
are  charged  with  Inxilv  in  the  observance  of  oaths,  though 
an  oath  has  been  found  sufficient  to  shut  them  from  iil' 
worldly  advantages.  If  they  reject  some  decisions  of  'heit 
church,  Ihey  are  said  to  be  sceptics  and  bad  Christians:  ■ 


224 


MOORE'S  WORKh. 


VMien  Heav<:ii  was  yet  the  Pope's  exclusive  trade, 

And  Kings  were  dainii''d  as  fast  as  now  they're  made! 

No,  no — let  D — gcn-n  search  the  Papal  chair' 

For  fragrant  treasures  long  forgotten  there  ; 

And,  as  tlie  witch  of  sunless  Lapland  thinks 

That  little  swarthy  gnomes  delight  in  stinks, 

Let  sallow  P-rc-v-1  snufT  up  the  gale 

Which  wizard  D — gen-n's  gither'd  sweets  exhale  . 

Enough  for  me,  whose  heart  has  learn'd  to  scorn 

Bigots  alike  in  R)me  or  England  born. 

Who  loathe  the  venom,  whencesoe'er  it  springs. 

From  Popes  or  Lawyers,-  Pastry-cooks  or  Kings; 

Enough  for  me  to  laugh  and  weep  by  turns, 

As  mirth  provokes,  or  indignation  burns, 

As  C-  nn-ng  vapours,  or  as  France  succeeds. 

As  H-wk-sb'ry  proses,  or  as  Ireland  bleeds ! 

And  thou,  my  Friend — if,  in  these  headlong  days, 

VM.en  bigot  Zeal  her  drunken  antics  plays 

So  near  a  precipice,  that  men  the  while 

Look  breathless  on  and  shudder  while  they  smile — 

If,  in  such  fearful  days,  thou'lt  dare  to  look 

To  hapless  Ireland,  to  this  rankling  nook 

Which  Heaven  has  freed  from  poisonous  things  in 

vain 
While  G-tf-rd's  tongue  and  M-sgr-ve's  pen  remain — 
If  thou  hast  yet  no  golden  blinkers  got 
To  shade  thine  eyes  from  this  devoted  spot, 
W^hose  wrongs,  though  blazon'd  o'er  the  world  they 

be, 
Placemen  alone  are  privileged  not  to  see — 
Oh  !  turn  awhile,  and,  tliough  the  shamrock  wreathes 
My  homely  harp,  yet  shall  the  song  it  breathes 
Of  Ireland's  slavery,  and  of  Ireland's  woes. 
Live,  when  the  memory  of  her  tyrant  foes 
Shall  but  exist,  all  future  knaves  to  warn, 
Embalm'd  in  hate  and  canonized  by  scorn  ! 
When  C-sil-r — gh,^  in  sleep  still  more  profound 
Than  his  own  opiate  tongue  now  deals  around, 
Sliall  wait  the  impeachment  of  that  awful  day 
Which  even  his  practised  hand  can't  bribe  away  ! 


Ihcv  iidmit  thosH  vi;ry  decisions,  they  are  branded  as  l)i£;ots 
and  bad  subjects.  Wo  are  told  lli:il  cmiti.lttnce  and  kind- 
ness vvil!  make  tbem  enemies  lo  the  Goveinnn'iil,  tlKiuf,'!!  we 
know  tli.ii  exclusion  and  injuries  liiive  uiib  ditiicnily  |)re- 
venled  Ibein  f'roiu  being  its  friends.  In  short,  ncithinj;  can 
bettei  ilbistrate  tlie  misery  of  those  shilts  and  evasions  by 
which  a  lung  course  of  cowardly  ii;jiis;ice  must  bo  supijort- 
ed,  than  the  whole  history  of  Great  Britain's  conduct  towards 
the  Catliolic  part  of  her  empire. 

1  The  "Sella  SUrcoraria"  of  the  Popes.— The  Right 
Honourable  and  learned  Doctor  will  find  an  iMigiavin";  of 
this  chair  in  Spanli.iin's  "  Disipiisilio  llistoriea  de  I'.ipa 
Koimina,"  (p.  IH:)  nnd  1  recommend  it  as  a  model  for  the 
fishion  ortbut  sent  which  the  Doctor  is  about  lo  lake  in  the 
prinii-i'Dunr.W  nf  Ireland. 

■2  When  Innocent  X.  was  entrealed  to  deride  the  con- 
troversy between  the  Jesuits  and  the  Jimsenisls,  he  an- 
Bwered,  that  "he  had  been  bred  a  Lawyer,  and  had  there- 
fore nothing  to  do  with  divinity."— It  were  to  be  wished  that 
some  'f  oiu-  Kujlish  pellitoggerB  knew  their  element  as  well 
as  I'ope  Innoc:ent  X. 

3  The  breach  of  faith  which  the  managers  of  the  Irish 
Union  hiive  been  sjuilty  of,  in  disapiioinlin^  those  hopes  of 
eiinincipalion  which  they  excited  in  tlie  bosoms  of  the 
Catholics,  is  no  new  trail  in  the  ainials  of  Knirbsh  p(dicy. 
A  similar  deceit  was  pinct  sed  to  ficililale  the  Uniini  with 
Bcolland,  and  hopes  were  held  out  of  exemptiun  from  the 
Porpora  on  and  Test  Acts,  in  order  to  divc^rt  the  I'arhn- 
ini'nt  of  that  country  from  encund'uring  the  measure  with 
viT  atipii'alion  to  that  ^nbc^ 


And  oh  !  my  friend,  wert  thou  hut  near  me  now, 
To  see  the  spring  difl'use  o'er  Erin's  brow 
Smiles  that  shine  out,  unconquerably  fair. 
Even  through  the  blood-marks  left  by  C-md-n'  ther*' 
Couldst  thou  but  see  what  verdure  paints  the  sod 
Which  none  but  tyrants  and  their  slaves  have  trod. 
And  didst  thou  know  the  spirit,  kind  and  brave, 
That  warms  the  soul  of  each  insulted  slave. 
Who,  tired  with  struggling,  sinks  beneath  his  lot. 
And  seems  by  all  but  watchful  France  forgot — ^ 
Thy  heart  would  burn- — yes,  even  thy  Pittite  heart 
W^ould  burn,  to  think  that  such  a  blooming  part 
Of  the  world's  garden,  rich  in  iSature's  charms, 
And  fill'd  with  social  souls  and  vigorous  arms, 
Should  be  the  victim  of  that  canting  crew, 
So  smooth,  so  godly,  yet  so  devilish  too. 
Who,  arm'd   at  once  with   prayer-books   and  wilt 

whips,' 
Blood  on  their  hands,  and  Scripture  on  their  lips, 


1  Not  the  C-md-n  who  speaks  thus  of  Ireland  : 
"Aique  nno  verbo  dicam,  sive  lernes  fecunditniem,  sive 

maris  et  portiinni  opportunilatem,  sive  incolas  respicies  qui 
bell  cesi  sunt,  ingeniosi,  corporum  lineamentis  conspicui 
miiifira  C!unis  niollitie  et  propter  musculorum  teneriiatern 
agilitale  incredibili,  a  mollis  dotibus  ita  feli.x  est  insula,  ul 
non  m:ile  dixerit  Gynildu.s,  'naturam  hoc  Zepliyri  regnum 
benien  ori  oculo  tes|iexisse.'  " 

2  Thee.\am|)le  of  tole'ation,  which  Bonaparte  has  given, 
will  produce,  Ifear,  no  other  etfecl  than  thai  of  determining 
the  Briti.-h  <iovernment  to  persist,  from  the  very  spirit  of 
opjjo-ition,  in  their  own  old  system  of  intolerance  and  injus- 
tice; just  as  the  Siamese  blacken  iheir  teeth,  "because," 
as  thev  say,  "the  devil  has  white  ones."  (n) 

?j  One  of  the  unhappy  results  of  ibe  controversy  between 
Proteslanls  and  Calhcdics,  is  the  nnilnal  exposure  which 
their  criminations  and  recriminations  have  prorluced.  In 
vain  do  the  Protestants  charge  the  Papists  with  closing  the 
door  of  salvation  U|ion  others,  while  many  of  their  own 
writings  and  articles  breathe  the  same  uncharitable  spirit. 
No  canon  of  Constance  or  Lateran  ever  damned  heretics 
mure  effeciually  than  the  eighth  of  the  Thirly-nine  Articles 
consigns  to  [lerdition  evo'y  single  men  her  of  the  Greek 
church,  and  t  doubt  whether  a  more  sweeping  clause  c' 
damnation  was  ever  pro|)osed  in  the  most  bigoted  council, 
than  that  which  'he  Calvinisiic  theory  of  ji  edestinalion  in 
Ihe  seventieiilh  of  these  ,Ar;ieles  exh'bits.  It  is  true  that  no 
hbiral  Protestant  avows  such  exc'usive  opinions;  thai  every 
honest  clergyman  must  feel  a  pang  while  he  subscribes  to 
them;  that  some  even  assert  the  Alhanasian  Creed  to  be  the 
forgery  of  one  V  gilins  Ta|)sensis,  in  the  beginning  of  the 
sixth  century,  and  that  eminent  divines,  like  Jortin,  have  not 
hesitated  to  say,  "There  are  proposiiions  contained  in  our 
Ijitingy  and  Articles,  which  no  man  of  common  sense 
amoi'gsl  lis  believes."(ft)  But  while  all  this  is  freely  con- 
ceded to  Protestants;  while  nobody  doulits  their  sincerity, 
when  they  declare  that  their  articles  are  not  essentials  of 
fa  th,  but  .a  collection  of  op'nions  which  have  been  promul 
I'nted  by  fallible  men,  and  from  manv  of  which  they  fee! 
themselves  ju^tified  in  dissi'ntinj, — while  so  much  libertv  of 
retvaciion  is  allowi'd  to  Proti'Slaiits  ujum  their  own  declared 
and  siibscrbnd  Articles  of  ridiginn,  is  it  not  strange  that  a 
similar  imlnlgence  should  be  refused,  wi'h  such  inconvinci 
hie  obstinacy,  to  the  Catholics,  upon  tenets  which  thc'.r 
chureli  has  uniformlv  resisted  and  condemned,  in  every 
eountry  where  it  has  flourished  independently  ?  When  the 
Calliolies  sav,  "The  decree  (ff  the  coiine'il  of  LatiTdii, 
which  yon  object  to  us,  has  no  claim  wha'ever  upon  eithci 
oiir  faiih  or  our  reason  •  it  did  not  even  pro'ess  to  contain 
anv  doctrinal  decision,  but  was  merely  a  jodicinl  proceeding 
of  that  asseiribly;  and  it  would  be  as  fair  for  us  to  impute  a 
ii^ifr-hillinir  {\nc\t\\w  to  the  Prote-;tants,  because  tle'ir  liiw 
Pope,  Henry  VIIT.  was  sanctioned  in  an  indulgence  of  that 
propensity,  ns  for  you  to  eonchide  that  we  have  inherited  a 
kinj-ile|)Osing  taste  'Vom  tin?  nr/.s  of  the  Council  of  Lateran, 
or  the  secular  pretensions  of  mir  Popes.  With  respect,  too 
to  the  Decree  of  the  Council  of  Constance,  upon  the  strength 

{a)  See  I'llistoire   Naturelle   et  Polit.  flu  Royauino  At 

Siam,  etc. 

'Ji)  Strictures  on  tlie  Articles,  Subscriiitions.  etc. 


INTOLERANCE. 


Tyrants  by  creed,  and  torturers  by  text, 
Make  this  life  hell,  in  honour  of  the  next 
Your  li-des(l-les,  P-rc-v-ls, — oh,  gracious  Heaven  '. 
If  I'm  f)resutii|)iiious,  be  my  tongue  forgi\eii, 
VVhen  here  I  swear,  by  my  soul's  hope  of  rest, 
I'd  raiiier  have  been  born,  ere  man  was  blest 
Willi  the  pure  dawn  of  Revelation's  light, 
Ves  ! — rather  plunge  me  back  in  Pagan  night 
And  lake  my  chance  with  Socrates  ibr  bliss,' 
Than  be  the  Christian  of  a  liiilh  hke  this. 
Which  builds  on  heavenly  cant  its  earthly  sway, 
And  in  a  convert  mourns  to  lose  a  prey  ; 
Which,  binding  polity  in  spiritual  chains, 
And  tainting  piety  with  temporal  stains,'' 

of  which  you  accuse  us  of  breaking  faith  with  herelics,  we 
do  not  hesiiate  to  pronounce  that  Duck^o  a  calumnious  for- 
pnry,  a  uirnery,  loo,  so  obvious  and  ill-fabricalocl.  thai  none 
but  our  I  iifuiies  have  ever  ventured  to  pive  It  the  slightest 
cruilit  of  aullienliri  y."  —  When  tlie  Culholics  make  these 
declaralions  (and  they  are  ainio.-t  weary  wiih  making  them  ;) 
when  lliey  show  loo,  by  llieir  conduct,  ihat  tl»ese  declarations 
are  sincere,  and  that  iheir  failli  and  morals  are  no  more  resu- 
laled  by  the  absurd  decrees  of  olil  councils  atid  Popes,  than 
their  science  is  inlUieni-ed  by  the  I'apal  anathema  against 
that  Irishman,  (a)  who  liisl  tound  oui  ihe  Antipodes:  —  is  it 
not  stranjre  ihat  so  many  still  wilfully  iltslrusi  what  every 
good  man  is  so  much  inleresled  in  behevini;  7  That  so 
many  should  prefer  Ihe  dark-laniern  of  Ihe  Uh\i  century  to 
the  sunshine  of  iniellect  which  has  since  spread  over  the 
world,  and  that  every  dabbler  in  ilieology,  fri,m  Mr.  Le  Me 
lurier  down  to  the  Chancellor  of  the  K.\chi  quer,  should  dare 
6o  oppose  the  lubbish  of  Constance  and  Laleran  to  ihe 
bright  Irnimphant   pioaress  of  justice,  generosity,  and  truih  7 

1  There  is  a  sinf;ular  work  "  upon  the  Souls  ot  tin;  Pa- 
gans," by  one  Franciscus  Oollius,  in  which  he  discusses, 
with  much  coolness  and  erudition,  all  Ihe  probable  chances 
of  salvation  upon  which  a  lieaihen  pbiloso|'her  may  calcu- 

ate.  He  damns  without  much  dilHculty  Socrates,  Plain, 
eic.  BTid  the  only  one  at  whose  fate  he  seems  to  iieritale 
is  Pythagoras,  in  cons'derarion  of  his  golden  thi;.'h,  ami 
the  many  miracles  which  he  performed  ;  but,  having  ha- 
.'anced  his  claims  a  liitle,  and  fmiling  reason  to  father  all 
thes»  miracles  on  the  devil,  he  at  length,  in  t 'e  twenty-fifth 
chapter,  decides  upon  damning  him  also.  (De  Aniinis  Paga- 
norum,  lib.  iv.  cap.  20  and  '2.5.) — Dante  compromises  the 
matter  wiih  the  Pagans,  and  gives  Ihem  a  neutral  territory 
or  limbo  of  their  own,  where  their  employment,  it  must  be 
owned,  is  not  very  enviable — "  Senza  speine  vivemo  in 
desio."  Cant.  iv. — Among  the  many  errors  ini|-.ute(l  to  Ori- 
gen,  be  is  accused  of  having  dcnierl  the  eternity  of  future 
punishment,  and,  if  he  never  advanced  a  more  irrational 
doclrine,  we  may  forgive  him.  He  went  so  far,  however,  as 
to  include  the  devil  himself  in  the  general  bell-delivery 
which  he  supposed  would  one  day  or  other  take  place,  and 
in  this  St.  .^ngusiin  thinks  him  rather  too  merciful — "  Mise- 
ricordior  profecio  fuit  Origenes,  qui  et  ipsnrn  diabolum," 
etc.  (De  Civitat.  Dei,  lib.  xxi.  cap.  17.)— St.  J(trom  says, 
that,  according  to  Origin,  "the  devil,  af^ier  a  certain  time, 
will  be  as  well  off  as  Ihe  angel  Gaht-iel"— "fd  ipsnm  fore 
Gabrielem  quod  diabolum."  (See  his  Kpistle  to  Pamma- 
chius.)  But  Halloix,  in  his  Defence  of  Origen,  denies  that 
he  bad  any  of  Ibis  misplaced  tenderne.ss  for  the  devil. — I 
take  the  liberty  of  reconunending  these  ■notiti<c  niion  dam- 
nation to  Ihe  particular  attention  of  the  learned  Chancellor 
of  the  Rxchequer. 

2  .Mr.  Fox,  in  his  Speech  im  the  Repeal  of  the  Test  .Act 
(1790,)  condemns  the  intermixture  of  religion  with  the  politi- 
cal consliiulion  of  a  stale-  "What  purpo.se  (h"  asks)  can 
it  serve,  except  ihe  bale'ul  purpose  of  coinmunicatin?  and 
receiving  con'amination  7  Under  S'lch  an  alliance  corrnp- 
t'on  must  alight  upon  the  one,  and  slavery  overwhelm  the 
other." 

Locke,  too,  snys  of  the  connexion  between  Church  and 
State,  "The  boundaries  on  both  sirles  are  fixed  anil  im- 
miivahle.  He  ju-nb'es  heaven  and  eartli  together,  the  things 
most   remote   and  opposite,  who  mixes  these  two  societies, 

'i''  Virgilius,  surnamrd  Solivagns,  n  na'ive  of  Ireland, 
who  maintained,  in  the  8th  century,  the  doitrine  of  the  An- 
tipodes, and  was  anathematized  accordinily  by  the  Pope. 
John  Seoiiis  Fri^ena,  another  Irishman,  was  the  first  that 
ever  wiote  against  transubstantiation. 


Corrupts  both  State  and  Church,  and  makes  an  oath 
The  knave  and  atheist's  passport  into  both — 
Which,  while  it  dooms  dissenting  souls  to  know 
Nor  bliss  above  nor  liberty  bclov/, 
Adds  the  slave's  sullcriiig  to  the  sinner's  fear, 
And,  lest  he  'scape  hereafler,  racks  him  here  I' 


which  are  in  iheir  or  ginal,  end,  busincBs,  and  in  every  thing, 
perfectly  distinct  and  intiidiely  dilfereiit  from  each  other." — 
First  J.i:W:r  on  TuUration. 

The  corruption  of  Christi  uiily  may  he  dated  from  iho 
period  of  its  tstublishment  under  Con»lanluie,  iiur  could  all 
'.he  splendour  which  it  then  acquired  uloiie  tor  the  peace  and 
purity  which  it  lost. 

1  I  doubt  whether,  after  all,  there  has  nut  been  as  much 
bigotry  among  Protesttinls  us  aiiiung  Pupisla.  According 
to  the  hackneyed  quotation — 

Iliacos  intra  muros  peccatur  et  extra. 

The  great  champion  of  the  Reformation,  Melancbthon, 
whom  Jociin  calls  "a divine  of  nmch  mildness  and  guod 
natarf"  ihus  expresses  his  approbation  of  the  burning  of 
Servetus :  "  Legi  (he  says  to  Bullinger)  qua!  di!  Serveti 
hlusphemiis  respondistis,  el  pietatem  ac  judicia  vc'strn  probu. 
Judico  etiam  senaium  Geiievensem  recle  fecisse,  quod  hi>- 
minem  pertinacem  et  non  oinissurum  blaspheimas  su>tulit, 
ac  mirtitus  sum  esse  qui  severitatcm  illam  improbent."— 
I  have  great  pleasure  in  contrasting  with  these  "  i.iild  anj 
good-natured"  sentimenis  the  following  words  of  the  Papial 
Baliize,  in  addressing  his  friend  Conringins:  "  Interim  ame- 
mus,  mi  Conringi,  et  tametsi  diversas  opiniones  tuemur  ia 
causa  religionis,  moribus  tamen  diversi  non  siinus,  qu. 
eadem  littrarum  studia  sectamur." — Ucrvian.  Conring 
Epi.itol.  par.  second,  p.  56. 

Hume  tells  us  that  the  Commons,  in  the  beginning  of 
Charles  the  First's  reign,  "  attacked  Montague,  one  ol  the 
King's  chaplains,  on  account  of  a  moderate  book  which  he 
litid  lately  composed,  and  which,  to  their  great  disgust, 
saved  virtuous  Catholics,  as  well  as  other  Christians,  from 
eternal  torments." — In  the  same  mantier  a  complaint  waa 
lodsed  before  the  Lords  of  the  Council  against  that  excel- 
lent writer  Hooker,  for  hiving,  in  the  Sermon  agatnsi 
Popery,  attempted  to  save  many  of  his  Popish  ancestors  for 
i L'lioraiicc. — 'To  these  examples  of  Protestant  toleration  I 
shall  beg  leave  to  oppose  the  following  extract  from  a  letter 
ofol  I  Roger  Aschtim  (the  tutorof  Oueen  Elizabeth,)  which 
is  preserved  anion?  the  Harrington  Papers,  and  was  writlen 
in  l.'ilil),  to  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  complaining  of  the  Arch- 
b  shop  Young,  who  htid  taken  away  his  prebenil  in  tho 
ehurch  of  York  :  "  Master  Bourne  (a)  did  never  grieve  me 
half  so  moche  in  offering  me  wrong,  as  Mr.  I>udl<y  and  the 
Byshopp  of  York  doe,  in  taking  away  mv  right.  No 
bvsho|)p  in  CI.  Mary's  time  would  have  so  dealt  with  me; 
not  Mr.  Bourne  hyoiself,  when  Winchester  lived,  durst  have 
so  dealt  with  me.  For  suchegood  estimation  in  ihose  dayea 
even  the  lea'nedest  and  wysest  men,  as  Gardener  and  Car- 
dintl  Poole,  made  of  my  poore  service,  that  although  they 
knewe  perfectly  that  in  religion,  both  by  open  wrytinge  and 
prvvio  taike,  I  was  contrarye  unto  them ;  yea,  when  Sir 
Francis  Englefield  by  name  dd  note  me  speciallye  at  the 
coimcil  board,  Gardener  would  not  suffer  me  to  be  callec 
Ihi'hor,  nor  touched  ellswheare,  saiinie  suche  worrls  of  me 
in  a  lettre,  as,  though  lettres  cannot,  I  bluslie  to  write  them 
to  your  Lordshipp.  Winchester's  goodwill  stoode  not  in 
speak'ng  faire  and  wishing  vvtdl,  hut  he  did  in  deede  th^it  ""or 
me,  (A)  whereby  my  wife  and  children  shall  live  ilie  hrlter 
when  t  amsroiie."  (See  Nusne  Antiqna?,  vol.  i.  p.  08,  OO.l— 
If  men  who  acted  thus  were  bigots,  what  shall  wc  call  Mr 
P  rc-v-1  7 

In  Su'clifTs  "Survey  of  Poperv,"  there  is  the  following 
assertion:  "  Papists,  that  positively  hold  the  h-relical  and 
false  do-trines  of  the  modern  church  of  Rome,  cannot  possi- 
blv  he  saved.' — .As  a  contrast  to  ih's  and  other  spccimenij 
of  Protestant  lib  Tali' v,  which  ii  would  he  much  more  easy 
'ban  pleasant  'o  c^  llect,  T  re'er  mv  reader  to  the  Declarntioi 
ofT.e  Pere  Conraver,  and,  while  he  reails  the  ^en'mipntsol 
this  pious  man  upon  toleration,  I  doubt  not  he  will  feel  in 
elined  to  exclaim  with  Belsham,  "Blush,  vo  Protes"inl 
bigots!  and  be  confinmded  at  the  comparison  of  youi 
own  wretched  and  malignant  prejudices  with  the  generoun 

(<7)  Sir  .lohn  Bourne,  Principal  Secretary  of  SJate  •*> 
Queen  Mary. 

(A)  By  Gardener's  Tnvour  .Ascliam  long  held  his  I'ehow 
ship,  though  not  resident. 


226 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Bill  no — far  other  faith,  far  milder  beams 

Of  heavenly  justice  warm  the  Christian's  dreams 

His  creed  is  writ  on  Mercy's  page  above. 

By  the  pure  hands  of  all-atoning  Love  ! 

He  weeps  to  see  his  soul's  Religion  twine 

The  tyrant's  sceptre  with  her  wreath  divine, 

And  he,  while  round  him  sects  and  nations  raise 

To  the  one  God  their  varying  notes  of  praise, 

Blesses  each  voice,  whate'er  its  tone  may  be. 

That  serves  to  swell  the  general  harmony  ! ' 

Such  was  the  spirit,  grandly,  gently  bright. 

That  fill'd,  oh  Fox  !  thy  peaceful  soul  with  light , 

WTiile  blandly  spreading,  like  that  orb  of  air 

Which  folds  our  planet  in  its  circling  care, 

The  mighty  sphere  of  thy  transparent  mind 

Embraced  the  world,  and  breathed  for  all  mankind  ! 

Last  of  the  great,  farewell ! — yet  7wt  the  last — 

Though  Britain's  sunshine  hour  with  thee  be  past, 

lerne  still  one  gleam  of  glory  gives, 

Ajid  feels  but  half  thy  loss  while  Grattan  lives. 


APPENDIX. 


The  following  is  part  of  a  Preface  which  was  in- 
tended by  a  friend  and  countryman  of  mine  for  a  col- 
lection of  Irish  airs,  to  which  he  had  adapted  Eng- 
lish words.  As  it  has  never  been  published,  and  is 
not  inapplicable  to  my  subject,  I  shall  take  the  liberty 

of  subjoining  it  here. 

*  *  *  * 

"  Our  history,  for  many  centuries  past,  is  creditable 
neither  to  our  neighbours  nor  ourselves,  and  ought 
not  to  be  read  by  any  Irishman  who  wishes  either  to 
love  England  or  to  feel  proud  of  Ireland.  The  loss 
of  independence  very  early  debased  our  character, 
and  our  feuds  and  rebellions,  though  frequent  and 
ferocious,  but  seldom  displayed  that  generous  spirit 
of  enterprise  with  which  the  pride  of  an  independent 
monarchy  so  long  dignified  the  struggles  of  Scotland. 
It  is  true  this  island  has  given  birth  to  heroes  who, 
under  more  favourable  circumstances,  might  have 
left  in  the  hearts  of  their  countrymen  recollections  as 
dear  as  those  of  a  Bruce  or  a  Wallace  ;  but  success 
was  wanting  to  conseciate  resistance,  their  cause 
was  branded  with  the  disheartening  name  of  treason, 
»nd  their  oppressed  country  was  such  a  blank  among 
nations,  that,  like  the  adventures  of  those  woods 
which  Riualdo  wished  to  explore,  the  fame  of  their 
actions  was  lost  in  the  obscurity  of  the  place  where 
they  achieved  them. 

Eriaiido  in  quolli  bo.schi 

Trovar  potria  slrane  avvenluro  emolte, 


and   enlarged   ideas,  the  noble  nnil  animated  language  of 
this  Popish  priest." — Ksnayr:,  xxvii.  p.  8f). 

1  "  La  tolfirance  est  la  chose  du  tminde  In  p'us  propre  a 
ramener  le  simile  d'  or  ct  ;'i  laire  uii  concert  et  une  liai  monie 
de  plusieurs  voix  ot  instruTnenls  ile  difTCrents  tons  et  notes, 
auBsi  agrtable  pour  le  moina  que  I'  unirormit6  d'  une  seule 
voix."  Kuyle,  Commontaire  Philosophiqiie,  etc.  (lart.  ii. 
chap,  vi  — Both  Bnyle  and  Locke  would  have  treal('d  tJie 
•niijcct  of  Toleration  in  a  manner  more  worthy  of  themselves 
ind  of  the  cnus",  if  they  had  written  in  an  age  less  distracted 
•>v  religious  prejndic.s. 


Ma  come  i  luoghi  i  fatti  ancor  son  foscni, 
Che  non  se'n  ha  notizia  le  pifl  volte.  ' 

"  Hence  it  is  that  the  annals  of  Ireland,  through  « 
long  lapse  of  six  hundred  vears,  exhibit  not  one  o( 
those  shining  names,  not  one  oi  those  themes  of  .la- 
tional  pride,  from  which  poetry  borrows  her  noblest 
inspiration ;  and  that  history,  which  ought  to  be  the 
richest  garden  of  the  Muse,  yields  nothing  to  her 
here  but  weeds  and  cypress.  In  truth,  the  poet  who 
would  embellish  his  song  with  allusions  to  Irish 
names  and  events  must  be  content  to  seek  them  in 
those  early  periods  when  our  character  was  yet  un- 
alloyed and  original,  before  the  impolitic  craft  of  our 
conquerors  had  divided,  weakened,  and  disgraced 
us ;  and  the  only  traits  of  heroism  which  he  can 
venture  "at  this  day  to  commemorate,  with  safety  to 
himself,  or,  perhaps,  with  honour  to  the  country,  are 
to  be  looked  for  in  those  times  when  the  native 
monarchs  of  Ireland  displayed  and  fostered  virtues 
worthy  of  a  better  age ;  when  our  Malachies  wore 
collars  of  gold  which  they  had  won  in  single  combct 
from  the  invader,'  and  our  Briens  deserv'ed  the  bless 
ings  of  a  people  by  all  the  most  estimable  qualities 
of  a  king.  It  may  be  said  indeed  that  the  magic  of 
tradition  has  shed  a  charm  over  this  remote  period, 
to  which  it  is  in  reality  but  little  entitled,  and  that 
most  of  the  pictures,  which  we  dwell  on  so  fondly, 
of  days  when  this  island  was  distinguished  amidst  the 
gloom  of  Europe,  by  the  sanctity  of  her  morals,  the 
spirit  of  her  knighthood,  and  the  polish  of  her  schools, 
are  little  more  than  the  inventions  of  national  par- 
tiality, that  bright  but  spurious  offspring  which  vanity 
engenders  upon  ignorance,  and  with  which  the  first 
records  of  every  people  abound.  But  the  sceptic  is 
scarcely  to  be  envied  who  would  pause  for  stronger 
proofs  than  we  already  possess  of  the  early  glories 
of  Ireland ;  and  were  even  the  veracity  of  all  these 
proofs  surrendered,  yet  who  would  not  fly  to  such 
flattering  fictions  from  the  sad  degrading  truths  which 
the  history  of  later  times  presents  to  us  ? 

"  The  language  of  sorrow  however  is,  in  general 
best  suited  to  our  music,  and  with  themes  of  this  na- 
ture the  poet  iriay  be  amply  supplied.  There  is  no' 
a  page  of  our  annals  which  cannot  afford  him  a  sub- 
ject, and  while  the  national  Muse  of  other  countriea 
adorns  her  temple  with  trophies  of  the  past,  in  Ire- 
land her  altar,  like  the  shrine  of  Pity  at  Athens,  is  to 
be  known  only  by  the  tears  that  are  shed  upon  it 
'lacrymis  ultana  sudant.'" 

"There  is  a  well-known  story,  related  of  the  An- 
tiochians  under  of  reign  of  Theodosius,  which  is  no; 
only  honourablt  to  the  powers  of  music  in  general, 
but  which  applies  so  peculiarly  to  the  mournful  melo- 
dies of  Ireland,  that  1  cannot  resist  the  temptation  of 
introducing  it  here. — The  piety  of  Theodosius  would 
have  been  admirable,  if  it  had  not  been  stained  v/ith 
intolerance ;  but  his  reign  affords,  I  believe,  the  first 
example  of  a  disqualifying  penal  code  enacted  by 
Christians  against  Chri.stians."     Whether  his   inter- 


1  Arioslo,  canto  iv. 

2  Si!e  Warncir's  History  of  Ireland,  vol.  i.  book  ix. 

3  Suiliiis,  Thehaid,  lib.  xii. 

4  "  A  sort  of  civil  cxcominunication  (says  Gibbon,)  which 
separated  them  from  iheir  fellow  citizens  by  n  pjiuliar  binnd 
of  infamy;  and  this  declaration  of  the  supreme  niagistraio 
tended  to  justify,  or  at  least  to  excuse?,  the  insults  of  a  fn 


rNTOLERANCE. 


227 


fereiice  vvith  the  religion  of  the  Antiochians  had  any 
share  in  the  alienation  of  their  loyalty  is  not  expressly 
ascertained  by  historians  ;  but  severe  edicts,  heavy 
taxation,  and  the  rapacity  and  hisolence  of  the  men 
whom  he  sent  to  govern  them,  suflieiently  account 
for  the  discontents  of  a  warm  and  susceptible  people. 
Repentance  soon  followed  the  crimes  into  which  their 
impatience  had  hurried  them,  but  the  venge^jce  of 
tiie  Emperor  was  implacable,  and  punishments  of 
the  most  dreadful  nature  hung  o\er  the  city  of  An- 
tioch,  whose  devoted  inhabitants  totally  resigned  to 
despondence,  wandering  through  the  streets  and 
public  assemblies,  giving  utterance  to  their  grief  in 
tiirges  of  the  most  touching  lamentations.'  At  length, 


iiatic  ()0|)ulacu.  The  sectaries  were  grailually  disciualified 
tiir  llie  |iosse.ssioi!  of  hoiiouiable  or  lucrative  einiiloymenls, 
anil  Theodosius  was  saiisfied  wilh  his  own  juRiice  when  he 
decreeii,  tl)at,  as  the  Kunoiiiians  distinsjnish'd  the  nature  ol" 
the  Son  t'rom  licit  of  the  Father,  they  should  bo  inia liable 
of  niakin;r  their  wills,  or  receiving  any  advantage  from  tesla- 
menliiry  donas  ions." 


Flavianus,  their  bishop,  whom  they  sent  to  intercede 
with  Theodosius,  finding  all  his  entreaties  «"oldly  re- 
jected, adopted  the  expedient  of  teaching  these  songs 
of  sorrow,  which  he  liad  heard  from  the  lips  of  rus 
unfortunate  countrymen,  to  the  minstrels  who  per- 
formed for  the  Emperor  at  table.  The  heart  of  Theo- 
dosius could  not  resist  this  appeal ;  'ears  fell  last  into 
his  cup  while  he  listened,  and  the  Antiochians  were 
forgiven. — Surely,  if  music  ever  spoke  the  misfortunes 
of  a  people,  or  could  ever  conciliate  forgiveness  foi 
their  errors,  the  music  of  Ireland  ought  to  possess 
those  powers !' 


^ii/oi,  Txi{  /isXiuJixij  iTTttSov. — Nicephor.  hb.  xii.  cap.  Jli 
This  story  is  also  in  Sozonien,  lib.  vii.  cup.  2:{ ;  but  unfor- 
tiinutely  Chrysiistorn  says  nothing  wimiever  about  it,  and  ho 
nut  on.iy  had  the  best  opportunities  of  informaiinn,  hul  was 
too  fond  of  music,  asappearsby  his  praises  of  psalmody  (Ex- 
posit,  in  Psal.  .vli.)  to  omit  such  a  tlattering  illustration  of 
its  powers.  He  imputes  their  reconciliation  to  the  inter- 
forence  of  the  Antiochian  sol'.taries,  while  Zo/.imus  attrt 
bates  it  to  the  remonstrances  of  the  sophist  Libaniiu  - 
Gilihnn,  I  think,  does  not  cveii  allude  to  the  story  of  tiiemv 
giciaiu. 


THE  sceptic; 

A  PHILOSOPHICAL  SATIRE. 


NOMON  IIANTnN  BASIAEA. 

Pindar,  ap.  Herodot.  lib.  3. 


PREFACE. 


The  sceptical  philosophy  of  tlie  ancients  has  been 
M  much  misrepresented  as  the  Epicurean.  Pyrrho, 
!)erhaps,  may  have  carried  it  to  an  irrational  excess 
(though  we  must  not  believe,  with  Beattie,  all  the  ab- 
surdities imputed  to  this  philosopher,)  but  it  appears 
to  me  that  the  doctrines  of  the  school,  as  stated  by 
Sextus  Empiricus,'  are  much  more  suited  to  the 
frailty  of  human  reason,  and  more  conducive  to  the 
mild  virtues  of  humility  and  patience,  than  any  of 
•nose  systems  which  preceded  the  introduction  of 
Christianity.  The  Sceptics  held  a  middle  path  be- 
tween the  Dogmatics  and  Academicians,  the  former 
of  whom  boasted  that  they  had  attained  the  truth, 
jvhile  the  latter  denied  that  any  attainable  truth  ex- 
sted :  the  Sceptics,  however,  without  asserting  or 
denying  its  existence,  professed  to  be  modestly  and 
anxiously  in  search  of  it ;  as  St.  Augustin  expresses 
it,  in  his  liberal  tract  against  the  Manicheans,  "nemo 
nostrum  dicat  jam  se  invenisse  ventatem ;  sic  eam  quK- 
ramus  quasi  ab  utrisque  nesciatur."-  From  this  habit 
of  impartial  investigation,  and  the  necessity  which  they 
imposed  upon  themselves  of  studying,  not  only  every 
system  of  philosophy,  but  every  art  and  science 
which  pretended  to  lay  its  basis  in  truth,  they  neces- 
sarily took  a  wider  range  of  erudition,  and  were 
more  travelled  in  the  regions  of  philosophy  than 
those  whom  conviction  or  bigotry  had  domesticated 
in  any  particular  system.  It  required  all  the  learning 
of  dogmatism  to  overtlirovv  the  dogmatism  of  learn- 
ing ;  and  the  Sceptics,  in  this  respect,  resembled  that 
anrieni  incendiary,  who  stole  from  the  altar  the  fire 
with  which  he  destroyed  the  temple.  This  advantage 
rver  all  the  other  sects  is  allowed  to  them  even  by 
Llpsius,  whose  treatise  on  the  miracles  of  the  Virgo 
Ilallcnsis  will  sufficiently  save  him  from  all  suspi- 
cion of  scepticism.  "  T^abore,  ingenio,  memoria  supra 
)nines  pene  philosophos  fuisse. — Quid  nonne  omnia 
aliorum  secta  tenere  debuerunt  et  inqiiirere,  si  pote- 
ruiit  refellere  ?  res  dicit.  Nonne  orationcs  varias, 
•aras,  subtiles  inveniri  ad  tam  receptas,  claras,  certas 


1  Pvrr.  Ilypntli.  Tlio  r<'a(Ier  may  firiil  b.  tolerably  clear 
dl)8lr;ict  of  ibiH  work  of  Soxlus  Emiiiricus  in  La  Verity 
dcs  SciinfHB,  by  Merscnne,  liv.  i.  cliii|).  ii.  file. 

2  Lib.  coiilrii  K|iist.  Miiiicbuii  <|Uiirii  vocaiit  rundatninli. 
Oj).  Paris,  toin.  vi. 

228 


(ut  videbatur)    sententias    evertendas  ?"   etc.   etc. 
Manuduct.  ad  Philosoph.  Stoic.  Diss.  4. 

The  dilTerence  between  the  scepticism  of  the  an- 
cients and  the  moderns  is,  that  the  fonner  doubtec 
for  the  purpose  of  investigating,  as  may  be  exempli- 
fied by  the  third  book  of  Aristotle's  Metaphysics,* 
while  the  latter  investigate  for  the  purpose  of  doubt- 
ing, as  may  be  seen  through  most  of  the  philosophical 
works  of  Hume.'^  Indeed  the  Pyrrhonism  of  lattoi 
days  is  not  only  more  subtle  than  that  of  antiquity, 
but,  it  must  be  confessed,  more  dangerous  in  its  ten 
.dency.  The  happiness  of  a  Christian  depends  so 
much  upon  his  belief,  that  it  is  natural  he  should  feel 
alarm  at  the  progress  of  doubt,  lest  it  steal  by  degrees 
into  the  region  from  which  he  is  most  interested  in 
excluding  it,  and  poison  at  last  the  very  spring  of  his 
consolation  and  hope.  Still,  however,  the  abuses  of 
doubting  ought  not  to  deter  a  philosophical  mind  from 
indulging  mildly  and  rationally  in  its  use  ;  and  there 
is  nothing,  I  think,  more  consistent  with  the  humble 
spirit  of  Christianity,  than  the  scepticism  of  him  who 
professes  not  to  extend  his  distrust  beyond  the  circle 
of  human  pursuits,  and  the  pretensions  of  human 
knowledge.  A  philosopher  of  this  kind  is  among  the 
readiest  to  admit  the  claims  of  Heaven  upon  his  faith 
and  adoration  :  it  is  only  to  the  wisdom  of  this  weak 
world  that  he  refuses,  or  at  least  delays  his  assent  ; 
it  is  only  in  passing  through  the  shadow  of  earth  thai 
his  mind  undergoes  the  eclipse  of  scepticism.  No 
follower  of  Pyrrho  has  ever  spoken  more  strongly 
against  the  dogmatists  than  St.  Paul  himself,  in  the 
First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians ;  and  there  are  pas- 
sages in  Ecclesiastes  and  other  parts  of  Scripture 
which  justify  our  utmost  diffidence  in  all  that  human 
reason  originates.  Even  the  sceptics  of  antiquity 
refrained  from  the  mysteries  of  theology,  and,  in 
entering  the  temples  of  religion,  laid  aside  their  phi- 
losophy at  the  porch.  Sextus  Empiricus  thus  declares 
the  acquiescence  of  his  sect  in  the  general  belief  of  a 

1  See  Miirlin.  Shoockuisde  Sceplicismo,  vvbo  endeavours 
I  think  weakly,  to  refute  Ibis  opinion  of  Lipsius. 

2  EfTT*    Si   TOIJ    (UTTOpiJO-M*     P0u\O/*£  I'D  i  {     STfOUp^OU     TO     ^101 

Melaphys.  lib.  iii.  cap.  \. 

3  NeiibtT  flume,  however,  nor  Berkeley,  are  to  be  judged 
by  the  niisrcpresenlalions  of  Beattie,  wbose  bonk,  liowevcir 
amiably  inti'iidi'd,  appears  to  nie  a  most  iinpliilosophic'il 
appeal  to  ))opiilar  feelings  and  pitjudices,  and  a  conlinuecl 
pctitiu  yriiicipii  throughou 


THE  SCEPTIC. 


220 


superintending  Providence :  Ttti  /tev  finfi  KaraKoXov- 
■youiTtf  at>o^ufu)i  (pa/icv  etvai  diovi  xai  acfSoncv  Scovs 
Kill  vpui'oLiD  avTovi  (iiu/xcv.  I,ib.  iii.  cap.  1.  In  slioit, 
t  appears  to  me  tliat  ttiis  rational  and  weli-reguiatecl 


Ask,  who  is  wise  ?— you  'II  find  the  self-same  man 
.V  sage  in  France,  a  madman  in  Japan  , 
And  lurf.  some  head  beneath  a  mitre  swells, 
Which  there  had  tingled  to  a  cap  and  bells: 


scepticism  is  the  only  daughter  of  the  schools  that   Nay,  there  may  yet  some  monstrous  region  be, 


can  be  selected  as  a  handmaid  for  piety  :  he  who  dis' 
trusts  the  light  of  reason  will  be  the  lirst  to  follow  a 
more  luminous  guide  ;  and  if,  with  an  ardent  love  for 
truth,  he  has  sought  her  in  vain  through  the  ways  of 
this  life,  he  will  turn  with  the  more  hope  to  that  bet- 
ter world,  where  all  is  simple,  true,  and  everlasting: 
for  there  is  no  paralla.\  at  the  zenith — it  is  only  near 
our  troubled  horizon  that  objects  deceive  us  into 
vagup!  and  erroneous  calculations. 


THE  SCEPTIC. 


As  the  gay  tint  that  decks  the  vernal  rose,' 

Not  in  the  flower,  but  in  our  vision  glows; 

As  the  ripe  tlavour  of  Falcrnian  tides 

Not  in  the  wine,  but  in  our  taste  resides  ; 

ISo  when,  with  heartfelt  tribute,  we  declare 

That  Marco  's  honest  and  that  Susan  's  fair, 

"Tis  in  our  minds,  and  not  in  Susan's  eyes 

Or  Marco's  life,  the  worth  or  beauty  lies : 

For  she,  in  Hat-nosed  China,  would  appear 

As  plain  a  thing  as  Lady  Anne  is  here; 

And  one  liglit  joke,  at  rich  Loretto's  dome 

Would  rank  good  3Iaico  with  the  danin'd  at  Rome. 

There  's  no  deformity  so  vile,  so  base. 
That  'tis  not  somewhere  thought  a  charm,  a  grace; 
No  foul  reproach  that  may  not  steal  a  beam 
From  other  suns,  to  bleach  it  to  esteem  I^ 


Unknown  to  Cook,  and  from  Napoleon  free, 
Where  C*stl*r**gli  would  for  a  patriot  pass, 
And  mouthing  .M*lgr*ve  scarce  be  deem'd  an  ass . 

"  List  not  to  reason,"  Epicurus  cries, 

"  Hut  trust  the  senses,  there  conviction  lies :" ' 

Alas!  they '}ndgc  not  by  a  purer  light. 
Nor  keep  their  fountains  more  untinged  and  brif;ht 
Habit  so  mars  them,  that  the  Russian  swain 
Will  sigh  for  train-oil  while  he  sips  champagne; 
And  health  so  rules  them,  that  a  lever's  heat 
Would  make  even  Sh*r*d*n  think  water  sweet ! 

Just  as  the  mind  the  erring  sense^  believes, 
The  erring  mind,  in  turn,  the  sense  deceives, 


I  "The  parliculai  bulk,  number,  figure,  and  motion  of 

tlie  paits  ol'liri!  or  snow  are  re;illy  in  llu.m,  vvliether  any  one 

perceive  llieiii  or  not,  and  iherelore  tliey  may  be  called  real 

qualities,  because  ihey  really  exist  in  those  bodies;  bui  liglit, 

heat,  whiteness,  or  coldness,  aie  no  more  really  in  them  liian 

sickness  oi  pain  is  in  manna.     Take  away  the  sensation  ot" 

them  ;  let  not  the  eye  ^ee  light  or  colours,  nor  the  ears  hear 

sounds,  let  ihe  palate  not  las>e,  nor  the  nose  smell,  anil  all 

colours,  tastes,  odours,  and  sounds,  as  Ihey  are  such  parti- 

ciiliir  ideas,  vanish  and  cease." — iMcke,  book  ii.  chap.  8. 
Bishop  Berkeley,  it  is  well  known,  extended  Ibis  doctrine 

even  to  primary  qualities,  and  supposed  thai  matter  itself 

has  but  an  ideal  existence.    How  shall  we  apply  the  bishop's 

thi'ory  to  that  period  which  preceded  the  formation  of  man, 

when  our  system  of  sensible  things  was  produced,  and  ihe 

eun  shone,  and  the  waters  flowed,  willMut  any  sentient  being 

to  witness  them  1    Tiie  spectator,  whom  Wliiston  supplies, 

will  scarcely  solve  the  difficulty:  "To  speak  my  mind  free- 
ly," says  he,  "  I  believe  that  theMessias  was  there  actually 

present." — See  IHiistoyi,  of  the  Jfo.iuic  Crralion. 

2  Boetiiis  employs  this  argument  oft  he  Sceptics,  among  his 
consolatory  reflections  upon  the  emptiness  of  fame.  "  Quid 
ijiiod  diversarum  gentium  mores  inter  se  atcpie  insiituta  dis- 
rordant,  ut  (|iio<l  iipud  alios  laude,  apud  alios  supplicio  dig- 
niuii  judiceiur  1"  Lb.  ii.  prosa.  7. — Many  amusing  instances 
of  diversity,  in  the  tastes,  manners,  and  morals  of  different 
nations,  may  be  found  throughout  the  works  of  that  interest- 
ing sceptic  lie  Mo: hi'  le  Vaver. — See  hisOpusculi:Sceptiqui-, 
his  treatise  "(le  la  Secte  Sceptique,"  and,  above  all,  those 
Dialogues,  not  to  be  found  in  his  works,  which  he  published 
under  the  name  of  lloraliu*  Tiibero. — The  chief  objection 
'o  tliese  writings  of  Le  Vayer  (and  it  is  a  blemish  which,  I 

hink,  may  be  felt  in  the  Esprit  des  Loi.x,)  is  the  suspicious 
obscurity  of  the  sources  from  which  he  frequently  draws  his 
instances,  and  t)ie  indiscriminate  use  which  he  makes  of  the 
lowest  populace  of  the  library,  those  lying  travellers  and 
wonder  mongers,  of  whom  J^iiaflesbnry  complains,  in  his 
Advire  to  an  Author,  as  having  tended  in  his  own  time  to 
.he  diffusion  of  a  veiv  vicious  sort  of  scepticism.   Vol.  i.  p.  |  ne  dubitare  aliqiia  de  re  videretur  " 


352.  The  Pyrrhonism  of  I.e  Vayer,  however,  is  of  the  most 
innocent  and  playful  kind;  ami  VilleiiiMndy,  the  author  ol 
Scejiticismus  Debellalus,  exempts  him  specially  in  Ihe  decla- 
ration of  war  which  he  denounces  against  the  other  armed 
neutrals  of  the  sect,  in  consideration  of  the  orthodox  liniila 
within  which  he  has  confined  his  incredulity. 

1  This  was  also  the  creed  of  those  modern  Epicuienns, 
whom  Ninon  de  I'Enclos  collected  around  her  in  the  Itue 
des  Tournelles,  and  whose  object  seems  to  have  been  to 
decry  the  faculty  of  reason,  as  lending  only  lo  einbarr..s.- oui 
use  of  pleasur-s,  without  enabling  us,  in  any  di'gree,  tn  avoio 
their  abuse.  Madmne  des  Uoulierrs,  the  fair  pupil  of  Dek 
Barreaux  in  the  arts  of  poi-try  and  voluptuousness,  has  de- 
voted most  of  her  verses  to  this  laudable  purpose,  and  i« 
such  a  determined  foe  to  reason,  that,  in  one  of  her  pasto- 
rals, .she  congratulates  her  sheep  on  Ihe  want  of  it.  St.  F.vro- 
moiit  speaks  thus  upon  the  subject: 

"  fJn  m6hinge  incertain  d'espiit  et  de  matiere 
Nous  fait  vivre  avec  trop  ou  trop  peu  de  lumiere. 

N.iture,  fileve-nous  a  la  clart6  des  angcs, 
Ou  nous  abaise  au  sens  des  simples  animaux." 
Which  sentiments  I  have  thus  ventured  to  paraphrase: 

Had  man  been  made,  at  Nature's  birth, 

Of  only  flame,  or  only  earth, 

Had  he  been  form'd  a  perfect  whole 
Of  purely  that,  or  grossly  this, 

Then  sense  would  ne'er  have  clouded  soul. 
Nor  soul  resirain'rl  the  sense's  bliss. 

Oh  happy!  had  his  light  been  strong. 
Or  had  he  never  shared  a  light. 

Which  burns  enough  to  show  he  's  wrong, 
Yet  not  enimgh  to  lead  him  right! 
2  See  those  verses  upon  the  fallaciousness  i.(  the  senses. 
beginning  "Fallunt  nos  oculi,"  etc.  among  the  fragments  of 
Peiionius.  The  most  sceptical  of  Ihe  ancient  poets  was 
Euripides,  and  I  defy  the  whole  school  of  Pyrrlio  to  produce 
a  more  ingenious  doubt  than  the  following: 

Ti?  J'  o.Jsi.  El  Ir.v  T0u3-'  0  xfx>.i,Tx.  Smuv, 

To  (fill/  Si  Jmo-itiii/  {(TTi. — See  Laert.  in  Pyrrh. 
Socrates  and  Plato  were  the  srand  sources  of  anciern 
scepticism.  Cicero  lel's  us  (de  Orator,  lib.  iii.l  that  ihey 
supplied  .Arcesilas  with  the  doctrines  of  the  .Middle  Acade- 
my; and  how  much  these  resenibbd  the  tenets  of  the  Seep 
lies,  may  be  seen  even  in  Se.x'us  Empiricns,  (lib.  i.  cap.  33.) 
who,  with  all  his  distnclions,  can  .•scarcely  prove  any  diffir- 
ence.  One  is  sorry  to  find  that  Epicurus  was  a  dogmatist 
am!  I  ra'h.-r  think  Jiis  natural  temper  would  have  led  him  t« 
the  repose  of  sceptic'sm,  if 'he  Stoics,  by  their  violent  oppo 
sition,  had  not  forced  him  to  be  as  obstinate  as  themselves 
Indeed  Plutarch,  in  reporting  some  of  his  opinions,  reprc 
scnts  him  as  delivering  them  with  considerable  hesitation 
E?rt5(0(;poc  ou^iv  xrro^iva'(rx£»  towtu>v,  fj^c^^svoj  Tou  ivSty^ 
.USV5U.  De  Placit.  Philosonh.  lib.  ii.  cap.  I.T  See  also  iha 
2Ist  and  22d  chaplcs.  But  that  the  leading  characteristics 
of  Ihe  sect  were  self-sutficiency  and  dogmatism,  appears 
from  what  Cicero  says  of  Velleius,  De  Nnliir.  Deor. — "  Turn 
Villeius,  fidenliir  snne,  ut  solenl  is'i,  nihil  tarn  veren?  qiiar" 


230 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  cold  disgdst  can  find  but  wrinkles  there, 

Where  passion  fancies  all  that 's  smooth  and  fair. 

*  *  *  *,  who  sees,  upon  his  pillow  laid, 

A  face  for  which  ten  thousand  pounds  were  paid, 

Can  tell,  how  quick  before  a  jury  flies 

The  spell  that  mock'd  the  warm  seducer's  eyes ! 

Self  is  t!ie  medium  least  refined  of  all 

Through  which  opinion's  searching  beam  can  fall ; 

And,  passing  there,  the  clearest,  steadiest  ray 

Will  tinge  its  light  and  turn  its  line  astray. 

Th'  Ephesian  smith  a  holier  charm  espied 

In  Uian's  toe,  than  all  his  heaven  beside ;' 

And  true  religion  shines  not  half  so  true 

On  one  good  living  as  it  shines  on  two. 

Had  W— Ic— t  first  been  pension'd  by  the  Throne, 

Kings  would  have  sufter'd  by  his  praise  alone ; 

And  P — ine  perhaps,  for  something  snug  per  ann., 

Had  laugh'd,  like  W— 11— sly,  at  all  Rights  of  Man  ! 

But  'tis  not  only  individual  minds 

That  habit  tinctures,  or  that  interest  blinds ; 

Whole  nations,  fool'd  by  falsehood,  fear,  or  pride, 

Their  ostrich-heads  m  self-illusion  hide  : 

Thus  England,  hot  from  Denmark's  smoking  meads, 

Turns  up  her  eyes  at  Gallia's  guilty  deeds ; 

Thus,  selfish  still,  the  same  dishonouring  chain 

She  binds  in  Ireland,  she  would  break  in  Spain  ; 

While  praised  at  distan^je,  but  at  home  forbid. 

Rebels  in  Cork  are  patriots  at  Madrid  ! 

Oh  !  trust  me.  Self  can  cloud  the  brightest  cause, 

Or  gild  the  worst ; — and  then,  for  nations'  laws  ! 

Go,  good  civilian,  shut  thy  useless  book ; 

In  force  alone  for  laws  of  nations  look. 

Let  shipless  Danes  and  whining  Yankees  dwell 

On  naval  rights,  with  Grotius  and  Vattel, 

While  C — bb — t's  "^  pirate  code  alone  appears 

Sound  moral  sense  to  England  and  Algiers  ! 

Woe  to  the  Sceptic,  in  these  party  days. 

Who  burns  on  neither  shrine  the  balm  of  praise ! 

For  him  no  pension  pours  its  annual  fruits. 

No  fertile  sinecure  spontaneous  shoots; 

Not   his  the  meed  that  crown'd  Don  H — kh — m's 

rhyme. 
Nor  sees  he  e'er,  in  dreams  of  future  time, 
Those  shadowy  forms  of  sleek  reversiins  rise, 
So  dear  to  Scotchmen's  second-sighted  eyes ! 


Yet  who,  that  looks  to  time's  accusing  leaf. 
Where  Whig  and  Tory,  thief  opposed  to  thief, 
On  either  side  in  lofty  shame  are  seen,' 
While  Freedom's  form  hangs  crucified  between—- 
Who,  B — rd — tt,  who  such  rival  rogues  can  see, 
But  Hies  from  both  to  honesty  and  thee? 

If,  giddy  with  the  world's  bewildering  maze,* 
Hopeless  of  finding,  through  its  weedy  ways, 
One  tlower  of  truth,  the  busy  crowd  we  shun, 
And  to  the  shades  of  tranquil  learning  run. 
How  many  a  doubt  pursues  I'  how  oft  v>e  sigh. 
When  histories  charm,  to  think  that  histories  lie ! 
That  all  are  grave  romances,  at  the  best. 
And  M — sgr — ve's''  but  more  clumsy  than  the  rest ! 
By  Tory  Hume's  seductive  page  beguiled, 
We  fmcy  Charles  was  just  and  Stratlbrd  mild;' 
And  Fox  himself,  with  party  pencil,  draws 
Monmouth  a  hero,  "for  the  good  old  cause  !'""' 
Then,  rights  are  wrongs,  and  victories  are  defeats. 
As  French  or  English  pride  the  tale  repeats  ; 
And,  when  they  tell  Corunna's  story  o'er, 
They'll  disagree  in  all,  but  honouring  Moore ! 


1  Se«  Acts,  rliap.  xix.;  where  every  line  refuimls  one  of 
(h  >>(:  rc'VHre.irl  craftsmen  wlio  are  so  ready  to  cry  out — 
"The  church  is  in  danger!" 

"  Fit  a  certain  man  named  Demetrius,  a  silversmith, 
which  .uade  silver  shrines  for  Diana,  brought  no  small  gain 
unto  the  craltsmen: 

"VVh.m  he  called  tofrether,  with  the  workmen  of  like 
occu|)ati'in,  aid  said.  Sirs,  ye  know  that  by  this  craft  we 
have  uur  wealth: 


"So  that  not  only  this  onr  criift  is  likely  to  he  set  at 
noushl,  but  iilsii  tint  thr  temple  of  the  great  Qioddess  Diana 
shoiilil  be  dcsp  sed,"  etc.  etc. 

2  With  most  of  this  writer's  latter  polities  I  confess  I  feel 
a  most  he  irty  cmcnrrence,  and  perhans,  if  I  were  nn  Eng- 
fnhiiian,  my  pride  might  lend  me  to  arqiiiesce  in  that  system 
of  !awle-s,  unlimited  Hovi^rcngnty,  which  he  claims  sohnldiv 
for  his  country  ,ii  s-a;  hut,  vii'wing  the  (inesti'Mi  somewhat 
more  ilisin'erestedly,  and  \\*  a  friend  to  the  common  rights 
of  mankind,!  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  ductrines  which 
he  tnainiained  iip'in  the  Copenhagen  expedition,  and  the 
difTerences  with  America,  woulil  estMhIish  a  species  of  mari- 
time lyr-iimv,  as  iliscreditihle  to  the  character  of  Rngland, 
»•«  it  uoulil  be  galling  and  nnjns.'  'o  the  other  nations  of  the 
*orl." 


1  This  I  have  borrowed  from  Ralph — Use  and  Jlbuse  of 
Parlinmentu,  ]>.  ]()4. 

2  The  agitation  of  the  ship  is  one  of  the  chief  difiicukiei 
which  impede  the  discovery  of  the  longitude  at  sea  ;  and  the 
tumult  and  hurry  of  life  are  equally  unfavourable  to  that 
calm  level  of  n)ind  which  is  necessary  to  an  inquirer  after 
truth. 

In  the  mean  time,  our  modest  Sceptic,  in  the  absence  of 
truth,  contents  himself  with  probabilities,  resembling  in  this 
respect  those  suitors  of  Penelo()e,  who,  when  they  found 
that  ihey  could  not  possess  the  mistress  herself,  very  wisely 
resolved  to  put  up  with  her  maids ;  tj)  1I>;v£>.0!t>)  ^K-htix'Ci'* 
y.ti  i'vvx/iivoi,  T«<?  TccuT*:?  i/iiyvvTO  aipajr»ii/ai{. — Plu- 
tarch IlEpi  n-j.i^jiv  Ayaiynf. 

3  See  a  curious  work,  entitled,  "  Reflections  upon  Learn- 
ing," written  on  the  plan  of  Agrijipa's  "  De  Vanitate  Scieii- 
tiarntn,"  but  much  more  hone.stly  and  skilfully  executea. 

4  This  historian  of  the  Irish  reb  llions  has  outrun  even 
his  predecessor  in  the  same  task,  Sir  John  Temple,  for  whose 
character  with  re.-pect  to  veracity  the  render  may  consult 
Carte's  Collection  of  Ormond's  Or'giiial  Papers,  p.  207.  See 
also  Dr.  Nelson's  arcouni  of  him.  in  the  Introduction  to  the 
second  volume  of  his  Historic.  Collect 

5  He  defends  Strafford's  conduct  as  "innocent  and  even 
laudable."  In  the  same  s[)irit,  speaking  of  the  arbitrary 
sentences  of  the  Star  Chamber,  he  says — "  The  severity  of 
the  Star  Chamber,  which  w:is  generally  ascribed  to  Land's 
passionate  disposit'on,  was  perlnps,  in  itself,  somewhat 
blameable." — See  'f'owcrs  upon  Hume. 

6  That  flexibility  of  temper  and  opinion,  which  the  hahits 
of  scepticism  are  so  calculated  to  proilme,  are  thus  pleaded 
for  bv  Mr.  Fox,  in  the  very  sketch  of  Monmouth  to  which 
I  alluile;  and  this  part  of  the  |iicture  the  historian  may  be 
thought  to  have  d'aun  for  himself.  "One  of  the  most 
ccmspicuous  features  in  his  character  seems  to  liave  been  a 
remarkable,  nnd,  as  S'>me  think,  a  culpable  degree  of  flexi- 
bility. That  such  a  dispositi(m  is  preferable  to  its  opposite 
extreme  will  be  ndinitted  by  all,  who  think  that  modesty, 
even  in  excess,  is  inore  nearly  nllieil  to  wisdom  than  conceit 
and  self-sufficiency.  He  who  has  attentively  considered  the 
political,  or  indeel  the  generiil  concerns  of  life,  may  possibly 
go  still  further,  :ind  mav  rank  a  willinsness  to  be  convinced, 
or,  in  some  ctises,  even  without  conviction,  to  concede  our 
own  opinion  to  that  of  other  men,  among  the  principal  in- 
gredients in 'the  composition  of  practical  wisdom." — The 
Sce|)tic's  readiness  of  concession,  however,  arises  more  from 
imcerlainty  than  conv  ction,  more  from  a  suspicion  that  his 
own  opinion  may  he  wrong,  tluin  from  any  persuasion  that 
the  opinion  of  his  adversary  is  right.  "  It  may  be  so,"  \v<ta 
the  courteous  nnd  sceptical  formula,  with  which  the  Dutch 
were  acrusfnmed  to  reply  to  the  statements  of  ambassador* 
—See  rjdi/il's  ^tntr  IVorfliies,  art.  .S/r  Thomas  Wiat. 

To  the  historical  fragment  of  Mr.  Fox,  we  may  apply 
what  Plinv  says  of  the  last  unfinished  works  of  celebratco 
nriists— "  In  lenncinio  poinmendiitionis  dcdo'  est  manus,  cum 
lid  ageret,  extinctie." — Lib.  xxxv.  cap.  2. 


THE  SCEPTIC. 


231 


Vay,  future  pens,  to  fl;itter  future  courts, 
M;iy  cilc  perhaps  the  Park-guns'  gay  reports. 
To  prove  t.:at  England  triumph'd  on  the  morn 
»Vhich  found  lier  Junot's  jest  and  Europe's  scorn  ! 

In  science  too — how  many  a  system,  raised 
Like  Neva's  icy  domes,  awhile  hath  blazed 
With  lights  of  fancy  and  with  forms  of  pride, 
Then,  meliing,  mingled  with  the  oblivious  tide  . 
Now  Earth  usurps  the  centre  of  the  sky, 
Nnw  Newton  puts  the  paltry  planet  by  ; 
Now  whims  revive  beneath  Descartes's'  pen, 
Which  now,  assail'd  by  Locke's,  expire  again: 
And  when,  perliaps,  in  pride  of  chemic  powers, 
We  think  the  keys  of  Nature's  kingdom  ours, 
Some  Davy's  magic  touch  the  dream  unsettles, 
And  turns  at  once  our  alkalis  to  metals ! 

Or,  should  we  roam,  in  mctaphysic  maze, 

Through  fair-built  theories  of  former  days. 

Some  Ur — mm — d-  from  the  north,  more  ably  skill'd. 

Like  other  (iotlis,  to  ruin  than  to  build, 

Tramples  triumphant  through  our  fines  o'erthrown, 

Nor  leaves  one  grace,  one  glory  of  his  own ! 

Oh  Learning!  Learning!  whatsoe'er  thy  boast, 
Unletter'd  minds  have  taught  and  charm'd  us  most : 
The  rude,  unread  Columbus  was  our  guide 
To  worlds,  which  learn'd  I^ictantius  had  denied, 
And  one  wild  Shakspcare,  following  Nature's  lights, 
Is  worth  whole  planets,  fill'd  with  Stagyrites  ! 


1  Descartes,  who  is  considered  as  the  parent  of  modern 
scepticism,  says,  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  wliole  range  of 
pliilosophy  which  docs  not  admit  of  two  opposite  opinions, 
and  which  is  nut  involved  in  doubt  and  uncertainty.  "  In 
Philosophia  nihil  adhuc  reperiri,  de  r,uo  noii  in  uiiamque 
partem  disjmtatur,  hoc  est,  quod  non  sit  incertuni  et  duhi- 
iitn."  Gassendi  is  another  of  our  modern  sceptics,  and 
Wcdderkoplf,  in  his  Dissertation  "  De  Scepticismo  profimo 
ei  sacro"  (Argentorat.  1(5(56,)  has  denounced  Erasmus  as  a 
follower  of  Pynho,  for  his  opinions  upon  the  Trinity,  and 
some  other  subjects.  To  these  if  we  add  the  names  of 
Baylc,  Mailebraiiche,  Dryden.  Locke,  etc.  etc.  1  think  there 
is  no  one  who  need  be  ashamed  of  doubting  in  such  company. 

2  See  this  gentleman's  Academic  Q,i'«stions. 


See  grave  Theology,  when  once  she  stravs 
From  Revelation's  patli,  what  tricks  she  plays  ! 
ilow  many  various  heavens  hath  Fancy's  wing 
Explored  or  touch'd  from  I'tipias'  down  to  King!' 
And  hell  itself,  in  India  notiglit  but  smoke,^ 
In  Spain  's  a  furnace,  and  in  France — a  joke 

Hail,  modest  ignorance!  thou  goal  and  prize, 
Thou  last,  best  knowledge  of  the  humbly  wise ' 
Hail,  sceptic  ease  !  when  error's  waves  are  past. 
How  sweet  to  reach  thy  tranquil  port'  at  last, 
And,  gently  rock'd  in  undulating  doubt, 
Smile  at  the  sturdy  winds  which  war  without ! 
There  gentle  Charit}',  who  knows  how  frail 
The  bark  of  Virtue,  even  in  summer's  gale, 
Sits  by  the  nightly  lire,  whose  beacon  glows 
For  all  who  wander,  whether  friends  or  foes  I 
There  Faith  retires,  and  keeps  her  white  sail  furl'd, 
Till  call'd  to  spread  it  for  a  purer  world; 
While  Patience  lingers  o'er  the  weedy  shore, 
And,  mutely  waiting  till  the  storm  be  o'er. 
Turns  to  young  Hope,  who  still  directs  his  eye 
To  some  blue  spot,  just  breaking  in  the  sky ! 

These  are  the  mild,  the  blest  associates  given 

To  him  who  doubts,  and  trusts  in  nought  but  Heaven 


1  Papias  lived  about  the  lime  of  the  .Aji.istles,  and  is  sup 
p:ised  to  have  given  birth  to  the  heresy  of  the  Chiliastie,  wliosc 
heaven  was  by  no  means  of  a  spiritual  nature,  but  rather  an 
anticipation  of  the  Prophet  id'  Hera's  elysium.  See  Euse- 
bius  Hist.  Ecclesiast.  lib.  iii.  c.iji.  33,  and  llieronym.  de 
Scriptor.  Ecclesiast. — though,  from  all  that  I  can  lind  in 
these  authors  concerning  Papias,  it  seems  hardly  fair  to  im- 
pute to  him  those  gross  imaginations  in  which  the  believerc 
of  the  sensual  milli  nnium  indulged. 

2  King,  in  his  Morsels  of  Ciiticism,  vol.  i.  supposes  tne 
sun  to  be  the  recepiacle  of  blessed  spirits. 

3  The  Indians  call  hell  "Tiie  House  of  Smoke."  See 
Picart  upon  the  Religion  of  the  Banians.  The  render  who 
is  curious  about  infernal  matters  may  be  editied  by  consult- 
ing Rosea  de  Inferno,  particularly  lib.  ii.  cap.  7,  S,  where  .le 
will  find  the  precise  sort  of  fire  ascertained  in  which  wicked 
spirits  are  to  be  burned  hereafter. 

4  "  Cliere  Sceptique,  douce  prlture  de  mon  ame,  et 
I'unique  port  de  salut  a  un  esprit  qui  aiine  le  repos  1" — La 
Muthe  le  Vaver. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


DEDICATION. 

TO  HIS  ROYAL  HIGHNESS  THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES 

Sir, — In  allowing  me  to  dedicate  this  work  to  your  Royal  Highness,  you  have  conferred  upon 
me  an  honour  which  1  feel  very  sensibly  :  and  I  have  only  to  regret  that  the  pages  which  you  have 
thus  distinguished  are  not  more  deserving  of  such  illustrious  patronage. 
Believe  me,  iSiit, 

With  every  sentiment  of  respect, 
Your  Royal  Highness's 

Very  grateful  and  devoted  Servant, 

THOx>IAS  MOORE. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


It  may  be  necessary  to  mention  that,  in  arranging 
che  Odes,  the  Translator  has  adopted  the  order  of 
the  Vatican  MS.  For  those  who  wish  to  refer  to  the 
original,  he  has  prefixed  an  Index,  which  marks  the 
number  of  each  ode  in  Barnes  and  the  other  editions. 


INDEX. 


E.  BARNES. 

ANAKPEilN  liwv  fxt 63 

AoTt  fxoi    \vpriv  'Ojir}0ov 48 

Aye,  ^iuypaiptov  api^c  — 49 

Tov  apyvpov  ropwinv 17 

KaSrirfx^va  Topevaov -18 

Treitiog  ttXikuiv  ttot'  cvpov - 59 

AtyouiTiv  at  yvvaiKCi 11 

Oil  ^01  pi\ci  Ta  Tvyov 15 

A0f 5  fi£  Tovg  dcovg  croi - 31 

Ti   cot  OcXeti  TTOirjau) 12 

Epojra   Krjptvov  ri; 10 

Oi  ficv  Kn\i]V  Kvl^TiPriv 13 

GtX'j),  6c\(D  tpiXriaai 14 

Ei  ^jiiXAa  Tiavra  Scvipoiv 32 

Kpaapiri  T:c}>tia 9 

Ayi,  t^wypaipwv  api<^t 28 

Vpiitpe  pot  EnOuXAoi'  otrcj 29 

Aor£  pot,  ioTt,  yvvntKtg 21 

Uapa  Tijv  CKiriv  EaOvWov 22 

Ai  Movtrai  tov  Epwra 30 

H  V£  ptiXaiva  irivti 19 

H  Tai'Ta\ov  ttot  e^t 20 

OsXw  \iyctv  A.Tpii/lai 1 

il>iicris  Ktpara    Tavpot; 2 

Xu  pcv  (ptXll  ^c\lf:(J>V ..33 

Xu  ^tv  Xcytif  Ta  6r?|3r/t 16 

Et   l(r)(^tOli   pCV  (TTTTOt 65 

'O  avnp  &  T»;5  KvOiprji 45 

XitXcTTov  TO  uv  'ht\noai 4G 

2;]j 


ODE.  BARNKS 

30  'E.ioKovv  ovap  rpoj^a^tiv 44 

31  'tiiKtvOtvrj  pi  pafiSii) 7 

32  Etti   pvperivat;    Tcptvai; 4 

33  Hc(T0VVKTl0ti     TTOT      diipniS 3 

34  Naxapt^opcv  ct,  TCTTt^ 43 

35  Kpiiif  ttot'  fv  poiotat 40 

3G  '  O  TzXovTOi  iiys.  ^pvaov 23 

37  Ai'j  vvKTij)v  cyKadtvioiv 8 

38  Atnpov  vtwpcv  oivov -. 41 

39  <I>iXu   ycpovTa  Tipvvov .....47 

40  'E.Trtthi  PpoTog   tTV)(Qriv 24 

41  T(   (caXov  £s-i  ,3a(^i^£iv 66 

42  TloQibi  ptv  i^tovvaov 42 

43  ST£0ai'oiis   ptv  KpoTa<poiat 6 

44  'J  0  pofiov  TO  ruv  tpwTtav 5 

45  '(••'av  TTivo)  TOV  otvov 25 

46  lie,  Twf  lapo;  (pavcvTo; .  .37 

47  Eyw  ytpti)v  piv  cipi 38 

48  'Orav  h  BaK^o;  tiatXOr] ....26 

49  Tou  Aiej  iratf  EuKXOi 27 

60   'Or'  tyoi   TTtn)  TOV  otvov 39 

51    Ml]  p£  iftvyris  optjua 34 

62  Ti  pa  tov;  vopov?  it^aoKci;  ; 36 

53  'Or'  eyij)  vcuv  hptXov 54 

54  '  O  Tavpos  OVTOS,  (a  Trai 35 

55  YTC(pavri<popov  per'  Hpo? 53 

56  ' O  TOV  tv  TTovoi;  aTttpc. ..50 

57  Apa  rij  Topivnt  ttovtov 61 

58  'O  SpaTTtTas  p'  h  ■^(pvaoi 65 

59  Tov  pc\avo)^p(i)Ta  fioTpvv 62 

60  Avfj   0ap(itTov   Sovrjati) 64 

+  +  *  +  *  + 

61  rioXiot  pev  tjptv  riSe / 5b 

62  Aye  Srj,  tprp  ijpiv,  (I)  Trnt 57 

63  Tov  KpwTa  yap  tov   afipov 58 

64  Vovvovpat  (s\  eXoi^jjiSoXe 60 

65  TTiiiXe  OpnKtii,  ti  Rrj  pt 61 

66  Btaiiiv  avaaaa,    Kvirpi 62 

67  SI  irai  TrapOtvtov  (iXcTTO)v 67 

68  Eyu)  5'oi)t'   av   Apa\dcir]i 68 

For  the  order  of  the  rest,  see  the  Notes 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


233 


AN  ODE 
BY  THE  TRANSLATOR. 


Em  uo6ivots  Ta-ijtTi, 
Tijioi  ttot'  b  liiXt^ris 
'IXapoi  ytXui'  CKitTO. 
Mcdvuiv  T£  Kai  \vi>i^ii}V 
Ajtipi  avTov  01  &'  tpuiTsj 
'Aira\ot  avvc^opcvaaV 
O  8iXr)  TO  TrjS  KuOriprii 
Ettoiei,  t/u;^));  ot^ov;' 
O  &c  \cvKa  7;i)p(pvpoiai 
Kpiva  cvv  l)oboiai  TrAt^aft 
E0iAti  ^tifiiav  yepovTa' 
H  c'f  Oiaiov  avaaaa, 
XO'MH  ttot'  tf  OXv/iiTov 
Kaopuia'  AviiKpcovra, 
Kaopuiaa  rovi  cpuira;, 
XTTop^iiiacaas  tmC 
2o0£,  &'  d)j  KvaKptovTa 
Tov  ao<pti)TaTov  aTravTwv, 
KaXfovaiV  o'l  aofi^at, 
T(,  ytptov,  Tcov  jSiov  /xcv 
Ton  £/3W(7(,  Tl^  Avaiip, 
K'  ovK  cpot  KpuTciv  t^wfcas; 
Ti  (piXiiixa  Trjs  livOnpnSt 
Ti  (cuiTtXXa  TOV  Avatov, 
Aici  y'  tTpv<pr]ias  (f6u)v, 
OvK  epovi  vojxovi  6i&a(TKiaVf 
OvK  tjiov  Aa;^u)y  aurov; 
'O  &t  Ttjio;  fiaXi^ris 
MrjTc  iva^^cpaive,  (pri<n, 
'Or(,  Oca,  GOV  y'  avtv  jxzv, 
'O  cuiiMTUTo^  airavTuv 
Ilapa  Tiiiv  aotpuiv  KaXovpiai' 

'I>(A£U),   TTIU,    Xvpi^UJ, 

MtTa  Twv  Ka\ij)v  yvvaiKoiv 
Aipc\(i)i  6c  TtpTzva  irni^o), 
iij  \vpri  yap,  Cjiov  rjrop 
AvaiTVii  jiovovi  epwTa;' 
'i2i?£  (iioTov  yaXiivrjv 
'^iXzwv  jwaAij-a  TravTiav, 
Ov  auipoi  /j£A(j)c5of  £ifii ; 

TlJ  (JOlpUJTipOS  pCV    ES"1. 


REMARKS  ON  ANACREON 

TuBRE  IS  very  little  known  with  certainty  of  the 
life  of  Anacreon.  (Jhainaileon  Heracleotes,'  who 
wrote  upon  the  subject,  has  been  lost  in  the  general 
wreck  of  ancient  literature.  The  editors  of  the  poet 
have  collected  the  few  trifling  anecdotes  which  are 
scattered  through  the  extant  authors  of  antiquity,  and, 
supplying  the  deficiency  of  materials  by  fictions  of 
iheir  own  imagination,  they  have  arranged,  what  they 
call,  a  life  of  Anacreon.  These  specious  fabrications 
are  intended  to  indulge  that  interest  which  we  natu- 
rally feel  in  the  biography  of  illustrious  men  ;  but  it 
18  rather  a  dangerous  kind  of  illusion,  as  it  confounds 

1   He  is  quolnd  l)y  Atlioiia;us  iv  tm  ir.'pi  tou  Avxxf-avTOi. 


the  limits  of  history  and  romance,"  and  is  too  oflen 
supported  by  unfaithful  citation.^ 

Our  poet  was  born  in  the  city  of  Teos,  in  the  deli- 
cious region  of  Ionia,  where  every  thing  respired 
voluptuousness.'  Tlie  time  of  his  birth  appears  to 
have  been  in  the  sixth  century  before  Christ,*  and  ho 
flouashcd  at  that  remarkable  period  when,  under  tho 
polished  tyrants  Hipparchus  and  Polycrates,  Athens 
and  Samos  were  the  rival  asylums  of  genius.  The 
name  of  his  father  is  doubtful,  and  therefore  cannot 
be  very  interesting.  His  family  was  perhaps  illustri- 
ous, but  those  who  discover  in  Plato  that  he  was  a 
descendant  of  the  monarch  Codrus,  exhibit,  as  usual, 
more  zeal  tl.an  accuracy.* 

The  disposition  and  talents  of  Anacreon  recom- 
mended him  to  the  monarch  of  Samos,  and  he  was 
formed  to  be  the  friend  of  such  a  prince  as  Polycra- 
tes. Susceptible  only  to  the  pleasures,  he  felt  not 
the  corruptions  of  the  court;  and  while  Pythagoras 
fled  from  the  tyrant,  Anacreon  was  celebrating  his 
praises  on  the  lyre  We  are  told  too  by  3Iaximu3 
Tyrius,  that  by  the  influence  of  his  amatory  songs  he 
softened  the  mind  of  Polycrates  into  a  spirit  of  be- 
nevolence toward  his  subjects." 

The  amours  of  the  poet  and  the  rivalship  of  the 
tyrant'  I  shall  pass  over  in  silence ;  and  there  are 
few,  I  presume,  who  will  regret  the  omission  of  most 
of  those  anecdotes,  which  the  industry  of  some  editors 
has  not  only  promulged  but  discussed.  Whatever  is 
repugnant  to  modesty  and  virtue  is  considered  in 
ethical  science,  by  a  supposition  very  favouruble  to 
humanity,  as  impossible ;  and  this  amiable  persuasion 
should  be  mucli  more  strongly  entertained  where  the 
transgression  wars  with  nature  as  well  a.'  virtue 
But  why  are  we  not  allowed  to  indulge  in  the  pre- 
sumption ?  Why  are  we  officiously  reminded  that 
there  have  been  such  instances  of  depravity  ? 

Hipparc]j.us,  who  now  maintained  at  Athens  the 


1  Tlie  History  of  Anacreon,  by  .Monsieur  Gacon  (le  po- 
eie  sans  I'anl)  is  prot'csseilly  a  roinancu ;  nor  does  Made- 
nioisi;lli;  Scuderi,  from  whom  he  boriowed  the  idea,  prete'id 
to  historical  veracity  in  her  accouni  ot"  .Anacreon  and  Sii|)- 
|)ho.  These,  then,  are  allowable.  But  how  can  Barnes  ba 
forgiven,  v\lio,  with  all  the  conlidence  of  a  biograpiier,  truces 
every  wandering  of  ihu  poet,  and  settles  him  in  his  old  aga 
at  a  country  villa  near  Teos  ? 

2  The  learned  Monsieur  iiayle  has  detected  some  iniideli 
ties  of  ([uotution  in  I^e  Fevre.  See  Dictiounaire  Histo- 
rique,  etc.  Madame  Dacier  is  not  more  accurate  than  hei 
father:  they  have  almost  made  Anacreon  prime  minister  to 
the  monarch  of  Samos. 

3  The  Asiatics  were  as  remarkable  for  genius  as  for  lux- 
ury. "Ingenia  Asiatica  inclyla  per  genles  fecere  poelte, 
Anacreon,  inde  Mimnernius  et  Antimachus,"  etc. — Snlinus. 

4  1  have  not  attempted  lo  define  tho  particular  Olympiad, 
but  have  adopted  the  idea  of  Bayle,  who  says,  ".le  n"ai 
pninl  nianiue  d'Olympiadc;  car,  pour  un  lionune  qui  a 
vrtiu  rio  ans,  il  me  semhle  que  I'on  ne  doit  point  s'enfermer 
dans  des  bornes  si  6iroiies." 

5  1'his  mistake  is  founded  on  a  false  interpretation  of  a 
very  obvious  passage  in  Plato's  Dialogue  on  Temperanfe; 
it  originated  with  Madame  Dacier,  and  has  been  rtcei\ed 

mplicitly  by  many.  Gail,  a  late  editor  of  Anacreon,  seems 
to  claim  to  himself  the  merit  of  detecting  this  error ;  but 
Bayle  had  observed  it  before  him. 

()  A\'xy.fiMv  ^xfiioif  lioXvxpxTui'  y,/4ifii<ri. — Maxim. Tyr. 
§21.    Maxiriius  Tyrius  mentions  this  among  other  instances 

if  the  influence  of  poetry.      If  Gail  had  read  Maxiuius 

ryrius,  how  could  he  ridicule  this  idea  in  Mouionnet,  aa 

manlhenticated? 

7  In  ihe  romance  of  Clelia,  the  anecdote  lo  which  I  allude 
is  told  of  a  young  girl,  with  whom  Anacreon  tell  in  love 
while  she  persunaled  the  gnd  .Apollt)  in  a  mask  But  ho'^ 
Mademoiselle  Scuderi  cunstdted  nature  more  tlmn  truth 


234 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


power  which  his  father  Pisistratus  had  usurped,  was 
one  of  those  elegant  princes  who  have  pohshed  the 
fetters  of  their  subjects.  He  was  the  first,  according 
to  i'lato,  who  edited  the  poems  of  Homer,  and  com- 
manded them  to  be  sung  by  the  rhapsodists  at  the 
celebration  of  the  Panathenaea.  As  his  court  was  the 
galaxy  of  genius,  Anarreon  should  not  be  absent. 
Hipparchus  sent  a  barge  for  him ;  the  poet  embraced 
the  invitation,  and  the  muses  and  the  loves  were 
wafted  with  him  to  Athens.' 

The  manner  of  Anacreon's  death  was  singular. 
We  are  told  that  in  the  eighty-fiflh  year  of  his  age  he 
was  choked  by  a  grape-stone  ;°  and  however  we  may 
smile  at  their  enthusiastic  partiality,  who  pretend  that 
it  was  a  peculiar  indulgence  of  Heaven,  which  stole 
him  from  the  world  by  this  easy  and  characteristic 
death,  we  cannot  help  admiring  that  his  fate  should 
be  so  emblematic  of  his  disposition.  Ca;lius  Calcag- 
ninus  alludes  to  this  catastrophe  in  the  following 
epitaph  on  our  poet : 

^  Then,  hallow'd  sage,  those  lips  which  pour'd  along 

The  sweetest  lapses  of  the  cygnet's  song, 
A  grape  has  closed  for  ever! 

Here  let  the  ivy  kiss  the  poet's  tomb, 

Here  let  the  rose  he  loved  with  laurels  bloom, 
In  bands  that  ne'er  shall  sever  I 

But  far  be  thou,  oh  !  far,  unholy  vine. 

By  whom  the  favourite  minstrel  of  the  Nine 
Expired  his  rosy  brea'h; 

Thy  god  liimseU"  n.nv  blushes  to  confess. 

Unholy  vine  1  lie  t'eids  he  loves  thee  less, 
Sin  -H  poor  .Anai-reon's  death  1 
There  can  scarcely  be  imagined  a  more  delightful 
(heme  for  the  warmest  speculations  of  fancy  to  wan- 
ton upon,  tlian  the  idea  of  an  intercourse  between 
Anacreon  and  Sappho.  I  could  wish  to  believe  that 
they  were  contempoiary  :  any  thought  of  an  inter- 
change between  hearts  so  congenial  in  warmth  of 
|)assion  and  delicacy  of  genius  gives  such  play  to  the 
imagination,  that  the  mind  loves  to  indulge  in  it;  out 
the  vision  dissolves  before  historical  truth ;  and  Cha- 
ma,'leon  and  Hermesianax,  who  are  the  source  of  the 
supposition,  are  considered  as  having  merely  indulged 
in  a  poetical  anachronism." 

1  There  is  a  very  interesting  French  poem  founded  upon 
this  anecdote,  imputed  to  Dusyvetaux,  and  culled  "Ana- 
creon Citoyen." 

2  Faliricius  appears  not  to  trust  very  implicitly  in  this 
story.  "l'v;Rpassa>  acino  tandiin  .sullocatus,  si  cedimus 
Suida;  in  on'OTronji ;  alii  enim  hoc  mortis  gcnere  perisse  tra- 
dunt  Soplioclem."  Fabricii.  Bibliothec.  Gra;c.  lib.  ii.  cap. 
15.  It  must  be  confessed  that  Lu.-ian,  who  lolls  us  that 
Sophocles  was  choked  by  a  grape-stone,  in  the  very  same 
treatise  mentions  the  longevity  of  Anacreon,  and  yet  is  silent 
on  the  manni  r  of  his  death.  Conid  he  have  been  ignorant 
of  such  a  remarkable  coincidence,  or,  knowing,  could  he 
have  negh-cted  to  remark  it?  Sve  Regnier's  Introduction 
to  his  Anacreon. 

3  At  fe,  sancte  senex,  acinus  sub  tartara  misit; 

Cygn "a!  clausit  qui  tihi  vocis  iter. 
\'('s,  hcdera;,  tunmlum,  lumnlum  vos.  cingite  lauri. 

Hoc  rosa  perpetuo  vernet  odora  loco; 
At  vit  s  procul  liicic,  procul  hinc  odiosa  faccssat, 

(iu:H  causain  diry  protulit,  uva,  necis, 
Creditor  ipse  minus  vitcm  jam  Bacchus  amare. 
In  vatem  tantum  qiia>  fiiit  ansa  n^fas. 
«"(i!liuB  CaJcuffninns  has  translated  or  imitated  the  epigrams 
1?  Ty,v  .Mii^jufo;  oouv,  which  are  given  under  the  name  of 
.\nacri'(>n. 

4  Barnes  is  convinced  of  the  synchronism  of  Anacreon 
end  Sappho;  but  very  graluitonslv.  In  ritiiig  his  niitliori- 
'i^•^.  it  ii  s'fiiiL'e  that  hn  negli'Cted   the  liiie  which  Fnlviu.-i 


To  infer  the  moral  dispositions  of  a  poet  from  tin 
tone  of  sentiment  which  pervades  his  works,  is  some- 
times a  very  fallacious  analogy  :  but  the  soul  of  Ana- 
creon speaks  so  unequivocally  through  his  odes,  that 
we  may  consult  them  as  tlie  faithful  mirrors  of  his 
heart.'  We  find  him  there  the  elegant  voluptuary, 
diffusing  the  seductive  charm  of  sentiment  over  pas- 
sions and  propensities  at  which  rigid  morality  must 
frown.  His  heart,  devoted  to  indolence, seems  to  think 
that  there  is  wealth  enough  in  happiness,  but  seldom 
happiness  enough  in  wealth  ;  and  the  cheerfulness 
with  which  he  brightens  his  old  age  is  interesting  and 
endearing :  like  his  own  rose,  he  is  fragrant  even  in 
decay.  But  the  most  peculiar  feature  of  his  mind  is 
that  love  of  simplicity  which  he  attributes  to  himsell 
so  very  feelingly,  and  which  breathes  characteris- 
tically through  all  that  he  has  sung.  In  truth,  if  we 
omit  those  vices  in  our  estimate  which  ethnic  religion 
not  only  connived  at  but  consecrated,  we  shall  say 
that  the  disposition  of  our  poet  was  amiable ;  his 
morality  was  relaxed,  but  not  abandoned  ;  and  Vir- 
tue with  her  zone  loosened  may  be  an  emblem  of  the 
character  of  Anacreon.'^ 

Of  his  person  and  physiognomy  time  has  preserved 
such  uncertain  memorials,  that  perhaps  it  w'ere  bet 
ter  to  leave  the  pencil  to  tancy  ;  and  few  can  read 
the  Odes  of  Anacreon  without  imagining  the  form  o' 
the  animated  old  bard,  crowned  with  roses,  and  sing- 
ing to  the  lyre.' 


Ursinus  has  quoted,  as  of  Anacreon,  among  the  testinioniei 
to  Sappho: 

Ki/Ai  A.x6apv  sia-xpxg  XxTTipw  TTxpSsvov  aJv^tovov, 

Fabiicius  thinks  that  they  might  have  been  contemporaiy, 
but  con^idels  their  amour  as  a  tale  of  imagination.  Vossius 
rejects  ilie  idea  entirely  as  also  Olaus  Borrichius,  etc.  etc 

1  An  Iialianpoet,  in  some  verses  on  Belleau's  translation 
of  Anacreon,  pretends  to  imagine  that  our  bard  did  not  feel 
as  he  wrote. 

Lya;um,  Venerem,  Cupidinemque 
Senex  lusit  Anacreon  poeta. 
Sed  quo  tempore  nee  capaciores 
Rogabat  cyathos,  nee  inquietis 
Uiebatur  amoribus,  sed  ipsis 
Tantum  vcrsibus  et  jocis  amabat, 
Nullum  priE  se  habitum  gerens  amanlis 

To  Love  and  Bacchus,  ever  young, 

While  sage  Anacreon  touch'd  the  lyre 
He  neither  felt  the  loves  he  sung, 

Nor  fill'd  his  bowl  to  Bacchus  higher. 
Those  flowery  days  had  faded  long, 

When  youth  could  act  the  lover's  part; 
And  passion  trembled  in  his  song, 

But  never,  never  reach'd  his  heart. 

2  Anacreon's  character  has  been  variously  coloured 
Barnes  lingers  on  it  with  enthusiastic  admiration,  but  he  \s 
always  e.xtravagant,  if  not  sometimes  even  profane.  Mon 
sieur  Baillei,  who  is  in  the  opposite  extreme,  exaggerates 
too  much  iho  testimonies  which  he  has  consulted  ;  and  we 
cannot  surely  agree  with  him  when  he  cites  such  a  compiler 
as  Athcna-us,  as  "  un  des  plus  savans  critiques  do  ranti- 
quitt';." — .lu^emenl  des  Savans,  M.CI.V. 

Barnes  could  not  have  read  the  [lassnee  to  which  he  re- 
feis,  when  he  accusis  liB  Fevre  of  having  censured  our 
poet's  characier  in  a  note  on  Longinus,  the  note  in  question 
is  manifest  irony,  in  allusion  to  some  reprenension  which 
I,e  Fevre  had  suflered  for  his  Anacreon;  and  it  is  evident 
that  praise  rather  than  censure  is  intimated.  See  Johannes 
Vulpius  rie  Utilitato  Poetices,  who  vindicates  our  poet's 
reputation. 

3  .lohannes  Faber,  in  liis  description  of  the  coin  of  TJrsi 
nus.  ni(mlions  a  head  on  a  very  beautiful  cornelian,  which 
he  supposes  was  worn  in  a  ring  by  some  admirer  of  the  ))oel 
In  the  Iconogrnphia  of  Canini  there  is  a  youthful  head  of 
Anacreon  from  a  Hrecian  medal,  with  the  letters  TEIOS 
around  it :  on  the  reverse  there  is  a  Neptune,  holtling  a  speai 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


23.3 


After  the  very  enthusiastic  eulogiums  bestowed  by 
ihe  ancients  and  moderns  upon  the  poenis  of  Ana- 
ureon,'  we  need  not  be  dilfident  in  expressing  our 
raptures  at  tlieir  beauty,  nor  hesitate  to  pronounce 
them  the  most  polished  remains  of  antiquity.'-'  They 
are  all  beauty,  all  encliantnient.'  He  steals  us  so  iii- 
Bensibly  along  with  him,  tliat  we  sympathize  even  in 
his  excesses.  In  his  amatory  odes  there  is  a  delicacy 
of  compliment  not  to  hi  found  in  any  other  ancient 
poet.  Love  at  that  period  was  rather  an  unrehned 
emotion ;  and  the  intercourse  of  the  sexes  was  ani- 
mated more  by  passion  than  sentiment.  They  knew 
not  those  little  tendernesses  which  form  the  spiritual 
part  of  aifection  ;  their  expression  of  feeling  was 
therefore  rude  and  unvaried,  and  the  poetry  of  Love 
deprived  of  its  most  captivating  graces.  Anacreon, 
however,  attained  some  ideas  of  this  gallantry  ;  and 
the  same  delicacy  of  mind  v^hich  led  him  to  this  re- 
finement prevented  him  from  yielding  to  the  freedom 
of  language,  which  has  sullied  the  pages  of  all  the 
other  poets.  His  descriptions  are  warm  ;  but  the 
warmth  is  in  the  ideas,  not  the  words.  He  is  sportive 
witliout  being  wanton,  and  ardent  without  being 
licentious.  His  poetic  invention  is  most  brilliantly 
displayed  in  those  allegorical  fictions  which  so  many 
have  endeavoured  to  imitate,  because  ah  have  con- 
fessed them  to  be  inimitable.  Simplicity  is  the  dis- 
inguishing  feature  of  these  odes,  and  they  interest  b}' 
their  innocence,  while  they  fascinate  by  their  beauty  : 
they  are,  indeed,  the  infants  of  the  Muses,  and  may 
be  said  to  lisp  in  numbers. 

I  shall  not  be  accused  of  enthusiastic  partiality  by 


in  his  right  hand,  and  a  dol|ihin  in  the  left,  with  the  word 
TIANliN,  inscrihed,  "  volendoci  dcnotare  (says  Caniui)  die 
quelle  ciUadini  la  coniiii^si'ro  in  liunure  del  suo  conipiitriuta 
pcieta."  There  is  also  amimg  the  coins  of  de  VVikle,  one 
wliich,  lhoii";h  it  bears  no  etligy,  was  prubably  struck  to  the 
memory  of  Anacieon.  It  has  the  word  THI12N,  encircled 
with  an  ivy  crouii.  "Atquidni  lesfiicit  iiisc  corona  Ana- 
cieoniem,  nobilein  lvricuiii7" — De  VVilde. 

1  Besides  those  which  are  extant,  he  wrote  hymns,  ele- 
gies, epigrams,  etc.  Some  of  the  epigriins  still  exist.  Ho- 
race alludes  to  a  poem  of  his  Ufion  the  rivalry  of  Circe  and 
Penelope  in  the  alfeciions  of  Ulysses,  lib.  i.  od.  17.  The 
scholiast  upon  Nicander  cites  a  fragment  from  a  poem  upon 
sleep,  by  Anacieon,  and  aitributes  to  him  liki-wise  a  medi- 
riiial  treatise.  Fulgeniius  mentions  a  work  of  his  upon  the 
war  between  .Iu|ii'er  and  the  Titans,  and  the  origin  of  Ihe 
conseciation  of  the  eagle. 

2  See  Horace,  Maximus  Tyrius,  etc.  "  His  style  (says 
Seal  ger)  is  sweeter  than  the  juice  of  the  Indian  reed." 
PoRiices,  lib.  i.  cap.  44. — "  From  the  softness  of  his  verses 
(says  Olaus  Borrichius)  the  ancients  bestowed  on  him  the 
epithets  sweet,  delicate,  graceful,  etc."  Dissertationes  Aca- 
demical, de  Poi'tis,  diss.  2. — Scaliger  again  praises  him  in  a 
nnii ;  speaking  of  the  /«i>.o;,  or  o.le,  "  Anacreon  antem  noii 
solum  dedit  luec  .us^ii,  sed  etiain  in  ipsis  mella." — See  the 
oa-sage  of  Rupin,  quoted  by  all  the  editors.  I  cannot  omit 
citing  Ihe  following  very  spirited  apostrophe  of  Ihe  author 
of  the  Commentary  prefixed  to  Ihe  Parma  edition  :  "  O  vos, 
iuhlimes  anim.R,  vos,  Apollinis  alumni,  qui  post  unnm  Alc- 
maneinin  totallellade  lyricam  poesime\suscitastis,coluistis, 
<im|)li!icnslis,  qiiieso  vos  an  ullue  unquam  fuerit  vates  qui 
Teio  cantiiri  vel  natiira-  candorevel  metri  suavitatepalmam 
prieripiierit."  See  likewise  Vincenzo  Gravini  della  Rag. 
Poetic,  libro  priino,  p.  97. — .\mong  the  Ritratli  del  Cavalier 
Marino,  there  is  one  of  Anacreon  beginning  Cingetemi  la 
froiite,  I'tc.  etc. 

3  "  We  may  perceive,"  says  Vossius,  "  that  the  iteration 
i)f  his  words  conduces  very  much  to  the  sweetness  of  his 
»lyle."  Henry  Stephen  remarks  the  same  beauty  in  a  note 
nn  the  forty-fourth  ode.  This  figure  of  iteration  is  his  most 
appropriate  grace.  Thj  modern  writers  of  Juvenilia  and 
Bisia    have   adopted    it  to   an  excess   which   rleslroys  the 

ff.ct. 


those  who  have  read  and  felt  the  original;  but  to 
others  I  am  conscious  that  this  should  not  be  the  Ian- 
guage  of  a  translator,  whose  faint  rellection  of  these 
beauties  can  but  little  jiistily  his  admiration  of  them. 

In  the  age  of  Anacreon  music  and  poetry  were  in- 
separable. These  kindred  talents  were  for  a  long 
time  associated,  and  the  poet  always  sung  his  own 
compositions  to  the  lyre,  it  is  probable  that  they  were 
not  set  to  any  regular  air,  but  rather  a  kind  of  musical 
recittition,  which  w.ls  varied  according  to  the  fancy 
and  feelings  of  the  moment.'  The  poems  of  Ana- 
creon were  sung  at  banquets  as  late  as  the  time  of 
Auliis  (iellius,  who  tells  us  that  he  heard  one  of  the 
odes  performed  at  a  birth-day  entertainment.^ 

The  singular  beauty  of  our  poet's  style,  and  per- 
haps the  careless  facility  with  which  he  appears  to 
have  trifled,  have  induced,  as  I  remarked,  a  number 
of  imitations.  Some  have  succeeded  with  wonder- 
ful felicity,  as  may  be  discerned  in  the  few  odes 
which  are  attributed  to  writers  of  a  later  period.  But 
none  of  his  emulators  have  been  so  dangerous  to  hia 
fime  as  those  Greek  ecclesiastics  of  the  early  ages, 
who,  conscious  of  inferiority  to  their  prototypes,  de- 
termined on  removing  the  possibility  of  comparison, 
and,  under  a  semblance  of  moral  zeal,  destroyed  the 
most  exquisite  treasures  of  antiquity.'  Sappho  and 
Alca!us  were  among  the  victims  of  this  violation  ;  and 
the  sweetest  flowers  of  Grecian  literature  fell  be- 
neath the  rude  hand  of  ecclesiastical  presumption. 
It  is  true  they  pretended  that  this  sacrifice  of  genius 
was  canonized  by  the  interests  of  religion  ;  but  I  have 
already  assigned  the  most  probable  motive ;"  and  if 
Gregorius  Nazianzenus  had  not  written  Anacreon- 
tics, we  might  now  perhaps  have  the  works  of  the 
Teian  unmutilated,  and  be  empowered  to  say  exult- 
ingly  with  Horace, 

Nee  si  quid  olim  lusit  Anacreon 
Deleut  a.'las. 

The  zeal  by  which  these  bishops  professed  to  be  ac- 
tuated gave  birth,  more  innocently,  indeed,  to  an 
absurd  species  of  parody,  as  repugnant  to  piety  as  it 
is  to  taste,  where  the  poet  of  voluptuousness  was 
made  a  preacher  of  ihe  gospel,  and  his  muse,  like  tne 
Venus  in  armour  at  Laceda;mon,  was  arrayed  in  all 
the  severities  of  priestly  instruction.    Such  was  the 


1  In  the  Paris  edition  there  are  four  of  the  original  odes 
set  to  music,  by  citizens  Le  Sueur,  Gossec,  Meliul,  ac  '.  Che- 
rubini.  "On  chante  du  Latin  el  de  I'ltalien,"  ^ays  Gail, 
"qu.dquefois  m^me  sans  les  entendre;  qui  empeche  que 
nous  no  chantiuns  dcs  odes  Grerques  ?"*^The  chromaiic 
learning  of  these  composers  is  very  unlike  what  we  are  told 
of  the  simple  melody  of  the  ancients;  and  they  have  al! 
tnisiaken  the  accentuation  of  the  words. 

2  The  Parma  commentator  is  rather  careless  in  referring 
to  this  passage  of  .\ulus  Gellius  (lib.  xix.  cap.  9.) — Tlie  ode 
was  not  sung  by  the  rhetorician  Julianus,  as  he  "ays,  but 
by  the  minstrels  of  both  sexes,  who  were  introduced  at  the 
euterttiinmcnt. 

;i  See  what  Colomeslii.i,  in  his  "  Literary  Treasures,"  has 
quoted  from  Alcyonius  de  Exilio:  it  may  be  found  in  Bax- 
ter. Coloinesius,  al'ter  citing  the  passage,  adils,  "  Ha;c  auro 
contra  cara  non  potni  non  a|ipon>'re." 

4  We  may  perceive  by  the  beginning  of  the  first  hymn  oi 
Bishop  Synesius,  that  he  made  Anacreon  and  Sappho  hii 
models  of  composition 

Ays   ;uoi,  Kvytta  <pop/«ij'J, 
MjTx   T>iiKV  geoij'av, 
MsTM   AivQtxv  Tl  fioK^atv, 

Margunius  and  Damascenus  were  likewise  autborj  rvf  piom 
.Anacreontics 


236 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


"  Anacreon  Recantatus,"  by  Carolus  de  Aquino,  a 
Jesuit,  published  1701,  which  consisted  of  a  series  of 
palinodes  to  the  several  songs  of  our  poet.  Such  too 
was  the  Christian  Anacreon  of  Patrignanus,  another 
Jesuit,'  who  preposterously  transferred  to  a  most 
sacred  subject  all  that  Anacreon  had  sung  to  festivity. 

His  metre  has  been  very  frequently  adopted  by  the 
modern  Latin  poets.  Scaliger,  Taubmannus,  Bar- 
thius,^  and  others,  have  evinced  that  it  is  by  no 
means  uncongenial  with  that  language.'  The  Ana- 
creontics of  Scaliger,  however,  scarcely  deserve  the 
name  ;  they  are  glittering  with  conceits,  and,  though 
often  elegant,  are  always  laboured.  The  beautiful 
fictions  of  Angerianus,"  have  preserved,  more  hap- 
pily than  any,  ihe  delicate  turn  of  those  allegorical 
fables,  which,  frequently  passing  through  the  me- 
diums of  version  and  imitation,  have  generally  lost 
their  finest  rays  in  the  transmission.  Many  of  the 
Italian  poets  have  sported  on  the  subjects,  and  in  the 
manner  of  Anacreon.  Bernardo  Tasso  first  introduced 
the  metre,  which  was  afterwards  polished  and  en- 
riched by  Chabriera  and  others.^'  If  we  may  judge 
by  the  references  of  Uegen,  the  German  language 
abounds  in  Anacreontic  imitations  •  and  Hagedorn'^ 
is  one  among  many  who  have  assumed  him  as  a 
model.  La  Farre,  Chaulieu,  and  the  other  light  poets 
of  France,  have  professed  too  to  cultivate  the  muse 
of  Teos ;  but  they  have  attained  all  her  negligence, 
with  little  of  the  grace  that  embellishes  it.  In  the 
delicate  bard  of  Chiras'  we  find  the  kindred  spirit  of 
Anacreon :  some  of  his  gazelles,  or  songs,  possess 
all  the  character  of  our  poet. 

We  come  now  to  a  retrospect  of  the  editions  of 
Anacreon.  To  Henry  Stephen  we  are  indebted  for 
having  first  recovered  his  remains  from  the  obscurity 
in  which  they  had  reposed  for  so  many  ages.  He 
found  the  seventh  ode,  as  we  are  told,  on  the  cover 
of  an  old  book,  and  communicated  it  to  Victorius, 
who  mentions  the  circumstance  in  his  "  Various 
Readings."  Stephen  was  then  very  young  ;  and  tliis 
discovery  was  considered  by  some  critics  of  that  day 


as  a  literary  imposition.'  In  1554,  however,  he  gavf 
Anacreon  to  the  world, ^  accompanied  with  AimotU' 
tions  and  a  Latin  version  of  the  greater  part  of  tht 
odes.  The  learned  still  hesitated  to  receive  them  as 
the  relics  of  the  Teian  bard,  and  suspected  them  tc 
be  the  fabrication  of  some  monks  of  the  si.xteentl 
century.  This  was  an  idea  from  which  the  classic 
muse  recoiled  ;  and  the  Vatican  manuscript,  con- 
sulted by  Scaliger  and  Salmasius,  confirmed  the  an- 
tiquity of  most  of  the  poems.  A  very  inaccurate 
copy  of  this  MS.  was  taken  by  Isaac  Vossius,  and 
this  is  the  authority  which  Barnes  has  followed  in  his 
collation  ;  accordingly  he  misrepresents  almost  as 
often  as  he  quotes  ;  and  the  subsequent  editors,  rely- 
ing upon  him,  have  spoken  of  the  manuscript  with 
not  less  confidence  than  ignorance.  The  literary 
world  has,  at  length,  been  gratified  with  this  curi- 
ous memorial  of  the  poet,  by  the  industry  of  the 
Abbe  Spaletti,  who,  in  1781.  published  at  Rome  a 
fac-simile  of  the  pages  of  the  Vatican  manuscript, 
which  contained  the  odes  of  Anacreon.' 

Monsier  Gail,  has  given  a  catalogue  of  all  the  edi- 
tions and  translations  of  Anacreon.  I  find  their  num- 
ber to  be  much  greater  than  I  could  possibly  have 
had  an  opportunity  of  consulting.  I  shall  therefore 
content  myself  with  enumerating  those  editions  only 
which  I  have  been  able  to  collect ;  they  are  very 
few,  but  I  believe  they  are  the  most  important : — 

The  edition  by  Henry  Stephen,  1554,  at  Paris — 
the  Latin  version  is,  by  Colomesius,  attributed  to 
John  Dorat." 

The  old  French  translations,  by  Ronsard  and  Bel- 
lean — the  former  published  in  1555,  the  latter  in 
1556.  It  appears  that  Henry  Stephen  communicated 
his  manuscript  of  Anacreon  to  Rcnsard  before  he 
published  it,  by  a  note  of  Muretus  upon  one  of  the 
sonnets  of  that  poet.* 

The  edition  of  Le  Fevre,  1660. 

The  edition  by  Madame  Dacier,  1681,  with  a  prose 
translation.*^ 


1  This,  perhaps,  is  the  "  .ToBuita  qiiiilam  Gra;eulus"  al- 
luded to  i)y  Barries,  who  has  himself  composid  an  Avy.zpiiuv 
Xpio-Tiavo;,  as  absurd  as  the  rest,  but  somewhat  more  skil- 
fully eMi'Cuied. 

2'  I  have  seen  somewhere  an  account  of  the  MSS.  of  Bar- 
thius,  written  just  after  his  de;illi,  which  nienUons  inany 
more  Anacreontics  ofhis  than  I  believe  have  ever  been  pub- 
lished. 

:i  Tiius  too  Alberlus,  a  Danish  poet : 

Fidii  tui  minister 
Gaiidebo  semper  esse 
Gauilebo  semper  illi 
Litare  tluire  mnlso ; 
Gaudebo  -ieiniier  ilium 
Laudiire  piimilillis 
Anacreonlicillia. 

See  the  Danish  Poets  collected  by  Rostgaard. 

These  pretty  littlenesses  defy  translation.  There  is  a  very 
jeautiful  Anacreontic  by  Hugo  Grotius.  See  lib.  i.  Far- 
rasinis. 

4  From  Angerianus,  Prior  has  taken  his  most  elegant 
iiivth<doL'ieal  euhjerts. 

5  See  Cresimlieiii,  Ilistoria  della  Volp.  Poes. 

6  F,'aimable  Hagcdorn  vaiit  (luehniefois  Anacreon.  Do- 
tal, Idee  rie  la  PoSsie  Allenianfle. 

7  See  Toderini  on  the  learning  of  the  Turks,  as  translated 
l)V  T)e  Coiirnard.  Prince  ("Mniemir  has  made  the  Russians 
ar(|tininted  with  Anaereoi).  Sr-e  bis  life,  prefi.\ed  to  a  Irans- 
•alio[i  of  his  Satires,  by  the  Ahbt;  de.  Guasco. 


1  Riibertellus,  in  his  work  "  De  Ralione  corrigendi,"  pio 
nounces  (hese  verses  to  be  triflings  of  some  insipid  Grae'iist. 

2  Ronsard  commemorates  this  event: 


Je  vay  boire  a  Henri  Etienne 
Qui  lies  enfers  nousa  rendu, 
Du  viei!  Anacreon  perdu. 

La  dooce  lyre  Tei'enne. 


Ode  XV.  book  5. 


I  fill  the  bowl  to  Stephen's  name. 

Who  rescued  from  the  gloom  of  night 

The  Teinn  bard  of  festive  fame, 
And  brought  his  living  lyre  to  light. 

3  This  manuscript,  which  Spaletti  thinks  as  old  as  the 
tenth  century,  w:is  brought  from  the  Palatine  into  the  Va- 
tican library  ;  it  is  a  kind  of  amhulo'ry  of  Greek  epigrams; 
and  in  the  67l)tb  page  of  it  are  Ibnnd  the  vftix/iSia.  o-U|Uno- 
o-ixxx  of  Anacreon. 

4  "  Le  mfime  (M.  Vossius)  m'a  dlt  qu'il  avait  poss(^ii(^  up 
Anacreon,  oil  Scalicer  avait  marque  de  sa  miiin,  <]u'Henri 
F.lienne  n' 6tail  piis  I'auti  ur  de  la  version  Latine  des  odea 
de  ce  poijte,  mais  Jean  Dorat."  Paulus  Colomesius,  Parti 
ciilariti'B. 

Colomesius,  however,  seems  to  have  relied  too  implicitly 
on  Vossius:  almost  all  these  Particularil6s  begin  with  "M. 
Vossius  m'a  dit." 

.5  "  I^a  fiction  de  ce  sonnet,  comme  I'auteur  mftme  m'a 
dit,  est  prise  d'une  ode  d'Anacrt^im,  encore  non  imprim«« 
ipi'll  a  dopnis  tradnile,  o-u  ftiv  ci>,.«  yjKiSuv." 

fi  The  au'hor  of  Nonvellesde  la  Repub.  des  Lett,  praisei 
this  transla'ion  very  liberally.  I  have  always  thonchl  il 
vague  and  spiiitless. 


ODES  OF  AiN'ACUEON. 


2:i7 


The  edition  by  Longepierre,  1684,  with  a  transla- 
tion in  verse. 

The  edition  by  Baxter;  London,  loOf). 

A  French  tri.nslation  by  La  Fosse,  1704. 

"  L'llisloirc  des  Odes  d'Anacreon,"  by  Monsieur 
Nriiion ;   Kotierdum,  1712. 

f\  translation  in  English  verse,  by  several  hands, 
1713,  in  which  the  odes  by  Cowley  are  inserted. 

Tlie  edition  by  Barnes;  London,  1721. 

The  edition  by  Dr.  Trapp,  1733,  wiih  a  Latin  ver- 
sion in  elegiac  metre. 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  .lohn  .\ddison, 
17C3. 

A  collection  of  Italian  translations  of  Anacreon, 
published  at  Venice,  1736,  consisting  of  those  by 
Corsini,  Regnier,"  Salvini,  fliarchetti,  and  one  by  se- 
veral anonymous  authors.^ 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  Fawkes  and 
Doctor  Broome,  1760.' 

Another,  anonymous,  1768. 

The  edition  by  Spaletti,  at  Rome,  1781 ;  with  the 
fac-simile  of  the  Vatican  MS. 

The  edition  by  Degcn,  1786,  who  published  also  a 
German  translation  of  Anacreon,  esteemed  the  best. 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  Urquliart,  1787. 

The  edition  by  C'itoyen  Gail,  at  Paris,  seventh 
year,  17'J9,  with  a  prose  translation. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


ODE  L* 

I  SAW  the  smiling  bard  of  pleasure. 
The  minstrel  of  the  Teian  measure ; 
'T  was  in  a  vision  of  the  night, 
He  beam'd  upon  my  wandering  sight : 
I  heard  his  voice,  and  warmly  press'd 
The  dear  enthusiast  to  my  breast. 
His  tresses  wore  a  silvery  die, 
But  beauty  sparkled  in  his  eye  ; 
Sparkled  in  his  eyes  of  fire, 
Through  the  mist  of  soft  desire. 


1  The  no»Ps  of  Regnier  are  not  inserted  in  this  eilrtion  : 
they  must  be  interesting, 'as  thev  were  for  the  most  i)art 
Ciiinmiinic.nted  by  the  ing.'nious  Menage,  who,  we  may  per- 
ceive, bestowed  some  research  on  tlie  sul)j(!''l,  by  a  pasi^.i^o 
In  ihe  MiMiMgiana — "  C  est  iiussi  lui  (M.  Biu'o!)  qui  .s'est 
ricinne  la  peine  de  conferer  des  manuscrits  en  Iialie  dans  le 
temtis  que  je  travuillais  sur  .\nacr6on  " — Menagiana,  secon- 
de  part'e. 

'J  I  find  in  FTaym's  Notizia  de'  Libri  rari,  an  Italian  trans- 
lation mentioned,  by  Caponne  m  Venice,  IfiTO. 

:}  Th  s  is  Ihe  most  comi)lete  of  the  English  translations. 

4  This  ode  is  ihe  first  of  the  series  in  the  Valiciin  manu- 
scripi,  which  altribiUes  it  to  no  other  poet  than  Anacreon. 
They  vvho  assert  that  the  manuscript  imputes  it  to  Basilius 
Imve  been  misled  by  the  words  Tou  xvnu  Sx<riKix^;  in  the 
margin,  which  are  merely  intended  as  a  title  to  the  follow- 
ing ode.  Whether  it  be  the  production  of  Anacreon  or  not, 
it  has  all  the  features  of  ancient  simplicity,  and  is  a  beautiful 
Imitation  of  the  poet's  happiest  manner. 

Sparkled  in  his  eijes  of  fire, 

Tlirov^h  the  mist  of  soft  desire.]  "  How  could  he  know 
at  the  first  look  (says  Ba.\(er)  thai  the  poet  was  ciXeui'o;?" 
There  are  surely  many  tell-tales  of  tliis  propensity;  and  the 
following  are  Ihe  indicia's,  which  the  physiognomist  gives, 
describing  a  disposition  perhaps  nut  unlike  that  of  .Anacreon: 
OttxKftti    xXoccsi'Di,  xu/JSJivoi'Ts;    !i'    »uroi;,    si;    xCp^Si 


«J<xo 


«JtCU)l- 


His  lip  exhaled,  whene'er  he  sigh'd, 

The  fragrance  of  the  racy  tide ; 

And,  as  with  weak  and  reeling  feet, 

He  came  my  cordial  kiss  to  meet. 

An  iiifiiit  of  the  Cyprian  band 

Guided  liim  on  with  tender  hand. 

Quick  from  his  glowing  brows  he  drew 

His  braid,  of  many  a  wanton  hue; 

I  took  the  braid  of  wanton  twine. 

It  breathed  of  him  and  binsli'd  with  wine 

I  hung  it  o'er  my  thoughtless  brow, 

And  ah  !  I  feel  its  magic  now  ! 

I  feel  that  even  his  garland's  touch 

Can  make  the  bosom  love  too  much ! 


ODE  IL 
Give  me  the  harp  of  epic  song. 
Which  Homer's  finger  thriU'd  along; 
But  tear  aw'ay  the  sanguine  string, 
For  war  is  not  the  theme  I  sing. 
Proclaim  the  laws  of  festal  rite, 
I  'rn  monarch  of  the  board  to-night ; 
And  all  around  shall  brim  as  high, 
And  quatf  the  tide  as  deep  as  1 ! 
And  when  the  cluster's  mellowing  dews 
Their  warm,  enchanting  balm  infuse, 
Our  feet  shall  catch  the  elastic  bound, 
And  reel  as  through  the  dance's  round 
Oh  Bacchus !  we  shall  sing  to  thee, 
In  wild  but  sweet  ebriety  ! 
And  Hash  around  such  sparks  of  thought, 
As  Bacchus  could  alone  have  taught ! 

yo.,  curs  :;u(rsj);  <fx.vK>i;,  outs  a/iouo-oi. —  .-Vdamanlius 
"The  eyes  that  are  liUMiid  and  fluctuating  siiow  a  piopec- 
siiy  to  pleasure  and  love;  they  bespeak  loo  a  mind  of  ic 
tegrity  and  beneficence,  a  generosity  of  disposition,  and  a 
genius  for  poetry." 

Baptista  Porta  tells  us  some  strange  opinions  of  the  an- 
cient physiognomists  on  the  subject,  their  reasons  for  which 
were  curious,  and  perhaps  not  altogether  fanciful. — \'"U 
I'hysiognom.  Juhan.  Baptist.  Portm. 

I  tniik  the  braid  of  wanton,  twine, 

It  hri:athed  of  him,  etc.]  Pliilostratus  has  the  same  thought 
in  one  of  iiis  Ep^yixx,  where  lie  speaks  of  the  garland  which 
he  had  sent  to  his  niisircss.  .  Ei  Si  liauKii  t<  ijiajl'  x'f'O'' 

5x»,    T»      \.H-^XVX     XVrtTTifi-^Ov,   fitJXSTi     TTViOVTX     ^oSmV   ftOVOW 

xK\x  \xi  (TOU.  "If  ihuu  an  inclined  to  gratify  thv  lover, 
send  hiiii  b  ick  the  remains  of  the  garland,  no  longer  brealh- 
ing  of  roses  only,  but  of  thee!"  Which  pretty  conceit  l« 
borrowed  fas  the  am  hor  of  the  Observer  remarks)  in  a  well- 
known  little  song  of  Ben  Jonson's: — 

"  But  thou  thereon  didst  only  breathe, 

And  sent  it  hick  to  nic ; 
Since  when,  it  looks  and  smells,  I  swear. 

Not  of  itself,  but  thee!" 

jJnrf  ah!  I  fed  its  magic  now!]  This  idea,  as  Longe 
pierre  remarks,  is  in  an  epigram  of  the  seventh  book  of  \hr 
Antliologia. 

E;OTS  /iOt  jrivoi'Ti  cruvtTT-aouo-x  Xxpix>.o> 
Axipn  TOUf  iJiou;  x,u^tixKt  <rTl?avou{, 

riup    0\00V     SxTTTll    fii. 

While  I  unconsrions  quafT'd  my  wine, 

'T  was  then  thy  fingers  slily  stole 
Upon  my  brow  that  wreath  of  thine. 
Which  since  has  maddeii'd  all  my  soul! 
Proclaim  the  laws  of  festal  rite.]     The   nncientg   pr» 
scribed  certain  law.s  of  drinking  at  their  festivals,  for  an  ac 
count  of  which  see  ihe  comnien'alors.     .Anacreon  here  act* 
the  symposiarch,  or  master  <if  the  festival.     I  have  tran« 
lated  accordins  to  those  who  consider  xu;rfX/.ce  6'ruj.r  a« 
an  invefsiou  of  Sso-juou;  xu^cXKuiv 


238 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Then  give  the  harp  of  epic  song, 
Which  Homer's  finger  thrill'd  along ; 
But  tear  away  the  sanguine  string, 
For  war  is  not  the  theme  I  sing ! 


ODE  III.' 

Listen  to  the  Muse's  lyre. 
Master  of  the  pencil's  fire  ! 
Sketch'd  in  painting's  bold  display, 
Many  a  city  first  pourtray; 
Many  a  city,  revelling  free, 
Warm  with  loose  festivity. 
Picture  then  a  rosy  train, 
Bacchants  straying  o'er  the  plain ; 
Piping,  as  they  roam  along. 
Roundelay  or  shepherd-song. 
Paint  me  next,  if  painting  may 
Such  a  theme  as  this  pourtray, 
All  the  happy  heaven  of  love, 
These  elect  of  Cupid  prove. 


ODE  IV.2 
Vulcan  !  hear  your  glorious  task ; 
I  do  not  from  your  labours  ask 
In  gorgeous  panoply  to  shine. 
For  war  was  ne'er  a  sport  of  mme 
No — let  me  have  a  silver  bowl, 
Where  I  may  cradle  all  my  soul; 
But  let  not  o'er  its  simple  frame 
your  mimic  constellations  flame 
Nor  grave  upon  the  swelling  side 
Orion,  scowling  o'er  the  tide. 
I  care  not  for  the  glittering  wane, 
Nor  yet  the  weeping  sister  train. 
But  oh  !  let  vines  luxuriant  roll 
Their  blushing  tendrils  round  the  bowl. 
While  many  a  rose-lipp'd  bacchant  maid 
Is  culling  clusters  in  their  shade. 
Let  sylvan  gods,  m  antic  shapes, 
Wildly  press  the  gushing  grapes; 
Ana  flights  of  loves,  in  wanton  ringlets, 
Flit  around  on  golden  winglets ; 
While  Venus,  to  her  mystic  bower. 
Beckons  the  rosy  vintage-Power. 


)  Monsit  ..r  l-a  Fosse  has  thought  proper  to  lengtlien  this 
puem  by  considerable  interpolations  of  his  own,  which  he 
Ihinks  are  inciispeiisably  necessary  to  the  completion  of  the 
description. 

•i  This  is  the  ode  which  Anliis  Gellius  tells  us  was  per- 
formed by  minstrels  at  an  entertainment  where  he  was  pre- 
tent. 

mile  mavy  a  rose-lipp'd  bacchant  maid,  etc.]  I  have 
jiven  this  according  to  the  Vatican  manuscript,  in  which 
nt  ode  concludes  with  the  following  lines,  not  inserted  ac- 
rurutely  in  any  of  the  editions : 

K.XI  (ioTpua;  xar'  auTooK 
Kxi  /txivxSx;  TpuyaKr*;, 

noiM    J«    KtfVOV   OIVOU, 

AnvoSarx;  rrarouvT*;, 
Touj  (TttTupou;  yeKoivTaf, 
K.XI  %p''""ouf  TOus  e^'ji-txff 
Kati  KuJtpijv  yiKiutrxVf 
'Omv  nxKo)  Aucelio, 
EocoTce  »•  A^poJiTtiv; 


ODE  V.' 
Grave  me  a  cup  with  brilliant  grace, 
Deep  as  the  rich  and  holy  vase. 
Which  on  the  shrine  of  Spring  reposes 
When  shepherds  hail  that  hour  of  roses 
Grave  it  with  themes  of  chaste  design, 
Fomi'd  for  a  heavenly  bowl  like  mine. 
Display  not  there  the  barbarous  rites 
In  which  religious  zeal  delights  ; 
Nor  any  tale  of  tragic  fate. 
Which  history  trembles  to  relate ! 
No — cull  thy  fancies  from  above. 
Themes  of  heaven  and  themes  of  love 
Let  Bacchus,  Jove's  ambrosial  boy, 
Distil  the  grapes  in  drops  of  joy. 
And  while  he  smiles  at  every  tear. 
Let  warm-eyed  Venus,  dancing  near 
With  spirits  of  the  genial  bed. 
The  dewy  herbage  deftly  tread. 
Let  Love  be  there,  without  his  arms, 
In  timid  nakedness  of  charms  ; 
And  all  the  Graces  link'd  with  Love, 
Blushing  through  the  shadowy  grove ; 
While  rosy  boys,  disporting  round. 
In  circles  trip  the  velvet  ground ; 
But  ah !  if  there  Apollo  toys, 
I  tremble  for  my  rosy  boys  ! 


ODE  VI.2 

As  late  I  sought  the  spangled  bowers, 
To  cull  a  wreath  of  matin  flowers, 


1  Degen  thinks  that  this  ode  is  a  more  modern  imitatioe 
of  tlie  preceding.  There  is  a  poem  by  Cslius  Calcagninu.s 
in  the  manner  of  hotli,  where  he  gives  instructions  about  the 
making  of  a  nug. 

Tornabis  annulum  mihi 

Et  fabre,  et  apte,  et  commode,  etc.  etc. 

Let  Love  be  there,  without  his  arrns,  etc.]     Thus  Saona- 
zaro  in  the  eclogue  of  Gallicio  nell'  Arcadia: 
Vegnan  li  vaghi  Amori 
Senza  fiammclle,  6  strali, 
Scherzando  insieme  pargoletti  e  nudi. 

Fluttering  on  the  busy  wing, 

A  train  of  naked  Cnpids  came, 
S))nrting  round  in  harmless  ring, 

Without  a  dart,  without  a  flame. 

And  thus  in  the  Pervigilium  Veneris; 

Ite  nyinph;c,  posuit  arma,  feriatus  est  amor. 

Love  is  disarm'd — ye  nymphs,  in  safety  stray, 
Your  bosoms  now  may  boast  a  lioliday  I 

But  ah!  if  there  Jipollo  toys, 

1  tremble  fur  my  rosy  boys !]  An  alhisioii  to  the  fable, 
that  Apollo  hiid  iiilled  his  beloved  hoy  Hyacinth,  while 
playing  with  him  at  quoits.  "This  (says  M.  I, a  Fosse)  is 
assuredly  the  sense  of  the  te.xt,  and  it  cannot  admit  of  any 
other." 

The  Italian  translators,  to  save  themselves  the  Irounle  of 
a  note,  have  taken  the  liberty  of  making  Anacreon  explain 
this  fable.     Thus  Salvini,  the  most  literal  of  any  of  them ; 

Ma  con  lor  noii  ciuochi  Apollo; 

Cli'!  in  liero  risco 

Col  dnrt.  disco 

A  (iiaciiilo  fiacci^  il  collo. 

2  The  Valiean  .MS.  [ironounces  this  heniilifnl  fic'inn  lolm 
the  genuine  olispring  of  Aiincreon.  It  has  all  the  feature" 
of  the  parent : 

et  fnrile  insciis 
Nosi'itftnr  ah  onicMbus. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


239 


Where  many  an  early  rose  was  weeping, 
1  found  tlie  urchin  Cupia  sleeping. 
(  caught  tiie  boy,  a  goblet's  tide 
Was  richly  mantling  by  my  side, 
I  caught  liim  by  his  downy  wing, 
And  vvhchn'd  him  in  the  racy  spring. 
Oh  !  then  I  drank  the  poison'd  bowl. 
And  Love  now  nestles  in  my  soul ! 
Yes,  yes,  my  soul  is  Cupid's  nest, 
I  feel  him  fluttering  in  my  breast. 


ODE  VII.' 
The  women  tell  me  every  day 
That  all  my  bloom  has  past  away. 
"  Behold,"  the  pretty  wantons  cry, 
"  Behold  this  mirror  with  a  sigh  , 
The  locks  upon  thy  brow  are  few, 
And,  like  the  rest,  they're  withering  too !' 
Whether  decline  has  ihinn'dmy  hair, 
I'm  sure  I  neither  know  nor  care  ; 


The  commentulors,  however,  have  attributed  it  to  Julian, 
t  royal  pool. 

H'hcre  mmiy  an  early  rose  was  weeping, 

I  foiinil  the  urr.hiii  Cupid  sleeping.]  This  idea  is  pret- 
tily iiiiitulud  ill  tlie  lollowing  ei)igram  by  Andreas  Nauge- 
riuo: 

Florenles  dum  forte  viigans  tnea  Hyella  per  liortos 

Toxit  udoralis  lilia  cuna  rosis, 
Ecci;  rosas  inter  lalilaiitem  invciiit  amorem 

Et  sinuil  nnnexis  lloribu;!  iin|>licuit. 
Lurtatur  piiiiio,  et  conlrii  nitcntibus  alis 

Indoiiiitus  tfntat  solvere  viiicla  puer, 
Mox  ubi  lactoulas  et  dignas  matre  papillas 

Vidit  et  ora  ipsos  nota  inovero  Di'os. 
Inipositosquc  com^  ambrosios  ul  seiitit  odores 

(iuiisque  legit  diti  nit'sse  beutiis  Arabs; 
"  I  Mixit)  niua,  (luiDre  novum  libi  iiiatur  amorem, 

Imperio  sedes  ba;c  erit  apta  meo." 

As  fair  Hyella,  tbrougli  the  bloomy  grove, 

A  wreath  of  many  min^lrd  flow'rets  wove. 

Within  a  rose  a  sleeping  love  she  found, 

And  in  the  twisted  wreaths  the  baby  bound. 

Awhile  he  struggled,  and  impatient  tried 

To  break  the  rosy  bonds  the  virgin  tied ; 

Hut  when  he  saw  her  bosom's  milky  swell. 

Her  fiaiures,  where  the  eye  of  Jove  might  dwell; 

,^  tid  caught  the  ambrosial  odours  of  her  hair, 

Uich  as  the  breathings  of  Arabian  air; 

•'Oh  I  mother  Venus"  (said  the  raptured  child 

Bv  charms,  of  more  than  mortal  bloom,  beguiled,) 

"  Go,  seek  another  hoy,  thou'st  lost  thine  own, 

Hyella's  bosom  shall  be  Cupid's  throne !" 

This  epigram  of  Naugerius  is  imitated  by  Lodovico  Dolce, 
Ul  a  poem  beginning 

Moiitre  racciiglie  hor  uno,  hor  allro  fiore 
Vicina  a  un  rio  di  chiare  et  lucid'  onde, 
Lidia,  etc.  etc. 

1  Alberli  has  imitated  this  ode,  in  a  poem  beginning 
Ni<a  mi  di'^e  e  Clori 
Tirsi,  lu  se'  pur  veglio. 
IVliethrr  deeVnic  han  thin  t'U  viij  hair, 
I'm  sure  t  neither  know  noreare.]     Henry  Stephen  very 
justly  remarks  the  elegant  negligence  of  expression  in  the 
iriginal  here: 


Ey.A,  Si   T«; 

:tOfcx;   /i!V 

E.t'  iio-iv, 

fiir'   ct,7rv,K6o 

Oux'  OiSx. 

And  I/Ongepierre  has  adduced  from  Catullus  what  he  thinks 
a  similar  insiance  of  this  simplicity  of  manner : 

Ipse  quis  sit,  utrum  sit,  an  non  sit,  id  quoque  ncscil. 

Longepierre  was  a  good  critic,  but  perhaps  the  line  which 
be  has  selected  is  a  specimen  of  a  carelessness  not  very  ele- 


But  this  1  know,  and  this  I  feel. 
As  onward  to  the  tomb  I  steal. 
That  still  as  death  approaches  nearer, 
The  joys  of  lile  are  sweeter,  dearer; 
And  had  I  but  an  hour  to  live. 
That  httle  hour  to  bliss  I'd  give! 


ODE  VIII." 

I  CARE  not  for  the  idle  state 
Of  Persia's  king,  the  rich,  the  great! 
I  envy  not  the  monarch's  throne. 
Nor  wish  the  treasured  gold  my  own. 
Rut  oh  I  be  mine  the  rosy  braid. 
The  fervour  of  my  brows  to  shade ; 
Be  mine  the  odours,  richly  sighing, 
Amidst  my  hoary  tresses  Hying. 
To-day  I'll  haste  to  quaff  my  wine. 
As  if  to-morrow  ne'er  should  shine  ; 
But  if  to-morrow  comes,  why  then — 
I'll  haste  to  quaff  my  wine  again. 


gant ;  at  the  same  time  I  confess,  that  none  of  I'le  Latii 
poets  have  ever  appeared  lo  me  so  capable  of  imitating  tha 
graces  of  .Anacreou  as  Catullus,  if  lie  had  not  LJIowed  a 
di'jiraved  imagination  to  hurry  him  so  often  into  vuLjai 
licentiousness. 

7'hat  still  IIS  death  approaches  nearer. 
The  joys  of  life  are  sweeter,  dearer;]     Pontanus  iisi  • 
very  delicate  thought  upon  the  subject  of  old  age. 

Quid  rides,  Malrona  ?  senem  q  iid  lemnis  amanlemT 
Uuisquis  amat  nulla  est  conditione  senex. 
Why  do  you  scorn  my  want  of  youth, 
And  will)  a  smile  my  brow  behold  1 
Lady,  dear  I  believe  this  truth 
That  he  who  loves  cannot  be  old. 
1  "The  German  poet  Leasing  has  imitated  this  ode.  Vo 
i.  p.  24." — Degen.     Gail  de  Eililionibus. 

liaxter  conjectures  that  this  was  written  upon  the  occa- 
sion of  our  poet's  reinrningthe  money  to  Policrates,  accord 
ing  to  the  anecdote  in  Stoba-us. 
/  care  nut  for  the  idle  slate 

Of  Persia's  king,  etc  ]  "  There  is  a  fragment  of  Archi 
lochus  in  Plutarch,  '  De  tranquillitato  animi,'  which  our 
poet  has  very  closely  imitated  here :  it  begins, 

Ov  ^01  T«  Tuyea)  tou  jroxuxpufov  jMtXsi. — Barnes. 
In  one  of  the  monkish  imitators  of  Anacreon  we  find  the 
same  thought. 

Ti  (Toi  JiA.£i{  yivtirixi; 
©£\si5  '[vyt'ji,  Tx  ic*i  Ta  ; 

Be  mine  the  odours,  richly  sighing, 
.^n:idst  my  hoary  tresses  Jlyiitir.]  lntheorigin.il,  ^vfOT. 
xxrxZjiix^"  v^ivyiv.  On  account  of  this  idea  of  perfuming 
the  biard,  Cornelius  de  Pauw  pronoum-es  the  whole  ode  to 
be  tiie  spurious  prudu'rtion  of  some  lascivious  monk,  who 
was  nursing  his  beard  with  unguents.  But  he  sliuuld  have 
known  that  this  was  an  ati'jient  eastern  custom,  which,  if  w<» 
may  bi'lieve  Savary,  still  exists:  "Voiis  voyez.  Monsieur 
(says  this  traveller,)  que  I'usage  antique  de  se  parfuiner  la 
tftte  et  la  barbe,  (a)  c61ebr6  par  le  prophete  Roi,  subsists 
encore  de  nos  jours." — Letire  12.  Savary  likewise  cites 
this  very  ode  of  Anacreon.  Angerianus  has  not  though' 
the  idea  inconsistent ;  he  has  introduced  it  in  the  followin; 
lines: 

Hapc  mihi  cura,  rosis  et  cingere  tempora  myrto, 

Et  curas  multo  dilapidare  mcro. 
Ha!c  mihi  cura,  comas  et  barbam  tingere  succo 
.^ssyrio  et  dulces  coniinuare  jocos. 

This  be  my  care  to  twine  the  rosy  wreath, 

.And  drench  my  sorrows  in  the  nm|ile  bowl. 
To  let  my  beard  the  Assyrian  unguent  breathe. 
And  give  a  loose  ti   levily  of  soul ! 
(a)  "  Sicul  nnguentum  in  capite  quod  desrendil  in  *i» 
bain  Aaron. — Psaume  13.1." 


240 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  thus  while  all  our  days  are  bright, 

Nor  time  has  dimm'd  their  bloomy  light, 

Let  us  the  festal  liours  beguile 

With  manll.ng  cup  and  cordial  smile  ; 

And  shed  from  every  howl  of  wine 

The  richest  drop  on  Bacchus'  shrine  ! 

For  death  may  come  with  brow  unpleasant, 

May  come  when  least  we  wish  him  present, 

And  beckon  to  the  sable  shore. 

And  grimly  bid  us — drink  no  more  ! 


ODE  IX.' 
I  PRAY  thee,  by  the  gods  above, 
Give  me  the  mighty  bowl  I  love, 
And  let  me  sing,  in  wild  delight, 
"I  will— I  will  be  mad  to-night!" 
Alcmaeon  once,  as  legends  tell. 
Was  frenzied  by  the  fiends  of  hell; 
Orestes  too,  with  naked  tread, 
Frantic  paced  the  mountain  head  ; 
And  why  ? — a  murder'd  mother's  shade 
Before  their  conscious  fancy  play'd  ; 
But  I  can  ne'er  a  nv    '^lorer  be. 
The  grape  alone  t;     .  1  bleed  by  me ; 
Yet  can  I  rave,  in  vv.ld  delight, 
"I  will — I  will  be  mad  to-night." 
The  son  of  Jove,  in  d.iys  of  yore 
Imbrued  his  hands  in  youthful  gore, 
And  brandish'd,  vv.rh  a  maniac  joy, 
The  quiver  of  the  expiring  boy  : 
And  Ajax,  with  tremendous  shield. 
Infuriate  scour'd  the  guiltless  field. 
But  I,  whose  hands  no  quiver  hold, 
No  weapon  but  this  flask  of  gold, 
The  trophy  of  whose  frantic  hours 
Is  but  a  scatter'd  wreath  of  flowers; 
Yet,  yet  can  sing  with  wild  delight, 
"I  will — I  will  be  mad  to-night !'' 


ODE  X.^ 
Tell  me  how  to  punish  thee, 
For  the  mischief  done  to  me  ! 
Silly  swallow  !  prating  thing. 
Shall  1  clip  that  wheeling  wing? 


1  The  poet  here  is  in  a  frenzy  of  enjoyment,  and  it  is,  in 
deed,  "  amabilis  insania." 

Fnror  di  poesi", 
Di  lasciviii,  e  di  vino, 
Triplii-ato  farnre, 
Baoco,  Apollo,  ct  Amoro. 

Ritratti  del  Cavalier  Marino. 

This  is,  a"  Scaliger  expresses  it, 

.     Tnsanire  dulce, 

tlBapidum  I'urere  furorem. 

M  This  odi'  is  addressed  to  a  swtillow.  I  find  from  Pecen 
(iiid  from  Gail's  indox,  tliat  llie  Germnn  poet  Weir^se  lias 
imitated  it,  Sihi-rz.  Lied-r.  lib.  ii  carm.  5;  that  Rimilc 
oiso  has  imilaii'd  ii,  Lyr.  Bliinienh'sc,  lib.  iv.  p.  33");  and 
RO'iie  others. — S"c  Onil  de  Ediiioti'hiis. 

We  are  referred  liv  Defren  to  that  stupid  bo(d{,  llie  Kpis- 
flos  of  .Meiph  on,  tenth  epistle,  thrd  book;  where  lopbon 
f.omplains  to  Kraston  of  beiiic  wakened,  by  the  crowing  of 
a  cock,  from  his  vision  of  riches. 

Silly  xv)  all  run  !  prriiivrrtliivir,  etc.]  The  loquacity  of  the 
•wallow  was  proverbializod  ;  thus  Nioostralus : 


Or,  as  Tereus  did  of  old 
(.So  the  fabled  tale  is  told,) 
Shall  I  tear  that  tongue  away. 
Tongue  that  uttcr'd  such  a  lay  ? 
How  unthinking  hast  thou  been  ! 
Long  before  the  dawn  was  seen. 
When  1  slumber'd  in  a  dream, 
(Love  was  the  delicious  theme  !) 
Just  when  I  was  nearly  blest. 
Ah  !  thy  matin  broke  my  rest ! 


ODE  XL' 
"  Tell  me,  gentle  youth,  I  pray  theei 
What  in  purchase  shall  I  pay  thee 
For  this  little  waxen  toy, 
Image  of  the  Paphian  boy?" 
Thus  I  said,  the  other  day. 
To  a  youth  who  pass'd  my  way. 
"  Sir,"  (he  answer'd,  and  the  while 
Answer'd  all  in  Doric  style,) 
"  Take  it,  for  a  trifle  take  it ; 
Think  not  yet  that  I  could  make  it; 
Pray  believe  it  was  not  I ; 
No — it  cost  me  many  a  sigh. 
And  I  can  no  longer  keep 
Little  gods  who  murder  sleep  !" 
"  Here,  then,  here,"  "I  said,  with  joy, 
Here  is  silver  for  the  boy  : 
He  shall  be  my  bosom  guest, 
Idol  of  my  pious  breast!" 
Little  Love  !  thou  now  art  mine. 
Warm  me  with  that  torch  of  thine ; 
Make  me  feel  as  I  liave  felt. 
Or  thy  waxen  frame  shall  melt. 
I  must  burn  in  warm  desire, 
Or  thou,  my  boy,  in  yonder  fire ! 


ODE  XII. 

They  tell  how  Atys,  wild  with  love. 
Roams  the  mount  and  haunted  grove ;' 


El  TO  (rui'£%x.;  za.  TToKKx  y.xi   TX'x,ix'i   KxKnti 
Hi/  TOu  Opoviiv  -n-apacriijwoi',  at   Xi'f.iSoviS 
EKiyovr'  av  i)//cuk  o-uj? povsrTtpsti   'sroKv. 

If  in  pratin?  from  mornin»  till  nijlit, 

A  sign  of  our  wisdom  there  be, 
The  swallows  are  wisi-r  by  right. 

For  they  prattle  much  I'ast'jr  than  we. 
Or,  as  Tereus  did  of  old,  etc.]  Modern  poetry  has  con 
llriHod  the  name  of  Philomel  upon  the  nightingale;  but  mnny 
very  respectable  ancients  assigned  this  metamorphose  ta 
Progne,  and  made  Philomel  the  swallow,  as  Anacreon  duel 
here 

1  It  is  difficult  to  preserve  with  any  grace  the  narrative 
simplicitvof  thisode,  nnd  the  humour  of  the  turn  with  which 
it  ponchides.  [  I'eel  that  the  translation  must  ajipcat  vcr 
vapid,  if  not  ludicrous,  to  an  English  reader. 

Jlnd  I  can  no  lo'i/rcr  hrrp 

T.iU.le  froils,  who  vivriler  sleep!]  I  have  not  literall) 
rendered  the  epithet  z^xvTOfexrx  ;  if  it  has  any  meunm^ 
here,  it  is  one,  perhaps,  better  omitted. 

1  must  hum  in  warm  desire, 

Or  t/iou,  my  boy,  in  yonder  fire  !]  Monsitnt  Longcpierre 
cimji^etiires  froin  ibis,  that,  whatever  Anacreon  might  say, 
he  sometimes  felt  the  inconveniences  of  old  age,  and  here 
solicits  from  the  power  of  Love  a  warmth  which  he  could 
no  longer  expect  from  Nature. 

2  They  tell  how  .fltys,  wild  with  love. 

Roams  the  mount  and  haunted  grove.]  There  are  ma  it 


UX>ES  OF  ANACREON. 


:ii 


'"ybele's  name  lie  howis  around, 
The  gloomy  blast  returns  the  sound  ! 

Oft  too  by  Claros'  liallovv'd  spring, 
The  votaries  of  the  laurell'd  king 

Quaff  the  inspiring  magic  stream. 

And  rave  in  wild  prophetic  dream. 

But  f'rensied  dreams  are  not  lor  me, 

Great  Bacchus  is  my  deity  ! 

Full  of  mirth,  and  full  of  him. 

While  waves  of  perfume  round  me  swim  ; 

While  flavour'd  howls  are  full  supplied. 

And  you  sit  blushing  by  my  side, 

I  will  be  mad  and  raving  too — 

Mad,  my  girl !  with  love  for  you ! 


ODE  XIII. 

I  WILL,  I  will ;  the  conflict 's  past, 
And  I'll  consent  to  love  at  last. 
Cupid  has  long,  with  smilmg  art, 
Invited  me  to  yield  my  heart ; 
And  I  have  thought  that  peace  of  mind 
Should  not  be  for  a  siiule  resign'd ; 
And  I  've  repell'd  the  tender  lure, 
And  hoped  my  heart  should  sleep  secure. 
But  slighted  in  his  boasted  charms. 
The  angry  infant  flew  to  arms ; 
He  slung  his  quiver's  golden  frame. 
He  took  his  bow,  his  shafts  of  flame. 
And  proudly  summon'd  ine  to  yield. 
Or  meet  him  on  the  martial  field. 
And  what  did  I  unthinking  do  ? 
1  took  to  arms,  undaunted  too  : — 


coniradiclory  storii.-s  of  the  loves  of  Cybele  and  Atys.  It  is 
jeriain  tliiit  lie  wus  nmiilatcd,  but  whether  by  his  own  fury, 
or  her  jealousy,  is  a  pulnt  which  authors  are  not  agreed 
upon. 

CybeWs  name  he  howls  around,  etc.]     I  have  iidopted 
Jie  accentuation  which  Elms  Andre;is  gives  to  Cybele: 
In  moiitibus  Cybeh-n 
Magno  soiians  boatu. 

Oft  too  by  Clarus'  htdluw'd  spring,  etc.]  This  fountain 
was  in  a  grove,  coiisecrateil  lo  Apollo,  and  situated  between 
Colophon  and  Lebedos,  in  Ionia.  The  god  hud  an  oracle 
lliere.     Scaliger  bas  thus  alluded  to  it  in  his  Anacreonlica : 

Semel  ut  concitus  osslro, 

Veluti  qui  Clarias  aquas 

Ebibere  luqiiaces, 

Q.UO  plus  canunt,  plura  volunt. 

While  waves  of  perfume,  etc.]  Spaletti  has  mistaken  the 
import  ofx'-p'o-S:.!,  as  applied  to  the  poet's  mistress  :  "  iMea 
fatigalus  aiiiica."  He  interprets  it  in  a  sense  which  must 
want  eitner  delicacy  or  gallantry. 

ind  what  did  I  unthinkivg  do  ? 

/  took  to  arms,  undaunted  too.]  Longepicrre  has  quoted 
an  epigram  fron  the  Anthologia,  in  which  the  poet  assumes 
Reason  as  the  armour  against  Love. 

125rA.iirA««'  •E'po?  epjuT*  srspi  <rT!pvoi(Ti  XoyKTyuoi/, 
OuJs  ^5  i"K>l<rs>,^ovo;  £uii/  -srpos  £i'».     _      _ 

With  Reason  I  cover  my  breast  as  a  shield, 
And  fearlessly  meet  little  Love  in  the  field  ; 
Thus  tighling  his  godship,  I'll  ne'er  be  disiiiay'd, 
But  if  Bacchus  should  ever  advance  to  his  aid, 
Alas  I  then,  unable  lo  combat  the  two, 
Unfortunate  warrior!  what  should  Idol 
This  idea  of  the  irresistibility  of  Cupid   and   Bacchvis 
united,  is  ilelicaielv  expressed  in  an  Italian  poem,  which  is 
ro  \cry  Anacreontic,  that  I  may  be  pardoned  for  introducing 
il      Indeed,  it  is  an  imitation  of  our  poet's  sixth  ode. 

Q 


Assumed  the  corslet,  shield,  and  spear 
And,  like  Pelides,  smiled  at  fear. 
Then  (hear  it,  all  you  Powers  above  !) 
I  fought  with  Love  I  I  fought  with  Love' 
And  now  his  arrows  all  were  shed — 
And  I  had  just  in  terror  (led — 
When,  heaving  an  indignant  sigh, 
To  sec  me  thus  uiiwounded  fly, 
And  having  now  no  other  dart, 
lie  glanced  himself  into  my  heart ! 
My  heart — alas  the  luckless  day  ! 
Received  the  god,  and  died  away. 
Farewell,  farewell,  my  faithless  shield. 
Thy  lord  at  length  was  forced  to  yield. 
Vain,  vain  is  every  outward  care. 
My  foe's  within,  and  triumphs  there 


ODE  XIV.' 

Count  me,  on  the  summer  trees. 
Every  leaf  that  courts  the  breeze  ; 


Lavossi  .Amore  in  quel  vicino  fiiiine 
Ove  giuro  (Pastor)  che  bevend  'io 
Bevei  le  fiamnic,  aiizi  I'  istesso  Dio, 
C  hor  con  1'  humide  piume 
Lascivetto  mi  scherza  al  cor  inlorno. 
Ma  che  sarei  s'  io  lo  bevessi  un  giorao 
Bacco,  nel  tuo  Uciuore? 
Saiei,  piu  che  non  suno  cbro  d'Amora 

The  urchin  of  the  bow  and  quiver 
Was  bathing  in  a  ni^ighbouring  river 
Where,  as  I  drank  on  yester-eve 
(Shepherd-youth  !  the  tale  believe,) 
'Twas  not  a  coi>ling  crystal  drauslit, 
'T  was  liquid  llaiiio  I  madly  quatTd; 
For  Love  was  in  the  rippling  tide, 
I  fell  him  to  my  bosom  glide; 
And  now  the  wily  wantiiU  minion   , 
Plavs  o'er  my  heart  with  restless  pinioo 
'i'his  was  a  day  of  fatal  star, 
Bui  were  it  not  more  fatal  far, 
If,  Bacchus,  in  thy  cup  of  (ire, 
I  fuuiid  this  fluttering,  young  desire? 
Thifn,  then  indeed  my  soul  should  prove 
Much  inore  than  ever,  drunk  with  love! 

Mnd,  harinsT  now  no  other  dnrt, 

He  frliiiicai hiinsclf  into  vty  heart '.]     Dryden  has  paro- 
died this  thought  in  the  following  extravagant  lines: 

I  'm  all  o'er  Love; 

Nav,  I  am  Love ;  Love  shot,  and  shot  so  fast, 
Ile'shot  liimself  into  my  breast  at  last. 
1  The  poet,  in  ifiis  catalogue  of  his  mistresses,  meane 
nothing  more  than,  by  a  lively  hyperbole,  to  tell  us  thai  his 
heart,  unfettered  by  any  one  (d)jecl,  was  warm  with  devo- 
tion towards  the  sex  in  I'eneral.  Cowley  Is  indebtid  lo  ihis 
ode  for  the  hint  of  his  ballad,  called  "The  Chronicle;"  and 
the  learned  Monsieur  Menage  has  imitate  d  it  in  a  Greek 
Anacre(mtic,  which  has  so  much  ease  and  spirit,  that  the 
reader  may  not  be  displeased  at  seeing  it  nero: 

npo;  Biuvs. 

El  a.Kirit>v  Tct  euXXx, 
Asi.utorioue  Tt  jTOix;, 
El  vuxTO;  xtrrpx  -i-xvTa, 

n»p»XTiou;   TS  iJ/X.UjUOUJ, 

Axo;  Ti  xu/iaTjjJii, 
£kuv>i,  Bijor,  xaiiititv, 

KXI  TOU!   £^OUi   Sp/iT*f 

Auw!,  iiuv,  ai)i;//s<v. 
K5p„.,r«.«.xa,X.rpxv, 
Zuixpi'i',  M!0->!i',M=>-ia-T>|r, 

AiUXlfV  Tt    XXI    lAz\t.tV»Vf 

Op.-.xTx,-,  Nx^x.Xi, 
Niipi'iJx;  Tj  Txraj 

O  (TOf   ?1>.3;   ©    \VitTl. 

Itxi'r.uv  xopoc  /fs."  tvxin. 

AoTllI/  VfJtV    EpjUTCtfV, 


242 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Count  me  on  tfie  foamy  deep, 
Every  wave  that  sinks  to  sleep ; 
Then,  when  you  have  numbered  these 
Billowy  tides  and  leafy  trees, 
Count  me  all  the  Hanies  I  prove, 
All  the  gentle  nymphs  I  love. 
First,  of  pure  Athenian  maids. 
Sporting  m  their  olive  shades, 
You  may  reckon  just  a  score  ; 
Nay,  I  '11  grant  you  fifteen  more. 
In  the  sweet  Corinthian  grove. 
Where  the  glowing  wantons  rove, 
Chains  of  beauties  may  be  found. 
Chains  by  which  my  lieart  is  bound ; 
There  indeed  are  girls  divine. 
Dangerous  to  a  soul  like  mine; 


Ep-xc-femv,  -noiiivyiv, 

Teh  the  tViliage  of  llie  woods, 

Tell  tin;  bilious  ol'  tlie  floods, 

Nuiiibur  inidniglit's  starry  store, 

And  I  he  saiids  ihal  crowd  Die  shore; 

Then,  my  Bion,  ihou  tnay'sl  count 

Of  my  loves  ilie  vast  uiuouiu! 

I've  been  loving,  all  jny  days, 

Many  nymphs,  in  many  ways. 

Virgin,  willow,  maid,  and  wife — 

I've  been  doting  all  my  life. 

Nuids,  Nereids,  uymph-  of  fountains. 

Goddesses  of  groves  and  mountains, 

Fair  and  sable,  great  and  small, 

Yes — I  swear  1  've  loved  them  all! 

Every  passion  soon  was  over, 

I  was  but  the  momeiil's  lover; 

Oil !  I  'in  such  a  roviiig  elf. 

That  ilie  (ineen  of  Love  herself, 

Though  she  practised  all  her  wiles, 

R<isy  blushes,  golden  siniles, 

All  iter  boauiy's  proud  endeavour 

Could  nut  chain  my  heart  for  ever! 
Cirtt  me,  nn  the  summer  trees, 

Ecery  leaf,  etc.]  'I'his  figure  is  called,  by  the  rhetori- 
cians, acjvxTov,  and  is  very  frequently  made  use  of  in 
Doe'ry.  The  amatory  writers  have  exhausted  a  world  of 
li.iag-ry  by  it,  to  express  the  infinity  of  kisses  which  "hey 
reipii.e  from  the  lips  of  their  mistresses:  in  this  Catullus  led 
the  way: 

— quam  siilera  multa,  cum  tacet  nox, 

Furiivns  honiinum  videiit  amoies; 

T!«m  te  husia  muila  hasiarc, 

Vt'Sano  sails,  ei  super  Caiullo  est: 

Qua'  nee  |iernumerare  curiosi 

Possint,  nee  mala  fascinare  lingua.  Carm.  7. 

As  many  stellar  eyes  of  light, 

As  Ihrongh  the  silent  waste  of  night, 

Gazing  U|ion  this  world  of  shade, 

Witness  some  secret  youth  and  maid. 

Who,  fair  aiilhou,  and  fond  as  I, 

In  stolen  joys  enamour'd  lie! 

So  many  kisses,  ere  I  slumber. 

Up. in  lliose  dew-bright  lips  I  'II  number; 

So  many  verinil,  honey'd  kisses. 

Envy  can  never  count  our  blisses. 

No  tongue  shall  tell  ihe  sum  but  mine; 

No  lips  shall  fascinate  but  thine! 

tn  the  swet  Ciirinthian  grove, 

IV/ierc  the  irliiwinir  icaiitons  rove,  etc.]  Corinth  was 
very  famous  for  the  beauty  and  number  of  its  courtezans. 
Vemis  was  llio  deity  principally  worshipped  by  the  people, 
and  prosl'tiition  in  Iht  tem|)lc  was  a  meritorious  act  of  reli- 
gion. Conformable  to  this  was  their  consiant  and  solemn 
prayer,  that  the  gods  would  inerease  the  nimiber  of  their 
courtezans.  We  may  perceive  from  the  application  of  the 
v3rb  xop.i.5'«':.'s'v,  in  Aristophniies,  that  the  wantoimess  of 
.he  (Corinthians  became  proverbial. 

There  indeed  are  irirls  divine, 

namrcaa.t  tn  a  soul  like  mine  I]  "  With  justice  has  the 
SO-:i  iliiihuted  beauty  to  the  woinen  of  Greece." — Dcgcn. 


Many  bloom  in  Lesbos'  isle  ; 

Many  in  Ionia  smile; 

Rhodes  a  pretty  swarm  can  boast ; 

Caria  too  contains  a  host. 

Simi  these  all — of  brown  and  fair, 

You  may  count  two  thousand  there' 

What,  you  jaze  !  I  pray  you,  peace ! 

More  I  '11  find  before  I  cease. 

Have  I  told  you  all  my  flames 

'Mong  the  amorous  Syrian  dames  ? 

Have  1  numbered  every  one 

Glowing  under  Egypt's  sun  ? 

Or  the  nymphs  who,  blushing  sweet. 

Decks  the  shrine  of  love  in  Crete  ; 

Where  the  god,  with  festal  play, 

Holds  eternal  holiday  ? 

Still  in  clusters,  still  remain 

Gades'  warm  desiring  train  ; 

Still  there  lies  a  myriad  more 

On  the  sable  India's  shore ; 

These,  and  many  fir  removed, 

All  are  loving — all  are  loved  ! 


ODE  XV. 

'  Tell  me  why,  my  sweetest  dove, 
Thus  your  humid  pinions  move. 
Shedding  througii  air,  in  showers. 
Essence  of  the  balmiest  flowers  ? 
Tell  me  whither,  wlience  you  rove. 
Tell  me  all,  my  sweetest  dove  ? 


Monsieur  de  Fauw,  the  author  of  Dissertations  upon  tha 
Greeks,  is  of  a  dilFereDt  o|iinion;  he  thinks  that,  by  a  capri- 
cious partiality  of  nature,  the  other  sex  had  all  the  beauty, 
and  accounts  ii|ion  this  supposi'ion  for  a  very  singular  de- 
pravation of  instinct  among  them. 

Gades'  warm  desiring  train]  The  Gaditanian  girls 
weie  like  the  Baladieres  of  India,  whose  dances  are  thus 
described  by  a  French  author:  "  Les  danses  sont  presque 
toutes  des  pantomimes  d'amonr;  le  plan,  le  dessiii,  les  atti 
tudes,  les  mesures,  les  sons,  et  les  cadences  de  ces  ballets, 
tout  respire  cette  passion  et  en  exprime  les  volujitts  et  lea 
fureiirs."  Hisloire  du  Commerce  des  Europ.  dans  les  deux 
Indes. —  Raymil. 

The  music  of  the  Gaditanian  females  had  all  the  volup- 
tuous character  of  their  dancing,  as  apjiears  from  Martial: 
Cantica  qui  Nili,  qui  Gaditana  susurrat. 

Lib.  iii.  epig.  63. 

Lodovico  Ariosto  had  this  ode  of  our  bard  in  his  mind, 
when  he  wroje  his  poem  "  De  diversis  amoribus."  See  the 
Anthologia  Ilalorum. 

1  The  dove  of  Anacreon,  bearing  a  letter  from  the  poet 
to  his  mistress,  is  met  by  a  stranger,  with  whom  this  dia- 
logue is  imagined. 

The  ancients  made  use  of  letter-carrying  pigeons,  when 
they  went  any  distance  from  home,  as  tlie  most  certain 
means  of  conveying  intelllL'ence  back.   That  tender  domes- 
tic attachment,  which  attracts  this  delicate  little  bird  throiigb 
everv  danger  and  dilliitiliy,  till  it  settles  in  its  native  nest, 
affdiils  to  the  elegant  author  of  "  The  Pleasures  of  Memory" 
a  fine  and  interesting  exemplification  of  his  subject. 
Led  by  what  chart,  transports  the  timid  dove 
The  wicaths  of  conquest,  or  the  vows  of  love? 
See  the  poem.     Daniel   Heinsins  has  a  similar  sentiment, 
speaking  of  Doiisa,  who  adopted  this  method   at  the  siego 
of  Leyden : 

Cino  palriip  non  tendit  amor?  Mandala  rcferre 
Postquam  hominem  nequiit  miltere,  misit  avcm. 

Fuller  tells  us  that,  at  the  siege  of  Jerusalem,  the  Chria 
tians  intercepted  a  letter  lied  to  the  logs  of  a  dove,  in  which 
the  Persian  Emperor  promised  assistance  to  the  besiegoO 
See  Fuller's  Holy  IVar,  cap.  24,  book  i. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


2i;i 


Curious  strangor!  I  belong 
To  tlio  bard  of  Teiari  song; 
With  his  mandate  now  I  fly 
To  the  nymph  of  azure  eye; 
Ah  !  that  eye  has  maddon'd  many, 
But  the  poet  more  than  any  ! 
Venus,  for  a  hymn  of  love 
Warbled  in  lier  votive  grove 
('T  was,  in  sooth,  a  gentle  lay,) 
Gave  me  to  the  bard  away. 
See  me  now,  his  faithful  minion, 
Thus,  with  softly-gliding  pinion, 
To  his  lovely  girl  I  bear 
Songs  of  passion  through  the  air. 
Oft  he  blandly  whispers  me, 
"  Soon,  my  bird,  I'll  set  you  free." 
But  in  vain  he  '11  l)id  me  fly, 
I  shall  serve  him  till  I  die. 
Never  could  my  plumes  sustain 
Ruffling  winds  and  chilling  rain, 
O'er  the  plains,  or  in  the  dell. 
On  the  mountain's  savage  swell; 
Seeking  in  the  desert  wood 
Gloomy  shelter,  rustic  food. 
Now  1  lead  a  life  of  ease. 
Far  from  such  retreats  as  these  ; 
From  Auacreon's  hand  I  eat 
Food  delicious,  viands  sweet; 
Fhitter  o'er  his  goblet's  brim, 
Sip  the  foamy  wine  with  him. 
Then  I  dance  and  wanton  round 
To  the  lyre's  beguiling  sound  ; 
Or  with  gently-fanning  wings 
Shade  the  minstrel  while  he  sings : 
On  his  harp  then  sink  in  slumbers, 
Dreaming  still  of  dulcet  numbers! 
This  is  all — away — away — 
You  have  made  me  waste  the  day. 
How  I've  chatter'd!  prating  crow 
Never  yet  did  chatter  so. 


ODE  XVI.' 

Thou,  whose  sofl  and  rosy  hues 
Mimic  form  and  soul  infuse ; 


Mh  !  that  eye  liaa  maililni'd  many,  etc.]  For  Tupxwev,  in 
tlic  original,  Zeiine  aiul  SclMU'lilcroonjectiire  tliat  we  slioulil 
rrail  Tupxvvou,  in  allusion  to  the  strong  intlui-nce  which  lliis 
object  of  his  love  held  over  the  mind  of  Polyciates. — See 
Oegen. 

Venus,  for  a  hymn  of  love 

(Varbled  in  liir  notice  "roue,  etc.]  "  This  passn<;e  is  in- 
valual)!"!,  mid  I  do  not  Ihmk  lliai  any  thing  so  beuoliriil  or 
BO  dfliciite  has  ever  been  said.  Wiiat  an  idea  does  it  give 
of  the  poetry  of  the  man  from  whom  Venus  herself,  the 
mother  of  tlie  Graces  and  the  Pleasures,  purchases  a  little 
hymn  with  one  of  her  favourite  dove.-s!" — Longepierre. 

Df  Pauw  ohjei-rs  to  the  authenticity  of  this  ode,  liecause 
It  makes  Amicreon  his  own  panegyrist;  but.  poets  have  a 
license  for  praising  themselves,  which,  with  some  indeed, 
maybe  considered  as  comprised  under  their  general  privilege 
uf  fiction. 

1  This  ode  and  the  next  may  be  called  companion-pic- 
tures ;  they  are  highly  finished,  and  give  us  an  excellent  idea 
»f  the  taste  of  the  ancienls  in  beautv.  Franciscus  Junius 
quotes  them  in  his  thinl  book,  "  Oe  Pictnra  Vcterum." 

This  ode  lias  l)een  imilaled  by  Roiisard,  Giuliano,  Goselini, 
no.  etc.    Pcaliger  alludes  to  it  thus  in  his  Anacreontica: 


Best  of  painters!  come,  portray 
The  lovely  maid  that  's  far  away. 
Far  away,  my  soul  !  thou  art, 
But  I  've  iliy  beauties  all  by  heart. 
Paint  Iter  jetty  ringlt.-ts  straying, 
Silky  twine  in  teiulnls  playing; 
And,  if  painting  h  illi  ilie  skill 
To  make  the  spicy  balm  distil, 
Let  every  little  lock  e.xhale 
A  sigli  of  perfume  on  the  gale. 
Whore  her  tress('s'  curly  (low 
Darkles  o'er  the  brow  of  snow, 
Let  her  forehead  beam  to  light, 
Burnish'd  as  the  ivory  bright. 
Let  her  eyebrows  sweetly  rise 
In  jetty  arches  o'er  her  eyes, 
Gently  in  a  crescent  gliding. 
Just  commingling,  just  dividing. 
But  hast  thou  any  sparkles  warm, 
The  lightning  of  her  eyes  to  form? 
Let  them  efl'use  the  azure  ray 
With  which  Minerva's  glances  play, 


Olim  lepoie  blan  to, 
Litis  vcrsibus 
Candidus  .Anacr  on 
Quuni  jiingeret  .\micus 
Descrijisit  Veiioicm  suam. 

The  Teian  hard,  of  former  days. 
Attuned  Ills  sweet  descriptive  lays. 
And  tauglil  llie  painter's  hand  to  trace 
His  fail  beloved's  every  grace  ! 

In  the  dialogue  of  Caspar  Barla;us,  entitled  "  An  formo«a  Bit 
duceiKJa,"  llie  reader  will  find  many  curious  ideas  aud  de>- 
scriplions  of  beauty. 

Thou,  whose  soft  and  ro.'iy  hues 

jMintic  furin.  and  soul  infuse.]  I  have  followed  the  read 
iiig  of  the  Vatican  MS.  foiij;.  Painting  is  called  "  the  rosy 
an,"  either  in  reference  to  coluuring,  or  as  an  indefinili' 
epithet  of  e.vcelleiice,  fmrn  the  association  of  beauty  uiib 
that  flowtr.  Salvini  has  adopted  this  reading  iii  his  literal 
translation  : 

Delia  rosea  arte  signore. 

The  lovely  maid  that 's  far  away.]  If  the  portrait  of 
this  beamy  be  not  mi'rely  ideal,  the  omission  of  her  n:ime  is 
much  to  he  regretted.  Mileaaer,  in  an  epigram  on  Anacreon, 
mentions  "  the  goiden  Eury|iyle"  as  his  mistress: 

B£S>.>iX:<i;  Sipuo-iiii'  %£•(!»{  ejr'  EvfVTTvKiiv, 

Paint  her  jetty  ringlrts  straying. 

Silky  twine  in  tendrils  playing ;]  Tlie  ancients  have 
been  very  enthusifisiic  in  their  praises  of  hair.  Apuleius,  in 
the  second  book  of  his  Milesiaes,  says,  that  Venus  herself, 
if  slie  were  bald,  ifiougli  surrounded  by  tlie  Graces  and  the 
Loves,  coulil  not  be  pleasing  even  to  lier  husband  Vulcan. 

Stesichurusgave  tlieepillietxsXX.tJTA.oxx/io;  toihe  Graces, 
and  Simimides  bestowed  llie  same  upun  tfie  Muses.  See 
Hadrian  .fuiiius's  /)isscrtntio7i  upon  Hair. 

To  this  passage  of  our  poet,  Selden  alluded  in  a  nr.te  on 
the  Pdlyolbion  of  Drayton,  snng  the  second  ;  where,  ob- 
serving that  the  epithet  "  lilack-haired"  was  given  by  smne 
I  of  the  anciems  U>  the  goddess  Isis,  he  says,  "  Nor  will  I 
swear,  but  that  Anacreon  (a  man  very  .judicious  in  the  pro- 
voking motives  of  wanton  love,)  intending  to  besiow  on  lii.<i 
sweet  mistress  that  one  of  Ihe  lilies  of  woman's  special 
ornament,  well-liaied  (xxXXin-xoxx/Ko;,)  thought  of  this 
when  lie  gave  his  painter  direction  to  make  her  black 
haired." 

.Ind,  if  painting  hath  the  skill 

To  make  the  ."piry  balm  distil,  etc.]  Thus  Philostratus, 
speaking  of  a  pciire:  errxivj)  xai  tov  tvipoirov  -*►  poJir, 
xy.i  ciM'  jtjpxcjxi  xvTx  MSTx  T»5  oo-.ur;.  "I  admire 
the  dewiness  of  these  roses,  and  could  say  that  then  vrr« 
smell  was  painted." 


244 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


And  give  them  all  that  liquid  fire 

That  Venus'  languid  eyes  respire 
O'er  lier  nose  and  clieeli  be  shed 
Flushing  white  and  mellow  red  ; 
Gradual  tints,  as  when  there  glows 
In  snowy  milk  the  bashful  rose. 
Then  her  lip,  so  rich  in  blisses ' 
Sweet  petitioner  for  kisses! 
Pouting  nest  of  bland  persuasion, 
Ripely  suing  Love's  invasion. 
Tlien  beneath  tlie  velvet  chin, 
Whose  dimple  shades  a  Love  within, 
31ould  her  neck  with  grace  descending, 
In  a  heaven  of  beauty  ending  ; 
While  airy  charms,  above,  below, 
Sport  and  flutter  on  its  snow. 
Now  let  a  lioating,  lucid  veil 
Shadow  her  hmbs,  but  not  conceal ; 


Jlnd  give  them  all.  tliat  liquid  fire 

That  Venus'  languid  eyes  respire.]  Maichetti  exjjlaiiis 
!»7U8  the  vypov  of  tlie  original : 

Dipingili  utnidetti 
Tremuli  e  lascivelti, 
Quai  gVi  ha  Cipiigna  I'  alma  Dead'  Amore. 
Tasso  has  jiainled  in  ihe  same  manner  the  eyes  of  Armida, 
OB  La  Fosse  remarks: 

Qaal  raggio  in  onda  le  scintilla  un  riso 
N6gli  umidi  occlu  tremulo  e  iascivo. 
Wilhin  her  hnnfid,  melting  eyes 
A  brilliant  ray  of  laughter  lies. 
Soft  as  the  hroken  soiiir  heam 
That  trendiles  in  the  azure  stream 
The  mingled  expression  of  dignity  and  tenderness,  which 
Aiiacreon  requires  the  painter  to  infuse  into  the  eyes  of  his 
mistress,  is  more  amply  descrihed   in  the  subse<iuenl  ode. 
Both  descri|>tions  are  so  excjuisilely  touched,  that  the  artisi 
must  have  been  great  indeed,  if  he  did  not  yield  in  jiaintiiig 
to  the  poet :  • 

Gradual  tints,  as  when  there  glows 
In  snowy  milk  the  bashful  rose.]     Thus  Propertiug,  eleg. 
3.  lib  ii. 

Utijue  rosiB  i)uro  lacte  natant  folia. 
And  Davenant,  in  a  little  poem  called  "The  Mistress," 
Catch,  as  it  falls,  the  Scythian  snow, 
Bring  blushing  roses  steep'd  in  milk. 

Thus,  too,  Taygetus : 

Quae  lac  atque  rosas  vincis  candore  rubenti. 
These  last  words  may  perhaps  defend  the  "  flushing  while" 
of  till  translation. 

Then  her  lip,  so  rich  in  blisses! 

Sweet  petitioner  for  kisses!]  The  "lip,  provoking 
kisses,"  in  the  original,  isastioiig  and  beautiful  BX))iession. 
Ar.iiillesTatius  speaks  of XS'^-i  fixKixnx  srpo;  tx  <ptK>ffiXTx, 
'  Lips  soft  and  delicate  for  kissing."  A  grave  old  commen- 
tator, Dionysius  Lambinus,  in  his  notes  upon  Lucretius,  tells 
us,  with  all  the  autliorily  of  experience,  that  girls  who  have 
large  lips  kiss  infinilelv  sweeter  than  others!  "  Suavius 
viros  osculiinlur  puellaj'  labio.-iE,  (piam  qua-  sunt  brevihus 
labris."  And  yKneas  Sylvius,  in  his  tedious  uninteresting 
story  of  tlie  adulterous'lovos  of  Kuryalus  and  Lucrelia, 
where  he  particularizes  the  beauties  of  the  heroine  (in  a 
very  false  and  laboured  style  of  lalinity,)  describes  her  li|)s 
IIS  exquisitely  adapti'd  for'  biting:  "  Os  parviim  deconecpie, 
labia  corallini  coloiis  ad  inorsuin  apti.ssiiiia."  Ejii.it.  114. 
lib.  i. 

Then  beneath  the  velvet  chin, 

Whose  dimple  shades   a    Love  within,  etc.]     Madame 
Pacier  has  quoted  here  two  jirelty  lines  of  Varro  : 
Sigilln  in  mento  impressa  Amoris  digitulo 
VoHtigio  deriKinslrant  mollitudini'iu. 

In  her  chin  is  a  didicate  dimple, 

By  the  finger  ofCiipid  imprest; 
There  Sofini'ss,  bewiichingly  simple, 

Has  clioHPii  her  innocent  nest. 


JV.itc  let  nflonting,  hiciil  veil 

SkadoJ)  her  liiulis,  liii.l  vut  conceal,  etc.]     This 


A  charm  may  peep,  a  hue  may  beam. 
And  leave  tlie  rest  to  Fancy's  dream. 
Enough — 't  is  she  !  't  is  all  I  seek ; 
It  glows,  it  lives,  '»  «oon  will  sneak  ' 


ODE  XVII.' 

And  now,  with  all  thy  pencil's  truth, 
Portray  Bathyllus,  lovely  youth  ! 
Let  his  hair,  in  lapses  bright. 
Fall  like  streaming  rays  of  light  ; 
And  there  the  raven's  dye  confuse 
Witli  the  yellow  sunbeam's  hues. 
Let  not  the  braid,  with  artful  twine, 
The  flowing  of  his  loclis  confine  ; 
But  loosen  every  golden  ring, 
To  float  upon  the  breeze's  wing. 
Beneatii  the  front  of  polish'd  glow, 
Front  as  fair  as  mountain  snow, 
And  guileless  as  the  dews  of  dawn, 
Let  the  majestic  brows  be  drawn. 
Of  ebon  dyes,  enrich'd  by  gold, 
Such  as  the  scaly  snakes  unfold. 
Mingle  in  his  jetty  glances 
Power  that  awes,  and  love  that  trances  ; 


delicate 


art  of  discripiion,  which  leaves  imagination  to  complete  th« 
picture,  has  been  seldom  adopted  in  ihe  iiiiilalions  of  this 
beautiful  jioem.  Bonsard  is  exceptioiiably  minute;  ano 
i'olitianus,  in  his  charming  portrait  of  a  girl,  full  of  rich  and 
exquisite  diction,  has  lified  the  veil  rather  too  much.  The 
"  quesio  che  tu  m'intendi"  should  be  always  left  to  fancy. 

1  The  reader  who  wishes  to  acquire  an  accurate  idea  of 
the  judgment  of  thi^  ancients  in  beauty,  will  be  indulged  by 
consuUing  .lunius  de  Pictura  Veterum,  ninth  chapter,  third 
hook,  whore  he  will  find  a  very  curious  selection  of  descri|)- 
tions  and  epithets  of  personal  perfections  ;  he  compares  thi? 
ode  with  a  description  of  Theodoric,  king  of  the  Goths,  in 
the  second  e])istle,  first  book  of  Sidonius  Apollinaiis. 
J^ct  his  hair,  in  lapses  bright, 

Fall  like  streaming  rays  of  light;  etc.]  He  here  de- 
scribes the  sunny  hair,  the  "flava  coma,"  which  the  ancients 
so  much  admired.  The  Romans  gave  this  colour  artificially 
to  their  hair.  See  Utanisl.  Kobiensyck  de  I.uxu  Roman- 
oruni. 

I^et  not  the  braid,  with  artful  twine,  etc.]  If  the  original 
here,  which  is  particularly  beautiful,  can  admit  of  any  ad- 
ditional value,  that  value  is  conferred  by  Gray's  admiration 
of  it.     See  his  Letters  to  IVcst. 

Some  annotators  have  quoted  on  this  passage  the  descrip- 
tion of  Photis's  hair  in  A])uleius;  but  nothing  can  be  more 
distant  from  the  simplicity  of  our  poet's  manner  than  thai 
affectation  of  richness  which  distinguishes  the  style  of 
Apuleius. 

Front  as  fair  as  mountain-snow, 

Mnd  guileless  as  the  dews  of  dawn,  etc.]  Torrentina, 
ujion  the  words  "  insignem  tenui  t'ronte,"  in  the  thirty-thiid 
ode  of  the  first  book  of  Horace,  is  of  opinion  that"  tenui" 
hears  the  meaning  of  xttx^ov  here;  but  he  is  certainly  in- 
correct. 

Mingle  in  his  jetty  glances 

Pniocr  that  awes,  and  lone  that  trances!  etc.]    Trtssa 
gives  a  similar  character  to  the  eyes  of  Clorinda : 
l,ampeggiar  gli  occhi,  e  folgorar  gli  sguardi 
Dolci  ne  1'  ira. 

H('r  eyes  were  glowing  with  a  heavenly  heat, 
F.maning  fire,  and  e'en  in  anger  sweet! 
The  poetess  Veronica  Cainbara  is  more  diffuse  upon  th» 
variety  of  expression: 

Occhi  lucenfi  et  belli 

Come  esser  [luo  cli'  in  un  niodesmo  istnnle 

Nascan  de  voi  si  novo  fijrmo  et  tante'f 

Lieti,  UK^sti,  siiperbi,  humif  alfieri 

Vi  iiioslrali'  in  un  punto,  ondi  di  spem*" 

Fa  di  tiinor  du  cmpieto,  etc.  etc. 


ODi:s  OF  ANACREON. 


24^ 


Steal  from  Venus  bland  desire, 
Steal  from  Mars  the  look  of  (ire, 
BIciRJ  them  in  such  expression  here, 
'I'hat  wc,  by  turns,  may  hope  and  fear ! 
Nc  n  from  the  sunnj'  apple  seek 
Tl  e  velvet  down  that  spreads  his  cheek! 
And  ther(!  let  Beauty's  rosy  ray 
In  flying  blushes  richly  play  ; — 
Blushes  of  that  celestial  liume 
Which  lights  the  cheek  of  virgin  shame. 
Then  for  his  lips,  that  rip('ly  gem — 
Hut  let  thy  mind  imagine  them  ! 
I'aint,  where  th*  ruby  cell  uncloses, 
Persuasion  sleeping  upon  roses; 
And  give  his  lip  that  speaking  air. 
As  if  a  word  was  hovering  there ! 
His  neck  of  ivory  splendour  trace, 
Moulded  with  soft  but  manly  grace; 
Fair  as  the  ntck  of  Paphia's  boy, 
Where  Paphia  s  arms  have  hung  in  joy. 
(Jive  him  the  winged  Hermes'  hand. 
With  whicli  he  waves  his  snaky  wand; 
Let  Baccluis  then  the  breast  supply. 
And  Leda's  son  the  sinewy  thigh. 
But  oh !  suffuse  his  limbs  of  fire 
With  all  that  glow  of  young  desire 


Oil  I  tell  trie,  hriglitly-bi'uining  eye, 
Wiionce  Ml  your  littli;  orbit  lie 
So  many  dilfereiil  trails  of  (ire, 
Expressing  each  a  new  desire'? 
Now  with  angry  scorn  you  dnrkle. 
Now  with  tender  anguish  sparkle, 
And  we,  who  view  the  various  mirror, 
Fuel  at  once  both  hope  and  terror. 

Monsieur  Chevreiiu,  citing  the  lines  of  our  poet,  in  his 
sii.irue  on  tin:  poems  of  MalherbH,  produces  a  Lntin  version 
of  t'leiii  from  a  inannscripl  uhich  lie  Had  seen,  entitled 
"Joan  Falc.oiiis  Anacreoinici  Lusu^." 

Persaasioii  sleeping  upun  rosf:s.'\  It  was  worthy  of  the 
delicate  imagination  of  the  Greeks  to  deify  Persuasion,  and 
give  her  the  lips  for  her  throne.  We  are  hrrc  reminded  of 
a  very  interesting  fragment  of  Anacreon,  preserved  by  the 
«ch(diast  upon  Pindar  and  snp|iosed  to  belong  to  a  pooni 
relleeting  with  some  severity  on  Simonides,  who  was  the 
first,  we  are  told,  that  ever  made  a  hireling  of  his  muse. 

OuJ'  ttfyupsif  xot'  sK!t(i-i^t   IIei6u). 

Nor  yet  had  fair  Persuasion  shone 
In  silver  splendours,  not  her  own. 

^nd  give  his  lip  that  speaking  air, 

Jls  if  a  icuril  was  hnvering  there!]  In  the  original 
KclKjiv  (rtMTTif.  The  mistress  of  Petrarch  "pMrIa  con  silen- 
tio,"  which  is  perhaps  the  best  method  of  female  eloquence. 

Oive  him  the  jninged  Hermes'  hand,  etc.]  In  Shak- 
speare's  Cyinbeline  there  is  a  similar  method  oi'descri|)tion  ; 

this  is  his  hand. 

His  foot  Mercurial,  his  martial  thigh 
The  brawns  of  Hercules. 

We  find  it  likewise  in  Hamlet.  Lonjepierre  thinks  thai 
:he  hands  of  Mercury  are  selected  by  Anacreon,  on  acccmnt 
of  the  graceful  gestures  which  were  supposed  to  character- 
ize the  god  of  eloquence  ;  lint  Mercury  was  also  the  patron 
of  thieves,  and  may  perhaps  be  praised  as  a  light-fingered 
ieity. 

Rut  oh!  suffuse  his  Innhs  of  fire 

IVith  all  that  glow  of  young  drsirc,  etc.]  I  have  taken 
the  liberty  here  of  somewhat  veiling  the  original.  Madame 
Dacier,  in  her  translation,  has  hung  out  lights  (as  Pterne 
would  call  it)  at  *his  passage.  It  is  very  much  to  be  re- 
gretted, that  this  substitution  of  asterisks  has  been  so  much 
adopted  in  the  popular  interpretations  of  the  Classics;  it 
serves  but  to  br^ng  whatever  is  excentionable  into  notice, 
"claramoue  facem  prasferre  pudendis 


Which  kindles  when  the  wishful  sigh 
Steals  from  the  heart,  unconscious  why. 
Thy  pencil,  thoiigli  divinely  bright, 
Is  envious  of  the  eye's  delight, 
t)r  its  enamour'd  touch  would  show 
His  shoulder,  fiiir  as  sunless  snow, 
Which  now  in  veiling  shadow  lies, 
Removed  from  all  but  Fancy's  eyes. 
Now,  for  his  feet — but,  hold — forbear — 
I  see  a  godlike  portrait  there ; 
So  like  Bathyllus! — sure  there's  none 
So  like  Bathyllus  but  the  Sun  ! 
Oh,  let  this  pictured  god  be  mine, 
And  keep  the  boy  for  .Sanios'  shrine; 
Phoubus  shall  then  Bathyllus  be, 
Bathyllus  then  the  deity ! 


ODE  XVIII.' 
Now  the  star  of  day  is  high, 
Fly,  my  girls,  in  pity  fly, 
Britig  me  wine  in  brimming  urns. 
Cool  my  lip,  it  burns,  it  burns  ! 
Sunn'd  by  the  meridian  fir(3, 
Panting,  languid,  I  expire  ! 
Give  me  all  those  humid  flowers, 
Diop  them  o'er  my  brow  in  showers. 
Scirce  a  breathing  chaplet  now 
Livss  upon  my  feverish  brow ; 


But,  hold — forbear — 

/  see  a  godlil;e  portrait  there.]  This  is  very  spirited,  but 
it  reqiiires  explanation.  While  the  arlisi  is  pursuing  the 
portrait  of  Bathyllus,  Anacreon,  we  must  suppose,  turns 
round  and  s>  es  a  [licture  of  Apollo,  which  was  intended  lor 
an  altar  at  Samos;  he  instantly  tells  the  painter  to  ceast  hit 
work  ;  that  this  picture  will  serve  for  Bathyllus;  and  that, 
when  he  goes  to  Samns,  he  may  make  an  Apollo  of  the  por- 
trait of  the  boy  which  he  had  begun. 

"liathyllus  (says  Madame  Dacier)  could  not  be  more  elo- 
ganily  praised,  and  this  one  passage  does  him  more  honour 
than  the  statue,  however  beautiful  it  might  be,  which  Poly- 
crates  raised  to  him." 

1  "An  elegant  translation  o"  this  ode  may  be  found  in 
Ramler's  Lyr.  BlunKmslese,  lib.  v.  p.  40li." — Dcgen. 

Hring  me  wive  in  brimming  urns,  etc.]  Orig.  ■stiiif 
=!,«urT(.  "The  aniyslis  was  a  method  of  drinking  used 
among  the  Thracians.  Tlius  Horace,  "Threicia  vincat 
amystide."     Mad.  Dacier,  Longepierre,  etc.  etc. 

Parrhasius,  in  his  twenty-sixth  epistle  (Thesaur.  Critic. 
vol.  i.)  explains  the  amystis  as  a  rlraiight  to  be  exhausted 
without  drawng  breath,  "nno  haustu."  A  note  in  the 
margin  of  this  epistle  of  Parrhasius  says,  "  Politianus  ves- 
tem  esse  putabat,"  but  I  cannot  find  where. 

Give  me  all  those  humid  flowers,  etc.]  By  the  original 
reading  of  this  line,  the  poet  says,  "  Give  me  the  flower  of 
wine" — Date  flosculos  Lya;i,  as  it  is  in  the  version  of  Eliaa 
Andreas ;  and 

Deh  porgetimi  del  fiore 

Di  quel  almo  e  buoii  liquore, 
as  Re^nier  has  it,  who  supports  the  reading.     A1005  wouir' 
undoubtedly  bear  this  application,  which  is  somewliat  siivi- 
lar  to  its  import  in  the  epigram  of  Simonides  Uiion  Sopho- 
cles: 

EcrSeo-Su?,  yepxii  £<:oox\:s;,  avSo;  xoiSjtv. 

And  flos,  in  the  Latin,  is  frequently  aptilied  in  this  mannei 
thus  Celhegiis  is  called  by  E  inius,  Flos  illibatiis  pupuh, 
suadteque  medulla,  "The  immaculate  flower  of  the  people, 
and  the  very  marrow  of  persuasion,"  in  those  verses  ciu;a 
bv  Aldus  Gellius,  lib.  xii.  which  Cicero  praised,  and  Seneca 
thoii'.'ht  ridiculous. 

But  in  the  pa-sage  before  us,  if  we  admit  ixjivoiw,  accord- 
ing to  Faher's  conjecture,  the  sense  is  sufficiently  c'ear,  uiu' 
we  need  not  have  recourse  to  refinements. 


246 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Every  dewy  rose  I  wear 
Shtils  i'.s  '.ears,  and  withers  there 
But  for  you,  my  burning  mind  ! 
Oh  !  what  sheher  shall  I  find  ? 
Can  the  bowl,  or  fiow'ret's  dew, 
Cool  the  flame  that  scorches  you  ? 


ODE  XIX. 

'Here  recline  you,  gentle  maid. 
Sweet  is  this  imbowering  shade  ; 
Sweet  the  young,  the  modest  trees, 
Ruffled  by  the  kissing  breeze ; 
Sweet  the  little  founts  that  weep, 
Lulling  bland  the  mind  to  sleep; 


Every  dewy  rose  I  wear 
S/ieds  its  tears,   and   icitliers  there.]     There  are  some 
beautit'ul  lines,  by  Aiigunuinus,  upon  a  garland,  v/hicli  I 
caiinut  resist  quoting  here: 

Ante  fores  madi(la>  sic  sic  penilete  cornlloe, 

Mane  otto  inijionet  Cielia  vos  capiti; 
At  cum  per  niveani  cervicein  intluxerit  liumor, 
Uicile,  non  roris  seil  pluvia  hiEc  lacrimje. 

By  Celia's  arbour  all  the  night 

Hang,  humlil  wreath,  the  lover's  vow; 

And  haply,  at  the  morning  light, 
My  love  shall  twine  ihue  round  her  brow. 

Then  if,  upon  her  bosom  bright 

Some  drops  of  dew  shall  fall  from  tliee, 

Tell  her,  they  are  not  drops  of  night. 
But  tears  of  sorrow  shed  by  me ! 

In  the  poem  of  Mr.  Sheridan,  "  L'ncouth  is  this  moss- 
cover'd  grotto  of  stone,"  there  is  an  idea  very  singularly  co- 
mcident  with  this  of  Ango:  ianus,  in  the  stanza  which  begins, 
And  thou,  stony  grot,  in  thy  arch  may'st  preserve. 

But  fur  you  my  bnrni>i<r  mind!  etc.]  The  transition 
here  is  peculiarly  delicate  and  impassioned;  but  the  com- 
mentators have  perplexed  the  sentiment  by  a  variety  of 
readings  and  conjectures. 

1  The  description  of  this  bower  is  so  natural  and  animated, 
that  we  cannot  h-.  Ip  feeling  a  degree  of  coolness  and  fresh- 
ness while  we  read  it.  Loiige|)ierre  has  quoted  from  the  first 
book  of  the  Anthologia,  the  following  epigram,  as  some- 
what resembling  this  ode: 


Ep%£(J,  )t«l 


<.u 


,  »T0   lii\lXf1V 

HJuv  £p>)/txixi;  uTTfOv  xyui  »xKxfiOt(. 

Come,  sit  by  the  shadowy  pine 

That  covers  my  sylvan  retreat, 
And  see  h,)w  the  branches  incline 

The  breathing  of  Zephyr  to  meet. 

See  the  fountain,  that,  flowing,  diflfuses 

Around  me  aeliln-rin;;  spray; 
By  its  brink,  as  the  traveller  muses, 

I  soothe  him  to  sic-ep  with  my  lay! 

Mere  recline  yov,  senile  maid,  etc.]  The  Vatican  MS. 
reads  3«9u/.>.oo,  which  renders  the  whole  poem  mctaphori- 
:al.  Some  commentator  suggests  the  re;iding  of  SjxivKKov, 
which  makes  a  pun  upon  the  name;  a  grace  that  Plato him- 
leir  has  conclesccTided  to  in  writinir  of  liis  boy  Ao-T))p.  See 
the  epigram  of  this  philosopher,  wliich  I  quote  on  the  twen- 
ly-second  ode. 

There  is  another  epigram  by  this  philosopher,  preserved  in 
Liicrtius,  which  turns  upon  the  same  word; 
Ao-Ttip  Trpiv  fjLiv  tKufj:7T<g  tvt  ^! 


Hvv  St  iy.v 


KafATTtt^   tCTTipO^   iV   ^SljWJVOlJ. 


In  life  thou  wert  my  morning-stnr. 

But  now  that  death  has  s'nion  thy  light, 

Alas  I  thou  shinest  dim   ind  far, 

Like  the  pale  b^'ani  that  weeps  at  nishf. 

luthe  Veneres  BlyiMi!iu!gi.-in.  undiT  tiie  h-ad  ol 


Hark  !  they  whispe--,  as  they  roll, 
Calm  persuasion  to  the  soul; 
Tell  me,  tell  me,  is  not  this 
All  a  stilly  scene  of  bliss? 
Who,  my  g:rl,  would  pass  it  by  ? 
Surely  neither  you  nor  1 1 


ODE  XX. 

'One  day  the  Muses,  twined  the  nands 
Of  baby  Love,  with  flowery  bands ; 
And  to  celestial  Beauty  gave 
The  captive  infant  as  her  slave. 


siones,"  we  find  a  number  of  such  frigid  conceits  upon 
names,  selected  from  tlie  poets  of  tlie  middle  ages. 

fVho,  my  girl,  wovld pass  it  by  1 

Surely  luither  you  nor  I!]  What  a  finish  he  gives  to  the 
picture  by  the  simple  exclamation  of  the  original  1  In  these 
delicate  turns  he  is  inimitable;  and  yet,  hear  what  a  Frenc.J. 
translator  says  on  the  passage:  "This  conclusion  appeared 
to  me  too  trifling  after  such  a  description,  and  I  thought  pro- 
per to  add  somewhat  to  the  strength  of  llie  original." 

1  By  this  allegory  of  the  Muses  makmg  Cupid  the  pn 
soner  of  Beauty,  Anacreon  seems  to  insinuate  the  softenuig 
influence  which  a  cultivation  of  poetry  has  over  the  nimcl, 
in  making  it  peculiarly  susceptible  to  the  impressions  ot 
beauty. 

Though  in  the  following  ejiigram,  by  the  philosopher 
Plato,  which  is  found  in  the  third  book  of  Diogenes  Laci- 
tins,  the  muses  are  made  to  disavow  all  the  influence  ut 
Love : 


A  KuM-pi 
A.  Mo.o- 


Ep. 


Ap£ 


..J.p.ov. 


"  Yield  to  my  gentle  power,  Parnassian  maids  ;" 
Thus  to  the  Muses  spoke  the  Queen  of  Charms^ 

"Or  Love  shall  flutter  in  your  classic  shades, 
And  make  your  grove  the  camp  of  Paphian  arms'" 

"No,"  said  the  virgins  of  the  tuneful  bower, 
"  We  scorn  thme  own  and  all  thy  urchin's  art; 

Tliflusli  M:irs  has  trcniibled  at  the  infant's  power, 
His  shaft  is  pointless  o'er  a  Muse's  heart !" 

There  is   a  sonnet  by  Benedetto  Guidi,  the  thought  e. 
which  was  suggested  by  this  ode. 

Scherzava  dentro  all'  auree  chiome  Amore 

DeU'  alma  donna  della  vita  mia: 
E  tanta  era  il  piacer  ch'  ei  ne  seniia, 

Che  non  sapea,  n6  volea  uscirne  fore. 

Qnando  ecco  ivi  annodar  si  sente  il  core, 
Si,  che  per  forza  ancor  convein  che  stia: 

Tai  iacci  alta  beltate  orditi  avia 

Del  crespo  erin ;  per  tarsi  eterno  onore 

Onde  offre  infin  dal  ciel  dagna  mercede, 
A  chi  Bcioglie  il  figliuol  la  bella  dca 
Da  tanti  nodi,  in  ch'  ella  stretto  il  vede. 

Ma  ci  vinto  a  due  occhi  1'  arnie  cede: 
Ett'  affatichi  indarno,  Citerea: 
Che  s'  altri  '1  scioglie,  egli  a  legar  si  riedo 

liOve,  wandering  through  the  golden  maze 

Of  my  beloved  s  hair, 
Traced  every  lock  with  fond  delays, 

And,  doting,  ling'  r'd  there. 
And  soon  he  found  'twere  vain  to  fly, 

His  heart  was  close  confined  ; 
And  every  I'ur'et  was  a  tie, 

A  chain  by  P.enuty  twined. 

Now  Venus  seeks  her  l)oy's  rnleasB, 

With  riins'un  from  above: 
But,  Venus  !  let  thy  efl'orts  cease, 

For  Love  's  the  slave  rif  love. 
An'l,  slionld  W(^  loose  his  golden  chain 
The  jirisoni^r  w.iuld  return  iigain! 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


247 


His  niotner  comes  with  many  u  toy, 
To  ransom  her  beloved  boy  ; 
His  mother  sues,  but  all  in  vain  ! 
lie  ne'er  will  leave  his  ehains  again. 
Nay,  should  they  take  his  chains  away, 
The  little  captive  still  would  stay. 
"  If  this,"  he  erics,  "  a  bondage  be, 
Who  could  wish  for  liberty?" 


ODE  XXI.' 

Observe  when  mother  earth  is  dry. 
She  drinks  the  droppings  of  the  sky  ; 


His  iiiiillicr  comes,  with  many  a  toy, 

To  rnnsiim  her  lirloved  buy,  etc.]  ViMius  thus  proclaims 
tlie  reward  lor  her  fugitive  child  in'.ho  tirslidyl  of  Moschius  : 

O  /ixvuTx;  y.fx;  fji., 
Mio-5o;  T0«,  TO  ^iKxua  to  Ku-pi So?,  >tv  J'  x.yxyi><;  viv, 

Ou   yv/AVOV  TO   ^iKXfiXy  TV   S^   W  £'"*)  ''*'    '3'Xtov   **i»5. 

On  him,  who  tlie  haunts  of  my  Cupid  can  show, 

A  kiss  of  llie  tenderesl  stiinip  I  '11  bestow  ; 

But  hi',  who  can  hnng  me  the  wanderer  here, 

Shall  have  something  more  rapturous,  something  more 
dear. 
This  "  something  more    is  the  quidquid  post  oscula  dulce 
of  Secundus. 

After  this  ode,  there  follow  in  the  Vatican  MS.  these  ex- 
traordinary lines: 

H5"ujU£?,.»IJ    AvXXp£'jlV 

HTu/iS^u;  ^i  XxzTq>.j, 

ritVOXpl-AOV     TO    Ss   fZdi    /AiKOg 

^uyxepxcrxe  T(5  syy^int 

Tx   Tp*X  rXVTX  [^Zt  SoASt 

Kxi  lT:t:;i>i  ■=rxpxy_(ioog 

Kxt    XUTO;    Epug  XXV  STTtStV, 

Those  lines,  which  appear  to  mo  to  have  as  little  sense 
as  metre,  are  most  probably  the  interpolation  of  the  tran- 
scriber. 

1  The  commentators  who  have  endeavoured  to  throw  the 
cliains  of  precision  over  the  spirit  of  this  benutit'ul  triHe,  re- 
quire too  much  fion  Anacreontic  philosophy.  Mo.isieur 
Gail  very  wisely  thinks  that  the  poet  uses  the  epithet  /x 
>.x4r>i,  beciuse  black  earth  absorbs  moisture  more  quickly 
Inan  anv  other;  and  aceordin^'ly  he  indulaes  us  with  an  ex 
pffiaicn'al  disquisition  on  the  subject.     See  Gail's  no'es. 

One  of  the  Capilupi  has  imitated  this  ode,  in  an  epitaph  on 
a  drunkard. 

Dum  vixi  sine  fine  hibi,  sic  imbrifer  arcus. 

Sic  tellus  pluvias  sole  pcrusia  bibit. 
Sic  bibil  assidiie  tomes  et  flnmina  Pontus, 

Sic  semper  nitiens  Sol  maris  hanrit  aquas. 
Ne  te  ijitur  jades  plus  me,  Silone,  bibisse; 

Et  mihi  da  viclas  tu  quoque,  Pacche,  mnnus. 

Ilippolytus  Capilupus. 

While  life  was  mine,  the  little  hour 

In  drinkin?  still  unvaried  flew; 
I  drunk  as  earth  imhibi's  the  shower. 

Or  as  the  rainbow  drinks  the  dew  ; 

As  ocenn  quaffs  the  rivers  up, 

Oi-ffushin?  sun  inhales  the  sea; 
Sileni's  trembled  at  my  cnii, 

And  Bacchus  was  outdone  by  me  ! 

I  cannot  omit  citin;;  tlie-:e  remarka!>le  lines  of  Shakspeare, 
ivhere  tlie  thonihts  of  the  ode  before  us  are  preserved  with 
iuch  striking  similitude  : 

TIMON,   ACT   IV. 

r  '11  example  you  with  thievery. 
The  snn  's  a  thief,  and  with  his  iireat  attraction 
Robs  the  vast  sea.    The  moon  's  an  arrant  thief. 
And  Iter  pale  fire  she  snalrhes  frum  the  sim. 
The  sea  's  a  thief,  whose  liqui'l  sur»e  resolves 
The  mounds  iiitn  salt  tears.     Thv  earth  's  a  'hief. 
That  feeds,  and  breeds  by  a  composture  stolen 
From  scneral  excrements. 


.\nd  then  the  dewy  cordial  givi« 
To  every  thirsty  plant  that  lives. 
The  vapours,  which  at  evening  weep, 
Are  beverage  to  the  swelling  decD  ; 
And  when  the  rosy  sun  appears, 
lie  drinks  the  ocean's  misty  tears. 
The  moon,  too,  quaffs  her  paly  stream 
Of  lustre  from  the  solar  beam. 
Then,  hence,  with  all  your  sober  thinking! 
Since  Nature's  holy  law  is  drinking  ; 
I'll  make  the  laws  of  Nature  mine, 
And  pledge  the  universe  in  wine  ! 


ODE  XXII.' 

The  Phrygian  rock,  that  braves  the  storm. 
Was  once  a  weeping  rr.atron's  form ; 
And  Progne,  hapless,  frantic  maid, 
Is  now  a  swallow  in  the  shade. 


1  Ogilvie,  in  his  Essay  on  the  Lyric  Poetry  of  the  Ao- 
cients,  in  remarking  upon  the  Odes  of  Anacreon,  says,  "  lo 
some  of  his  pieces  there  is  exuberance  and  even  wildness  of 
imagination;  in  that  particularly  which  is  addre.-scd  to  a 
young  girl,  where  he  wishes  a  ernately  to  be  Iransformed 
to  a  mirror,  a  coat,  a  stream,  a  bracelet,  and  a  pair  of  shoea, 
for  the  ditierent  purposes  which  he  recites;  thii  is  mera 
sport  and  wantonness." 

It  is  the  wantonness,  however,  of  a  very  graceful  muae; 
bidit  aniabiliter.  The  compliment  of  this  ode  is  exquisitely 
delicate,  and  so  singular  for  the  period  in  which  Anacreon 
lived,  when  the  scale  of  love  had  not  yet  been  graduated  into 
all  its  litile  piogressive  refinements,  that  if  we  were  inclined 
to  question  the  authenticity  of  the  poem,  we  should  find  p 
much  more  plausible  argument  in  the  features  of  modern 
gallantry  which  it  bears,  than  in  any  of  those  fastidious  con 
jectures  upon  which  some  commentators  have  presumed  so 
far.  Di'gcn  thinks  it  spurious,  and  De  Pnuw  pronounces  it 
to  be  miserable.  Longepierre  and  Barnes  refer  us  to  several 
imitations  of  this  ode,  from  which  I  shall  only  select  an  epi- 
gram of  Dionysius : 

E>5'  avf^oj  ysvo/Kni',  o-v  Js  ye  (Ttsi  x"^"'*  •=r»p'  avym(^ 

StsSsx  y\)y.vMTxiz^  xxi  ju=  -sri-sovT^c  \xtzn;, 
Eiii  poJoi/  j-svo^iiv  u^ojTOp-upoi',  0Cf»  /«f  ycifiriv 

EiS-  xpivov  yivt.ii.fv  \suxoxpoov,  oipx^e  xtfiriv 
Afausi-,1,  fixKXov  a-/iq  xpOTDi}  xop(0-iij. 

I  wish  I  could  like  zephyr  steal 

To  wanton  o'er  thy  mazy  vest; 
And  thou  wouldst  ope  thy  bo«om  veil. 

And  take  me  panting  to  thy  breast! 

I  wish  I  might  a  rose-bud  grow. 

And  thou  won'dst  cull  me  from  the  bower, 

And  place  me  on  that  breant  of  snow, 
Wliero  I  should  bloom,  a  wintry  flower! 

I  wish  I  were  the  lily's  leaf. 

To  fade  upon  that  bosom  warm ; 
There  I  should  wither,  pale  and  brief. 

The  trophy  of  thy  fairer  form  ! 

Allow  me  to  add,  that  Plato  has  expressed  as  fanciful  a 
wish  in  a  distich  preserved  by  Laertius: 


Ao-T..p: 
0.p. 


:  jir:c3p;ic,  xi 
oj.  (u{  •sroX.x.o 


lip  £/iO^.  1*5!    ^£1' 


TO    STELLA. 


Wbvdost  thou  gaze  upon  the  sky? 

Oh  I  that  I  were  that  spangl-d  sphere. 
And  every  star  shoul<l  he  an  cyo 

To  wonder  on  thy  beauties  here  ! 

Apuleiiis  nuotes  this  ep'iram  of  the  divine  philosopher,  to 
jnslil'y  himself  for  bis  verses  on  Prilias  and  Charinus.  Se« 
his  Apolnffv,  where  he  also  adduces  the  examide  ol  Ana- 
creon ;  "  Fecere  lamen  et  alii  talia,  et  si  vos  isnoratii,  apui! 
GrtECos  Teius  quidam,"  etc.  etc. 


243 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


Oh  !  that  a  mirror's  form  were  mine, 
To  sparkle  with  that  smile  divine  ; 
And,  like  my  heart,  I  then  should  be 
Retleeting  thee,  and  only  thee  ! 
Or  were  I,  love,  the  robe  which  flows 
O'er  every  charm  that  secret  glows, 
In  many  a  lucid  fold  to  swim. 
And  cling  and  grow  to  every  limb ! 
Oh  !  could  1,  as  the  streamlet's  wave. 
Thy  warmly-mellowing  beauties  lave, 
Or  float  as  perfume  on  thine  hair,     , 
And  breathe  my  soul  in  fragrance  there ' 
I  wish  I  were  the  zone  that  lies 
Warm  to  thy  breast,  and  feels  its  sighs  ! 
Or  like  those  envious  pearls  that  show 
So  fiintly  round  that  neck  of  snow  ; 
Yes,  I  would  te  a  happy  gem, 
Like  them  to  hang,  to  fade  like  them. 
W^hat  more  would  thy  Anacreon  be  ? 
Oh  !  any  thmg  that  touc'nes  tliee. 
Nay,  sandals  for  those  airy  feet — 
Thus  to  be  press'd  by  thee,  were  sweet ! 


ODF.  XXIIl.' 
I  OFTEN  wish  this  languid  lyre, 
This  warbler  of  my  soul's  desire, 


Could  raise  the  breath  of  song  sublime 
To  men  of  fame,  in  former  time. 
But  when  the  soaring  theme  I  try, 
Along  the  chords  my  numbers  die. 
And  whisper,  with  dissolving  tone, 
"  Our  sighs  arc  given  to  Love  alone  !'' 
Indignant  at  tlie  feeble  lay, 
I  tore  the  panting  chords  away. 
Attuned  them  to  a  nobler  swell, 
And  struck  again  the  breathing  shell; 
In  all  the  glow  of  epic  fire. 
To  Hercules  I  wake  the  lyre  ! 
But  still  its  fainting  sighs  repeat, 
"The  tale  of  Love  alone  is  sweet !" 
Then  fare  thee  well,  seductive  dream, 
That  mad'st  me  follow  Glory's  theme ; 
For  thou,  my  lyre,  and  thou,  my  heart, 
Shall  never  more  in  spirit  part; 
And  thou  the  flame  shall  feel  as  well 
As  thou  the  flame  shalt  sweetly  tell ! 


/  wish  I  wire  the  zone  Chat  lies 

Warm  to  tkij  brra.<t.,  and  fuels  its  sighs!]     This  txihh 
was  a  rib:iii(l,  or  band,  i-alled  by  tlie  Romans  fascia  ar.J  i 
»lropliiuin,»\vliicli  the  women  wore  lor  the  purpose  of  n    | 
straining  the  exuberance  ot"  the  bosom.     Vide  Polluc.  Ono-  ' 
mast.    Thus  Martial:  | 

Fascia  crescentes  domins  compesce  papillas. 

The  women  of  Greece  not  only  wore  this  zone,  but  con- 
demned themselves  to  fasting,  and  made  use  of  certain 
drugs  and  powders  for  the  same  purpose.  To  these  expe- 
dients they  were  compelled,  in  coiise(|uence  of  their  inele- 
gant fashion  of  comiiressing  the  wii.st  into  a  very  narrow 
compass,  which  necessarily  eauseri  an  excessive  tumidity 
in  the  bosom.     See  Dioscorides,  lib.  v. 

JVrt;/,  sandals  for  those  airy  feet — 

Thus  to  be  press'd  hy  tlu-e  iccre  sweet!]  The  sophist 
Philostratus,  in  one  of  bis  love-letters,  has  borrowi-d  this 
thought:  ou  oeJsToi  zroSi;.  to  xx\X5;  s>.£u9sp05.  uj  Tpio-£v- 
y»iyunii/  lyji  r.xi  .(.azxipio;  ajtv  7Txrv\iTiri  (ii.  "  Oh  lovely 
feet  I  oh  excellent  beauty!  oh!  thrice  happy  and  blessed 
should  I  be,  if  you  would  but  tread  on  me!"  In  Shakspeare, 
Rumeo  desires  to  be  a  glove  : 

Oh  I  that  I  were  a  glove  upon  that  hand, 
That  I  might  kiss  that  cheek  ! 
And,  in  his  Passionate  Pilgrim,  we  meet  with  an  idea  some- 
what like  that  of  the  thirteetith  line: 

He,  spying  her,  bounced  in,  where  as  he  stood, 
"  O  Jove  I"  quoth  she,  "  why  was  not  I  a  tlood!" 

tn  Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  that  whimsical  far- 
rago of  "all  smh  reading  as  was  never  read,"  there  is  a 
very  old  translation  of  this  ode,  before  \fiXl.  "  Englished 
by  Mr.  B.  Holiday,  in  his  Technog.  act  1,  scene  7." 

1  This  ode  is  firs'  In  the  series  of  all  the  editions,  and  is 
thdii'.'ht  to  be  ppcidiarly  designeil  as  an  introduction  to  the 
rest :  it  however  characterizes  the  genius  of  the  Teian  but 
very  inadequately,  as  wine,  the  burden  of  his  lays,  is  not 
even  mentioned  in  it. 

cum  multo  Venerem  confundere  mero 

Precepit  Lyrici  Tela  Musa  senis.  Ovid. 

The  twenty-sixth  Ode,  o-v  utv  kiyit(  t«  ©>)Si)j,  mic'it,  with 
Ss  much  pro[iriety,  be  ;iie  harhint'er  of  his  songs. 

Bion  has  expressed  the  sentiments  of  the  ode  before  us 
with  mii'di  siinplicitv  in  his  fourth  idyl.  I  have  given  it 
'ather  parnphiaslically  ;  it  has  been  so  frequen'ly  translated, 
ihat  I  could  not  otherwise  avoid  triteness  and  ropotition. 


ODE  XXIV.' 

To  all  that  breathe  the  airs  of  heaven,  • 
Some  boon  of  strength  has  nature  given. 
When  the  majestic  bull  was  born. 
She  fenced  his  brow  with  wreathed  hom 
She  arin'd  the  courser's  foot  of  air, 
And  vving'd  with  speed  the  panting  hare 
She  gave  the  lion  fangs  of  terror, 
And,  on  the  ocean's  crystal  mirror, 
Taugnt  the  unnumber'd  scaly  throng 
To  trace  their  liquid  path  along  ; 
While  for  the  umbrage  of  the  grove. 
She  plumed  the  warbling  world  of  love. 


In  all  the  glow  ofrpicfirt, 

To  Hercules  fwiike  the  lyre!]  IMadnme  Dacier  ger>^ 
rally  translates  Xupn  into  a  lute,  which  I  believe  is  rather  in 
accuiate.  "  D'expliquer  la  lyre  des  ancieas  (says  Monsiou. 
Sorel)  par  un  luth,  c'est  ignorer  la  difference  qu'il  y  a  entrti 
ces  deux  instrumens  de  musique."  Bibliotheque  Francaise. 

But  still  its  fainting  sighs  repeat, 

"  The  tale  of  Love  alone  is  sweet!'']  The  word  hi'ti 
OiuvEi,  in  the  original,  may  imply  that  kind  of  musical  dia- 
logue practised  by  ilie  ancients,  in  which  the  lyre  was  made 
to  respond  to  the  qtieslions  proposed  by  the  singer.  This  wa» 
a  method  which  Sappho  tised,  as  we  are  told  by  Herino- 
genes  :  "  otxv  n/jv  Kvpxv  spjirx  San-^u),  xsti  OToftv  otoTjj  »wa. 
ylfiivytTXi."     Xlspi   I5"£x'v.  Tc/i.  Ssxjt. 

1  Henri  Stephens  has  imitated  the  idea  of  this  ode  in  the 
following  lines  of  one  of  his  poems  : 

Provida  dat  cunctis  Natura  animanlibus  arma, 

Et  sua  foBinineum  possidot  arnia  genus, 
Unsulaque  ut  defendit  eqnum,  alque  ut  cornua  tauruiii, 

Armata  est  forma  fccmina  jjulchra  sua.       .^ 

And  the  same  thought  occurs  in  those  lines,  spokon  bj 
Corisca  in  Pastor  Fido  : 

Cosi  not  la  bellezza 

Che  'e  vertu  nostra  cosi  propria,  come 

Tja  for/.a  del  Icune 

E  r  ingegno  de  1'  huomo. 

The  lion  boasts  his  savage  powers, 
And  lordly  man  hisslreiiirlh  of  mind  ; 

But  beauty's  charm  is  solely  ours, 
Peculiar  boon,  by  Heaven  assign'd  ! 

"An  elegant  explication  of  the  beauties  of  this  ode  (brvh 
DegcMO  may  he  found  in  Grimm  o'l  den  Aiiincrkk.  V^bo; 
einige  Odcn  des  Anakr" 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


249 


To  man  she  gave  the  flame  refined, 
The  spark  of  Heaven — a  thinking  mind  ! 
And  had  she  no  surpassing  treasure 
For  ihec,  oh  woman  I  child  of  pleasure  ? 
She  gave  thee  beauty — shaft  of  eyes, 
That  every  shaft  of  war  outHies  ! 
She  gave  tliee  beauty — blush  of  fire, 
Thai  bids  the  Hames  of  war  retire ! 
Woman  1  be  fair,  we  must  adore  thee ; 
Smile,  and  a  world  is  weak  before  thee  I 


ODE  XXV  ' 

Once  in  each  revolving  year, 
Gentle  bird  !  we  find  thee  here, 
When  nature  wears  her  summer-vest. 
Thou  com'st  to  weave  thy  simple  nest ; 
But  when  the  chilling  winter  lowers. 
Again  thou  seek'st  the  genial  bowers 
Of  Memphis,  or  the  shores  of  Nile, 
Where  sunny  hours  of  verdure  smile. 
And  thus  thy  wing  of  freedom  roves, 
Alas  I  unlike  the  plumed  loves. 
That  linger  in  this  hapless  breast, 
And  never,  never  change  their  nest ! 


To  man  she  gave  the  flame  refined. 

The  spark  of  Heaven — a  thinking  mind!]  In  my  first 
Ktiuiiipt  to  triiiislale  lliis  ode,  I  liad  interpreted  ?pov>;^ta,  with 
Baxter  aii<l  Uiirnes,  as  implying  courage  and  military  virtue ; 
out  I  do  not  think  ihal  llie  g:illantry  of  the  idea  sutTers  by 
the  inipiiit  which  I  have  now  given  to  it.  For,  why  need 
we  consider  this  |>ossession  of  wisdom  as  exclusive?  and  in 
truth,  as  the  design  of  Anacreon  is  to  estimate  the  treasure 
of  heauty,  above  all  the  rest  wliicli  Nature  has  distributed, 
It  is  perhaps  even  refining  upon  the  delicacy  of  the  conipl' 
ini'nt,  to  prefer  the  railiance  of  female  charms  to  the  cold 
illujnination  of  wisdom  and  prudence;  and  to  think  that 
women's  eyes  are 

the  books,  the  acadeniir's, 

From  whence  doth  spring  the  true  Promethean  fire. 

She  gave  thee  beauty— shaft  of  eyes. 

That  every  shaft  uf  war  outflics  .']  Thus  Achilles  Ta- 
tlUS  .  xxKKli  ojurspov  TiTpio<rx£i  lEsXou;,  xx>  J<a  Tcuf  0<?- 
5»A./£iov  Hi  TYiv  li-uxi"    xxTXfipli.      OiixKfto;    yxf  oJo;  sfaj. 

T.xw  rpxutiXTi.     "  Beauty  wounds  more  swiftly  than  the 
arrow,  and  passes  through  the  eye  to  the  very  soul ;  fur  the 
eye  is  the  inlet  to  the  wounds  of  love." 
IVoman!  le  fair,  we  must  adore  thee; 
Smile,  and  a  world  is  weak  before  thee !]    Longepierre's 
remark  here  is  very  ingenious:     "The  Romans,"  says  he, 
"  were  so  convinced  of  the  power  of  beauty,  that  they  used 
a  word  implying  strength  in  the  place  of  the  epithet  beauti- 
ful.    Thus  Plauius,  act  2,  scene  2,  Bacchid. 
Sed  Bacchis  etiam  fortis  tibi  visa. 
'  Fortis,  id  est  formosa,'  say  Servius  and  Nonius." 
I  This  is  another  ode  addressed  to  the  swallow.     Albert! 
has  imitated  both  in  one  poem,  beginning 
Perch'  io  pianga  al  tuo  canto 
Rondinella  importuna,  etc. 
.lias  !  unlike  the  plumed  loves, 
That  linger  in  this  hapless  breast, 

.Ind  never,  never  change  their  nest!"]  Thus  Love  is 
•epreseiited  as  a  bird,  in  an  epigram  cited  by  Longepierre 
from  the  Anthologia: 

Aisi  ;tio>  JuvEi  nsv  iv  oa»<rii'  ii^Of  sp'-uTO{, 

Ofifix  ^s  trtyx  To5oi5  to  j^^uxu  dxxpu  ^spa, 
OvT'  >i  iu;,!iu  csyyo;  ixciftimv,  atX.*.'  utto  ?i\Tpa;» 

HSs  — cu  xpxJii;  yi/coO-TO;  EvscTTi  Tutrof. 
iJ  i-Txi'Oi,/<>)  x»i  -n-OT'  n^i^Txtrixi  fitv  tpuiTtj 
OlJax',  KirO^T>Il'»l  i'  ouj'  orov   10-%U£T£. 

'Tis  Love  that  murmurs  in  my  breast, 
.•Vnd  makes  me  shed  the  secret  tear; 

Nor  day  nor  night  my  heart  has  rest. 
For  night  and  day  his  voice  I  hear 


Still  every  year,  and  ail  the  year, 
A  flight  of  loves  engender  herfc , 
And  some  their  infant  plumage  try, 
And  on  a  tender  winglct  Hy  ; 
While  in  the  shell,  impregn'd  with  fires, 
Cluster  a  thousand  more  desires  ; 
Some  froiTi  their  tiny  prisons  peeping, 
And  some  in  formless  embryo  sleeping 
My  bosom,  like  the  vernal  groves, 
Resounds  with  little  warbling  loves; 
One  urchin  imps  the  other's  feather, 
Then  twill-desires  they  wing  together. 
And  still  as  they  have  learn'd  to  scat, 
The  wanton  biibics  teem  with  more. 
But  is  there  then  no  kindly  art. 
To  chase  these  Cupids  from  my  heart? 
No,  no !  1  fear,  alas  !  I  fear 
They  will  for  ever  nestle  here  ! 


ODE  XX VL' 

Thy  harp  may  sing  of  Troy's  alarms. 
Or  tell  the  tale  of  Theban  arms  ; 
With  other  wars  my  song  shall  burn. 
For  other  wounds  my  harp  shall  mourn 
'T  was  not  the  crested  warrior's  dart 
Which  drank  the  current  of  my  heart; 
Nor  naval  arms,  nor  mailed  steed. 
Have  made  this  vanquish'd  bosom  bleed  ' 
No — from  an  eye  of  liquid  blue 
A  host  of  quiver'd  Cupids  flew ; 
And  now  my  heart  all  bleeding  hea 
Beneath  this  army  of  the  eyes  ! 


ODE  xxvn.2 

We  read  the  flying  courser's  name 
Upon  his  side,  in  marks  of  flame ; 


A  wound  within  my  heart  I  find, 

And  oh  !  'tis  plain  where  love  has  been  ; 

For  still  he  haves  a  wound  behind. 
Such  as  within  my  heart  is  seen. 

Oh  bird  of  Love!  with  song  so  drear, 
.Make  not  my  soul  the  nest  of  pain  ; 

Oh  !  let  the  wing  which  brought  thee  here. 
In  pity  waft  thee  hence  again! 

1  "  The  German  poet  Uz  has  imitated  this  ode.  Com 
pare  also  Weisse  Scherz.  Lieder.  lib.  iii.  der  Soldau" 
Gail,  Degcn. 

JVo — from  an  eye  of  lii/uid  blue, 

Ji  host  of  ijuivcr'd  Cupids  flew.]   Longepierre  has  quotec 
part  ol  an  rpigiam   from  the  stvinth  book  of  the  Antliola 
gia,  which  has  a  fancy  something  like  this: 
Ou  /it  t.tKy,ox;, 
To?OT«,  Znvo^iKx^  oju/«x<ri  xpu?rT0/«sv6{. 
Archer  Love!  though  slily  creeping. 
Well  I  know  wliere  thou  dost  lie; 
I  saw  ihee  through  the  curtain  peeping. 
That  fringes  Zenuphelia's  eye. 
The  poets  abound  with  conceits  on  the  archery  of  '.ne 
eyes,  but  few  have  turned  the  thought  so  naturally  as  .A.ti 
creon.     Ronsard  gives  to  the  eyes  of  his  mistress  "  un  peti: 
camp  d'amours." 

2  This  ode  forms  a  part  of  the  preceding  in  the  'Valicar. 
MS.  but  I  have  conformed  to  'he  editions  in  translating 
them  separately. 

"Compare  with  this  (says  Degeii)  the  poem  of  Ramler 
Wahrzeichen  der  Liebe,  in  Lyr.  Blumenlese  lib.  iv  d.  ai.T 


250 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And,  by  their  turban'd  brows  alone, 

The  warriors  of  the  East  are  known 

But  in  the  lover's  glowing  eyes, 

The  inlet  to  his  bosom  lies  ; 

Through  them  we  see  the  small  faint  mark, 

Where  Love  has  dropp'd  his  burning  spark ! 


ODE  XXVIIL' 

As  in  the  Lemnian  caves  of  fire, 
The  mate  of  her  who  nursed  desire 
Moulded  the  glowing  steel,  to  form 
Arrows  for  Cupid,  thrilling  warm; 
While  Venus  every  barb  imbues 
With  droppings  of  her  honied  dews ; 
And  Love  (alas  !  the  victim-heart) 
Tinges  with  gall  the  burning  dart; 
Once,  to  this  Lemnian  cave  of  flame, 
The  crested  Lord  of  Battles  came ; 
'T  was  from  the  ranks  of  war  he  rush'd, 
His  spear  with  many  a  life-drop  blush'd ! 
He  saw  the  mystic  darts,  and  smiled 
Derision  on  the  archer-child. 
"  And  dost  thou  smile  ?"  said  little  Love  ; 
"  Take  this  dart,  and  thou  may'st  prove, 


That  though  they  pass  the  breeze's  flight, 
My  bolts  are  not  so  feathery  light." 
He  took  the  shafi — and,  oh  !  thy  look, 
Sweet  Venus  !  when  the  shaft  he  took- 
He  sigh'd,  and  feh  the  urchin's  art; 
He  sigh'd,  in  agony  of  heart, 
"  It  is  not  light — I  die  with  pain  ! 
Take — take  tliy  arrow  back  again." 
"  No,"  said  the  child,  "  it  must  not  be, 
That  little  dart  was  made  for  thee  !" 


ODE  XXIX, 

Yes — loving  is  a  painful  thrill, 
And  not  to  love,  more  painful  still ; 


Hut  in  the  lover's  glowing  eyes, 

The  inlet  to  his  bosom  li::s.]     "  We  cannot  see  into  the 
heait,"  says  Madame  Dacler.     Bui  tlio  lover  answers — 
II  cor  ne  gli  occlii  e  ne  la  I'ronte  ho  scritto. 
Monsieur  La  Fosse  lias  given  the  following  lines,  as  en- 
larging on  the  thought  of  Anacreon : 

Lorsquc  je  vois  un  aniant, 
li  cache  en  vain  son  lourinent, 
A  le  trahir  tout  conspire, 
Sa  langueur,  son  einbarras. 
Tout  ce  qu'il  peut  I'aire  ou  dire, 
Meme  ce  qu'il  ne  clit  pas. 

In  vain  the  lover  tries  to  veil 

The  Hame  which  in  liis  bosom  lies; 
His  cheek's  confusion  tells  the  tale, 

We  read  it  in  his  languid  eyes. 
And  though  his  words  the  he.irt  betray, 
His  silence  speaks  e'en  more  than  they. 
1  This  ode  is  referred  to  by  La  Molhu  le  Vayer,  who,  I 
believe,  was  the  author  of  thai  cuious  little  work,  called 
"  Ilexameron  Rusiiqne."     He  makes  use  of  this,  as  well  as 
the  Ihirty-tifth,  in  his  ingenious  but  iiidelicaie  exjilanation  of 
Homer's  Cave  of  the  iVymphs.     Journfee  tiuatrieme. 
Jlnil  Love  {alas  !  the  victlrii  heart) 
Tinges  with  gall  the  burning  dart.]    Thus  Claudian — 
Labnntnr  gemini  fontcs,  hie  dulcis,  amarus 
Aller,  et  infusis  corrunipil  molla  vcnenis, 
Unde  Cupidineas  arniavit  fama  saginas. 

In  Cyprus'  isle  two  rippling  fountains  fall, 
And  one  vvilh  honey  Mows,  and  oni'  with  gall; 
In  these,  if  we  may  lake  the  tale  from  fame, 
The  son  of  Venus  dii)s  his  darts  of  Hame. 
See  t!io  ninety-first  emblem  of  Alcintus,  on  tlie  close  con- 
icxion  which  subsists  between  swecis  and  billerness.  "  A))es 
ideo  pnngunt  (says  Pelronius)  quia  ubi  dulce,  ibi  et  acidum 
invenles. 

The  allegorical  description  of  Cupid's  employment,  in 
Horace,  may  vie  with  this  before  us  in  fancy,  though  not 
n  delicacy : 

ferns  et  Cupido 

S'Mnper  ardcntes  acuens  sugiltas 
Cote  cru'inta. 
And  Cupid   sharpening  ;ill  liis  fn-ry  darts 
L'non  a  whetstone  slain'd  with  blood  of  hearts. 

."iecundus  has  borrowetl  this,  but  has  somewhat  softened 
»ie  iniiige  by  the  omission  of  the  epithet  "  cruenta." 
Fallor  an  ardentes  acuebat  cote  sagittas.     Elcg.  1. 


Ycs- 

Jlud 

Menagi 

sity  of 


-loving  is  a  painful  thrill, 

not  to  love  more  painful  still,  etc.]  MonBiPO- 
i,  in  the  following  Anacreontic,  enforces  the  npcet 
loving: 


M>5 


U|U£V 


To  Tiitvov  Tou  Xji^povurxoUf 
i;o(f  ii)j  Jiariip  x7TXa->ig. 
Ti  J' ai'tu  j^iKOiT*  EpiuTOf  ; 
Akov.)  ^.v  io-ri  iJ/uxilS.  (a) 
n.-rBftvyl(r<riv   ii;    O/^u/ta-0» 

KxTX^Sl/iiVOUi-    XVXljISl. 

BpxJsx;  Tiri^yyivaiirt 
Bt^EifTc-i  ic.^y-^p-^j 
llupi  KxfcTTxiof  q:-x£ivai 
Pu!7-:£pu,Tspou{  ;<x52.p£i. 
*iX.£u,^iv  ouK,  TETTE, 

*.\£.o^£r,  -i;  ST»lp£. 

ASix.'jis  Si  KDiSofouvri 
Ayio\ii  £p.oTa;  yifnov 

KUAOV   £UvjO/XXi    TO    /^OyvOV 


-  fit 


*1A.££ 


iKii(r:}» 


TO  PETER  DANIKL  HUETT. 

Thou  !  of  tuneful  bards  the  first, 
Thou  1  by  all  the  Graces  ruirsed  ; 
Friend!  each  olher  friend  above, 
Come  wiih  me,  and  learn  to  love. 
Loving  is  a  simple  lore, 
Graver  men  liave  learn'd  before; 
Nay,  the  boast  of  former  ages, 
Wisest  of  the  wisest  sagea 
Sophroniscus'  prudent  son, 
Was  by  Love's  illusion  won. 
Oh  I  how  heavy  lite  would  move, 
If  we  knew  not  how  to  love] 
Love  's  a  wheistone  to  the  mind  ; 
Thus  'lis  pointed,  ilius  refined. 
When  the  soul  dejected  lies, 
Love  can  waft  it  to  tho  skies; 
When  in  languor  sleeps  the  heart. 
Love  can  wake  it  with  his  dart; 
When  the  mind  is  dull  and  dark. 
Love  can  light  it  vvilh  his  spark! 
Come,  oh  1  come  then,  let  us  haste 
All  the  bliss  of  love  to  taste ; 
Let  us  love  both  night  and  day. 
Let  us  love  our  lives  away  ! 
And  wIkmi  hearts,  from  loving  free 
(If  indeed  such  hearts  thiMe  be,) 
Frown  upon  mn'  gentle  flume. 
And  tho  sweet  delusion  blame  ; 

(a)  This  line  is  borrowed  from  an  epigram  by  A\pheut 
of  Milylene. 

"{'UXI?  TTiv  Eptof  alcovi). 

Menage,  I  think,  says  somewhere,  that  he  was  the  first  wtie 
produced  this  epigram  to  tho  world 


ODES  OF  ANaCREON. 


251 


But  surely  't-s  the  worst  of  pain, 
To  love  and  not  he  loved  again  ! 
Affection  now  iuis  lied  from  earth, 
Nor  fire  of  genius,  light  of  birth. 
Nor  heavenly  virtue,  can  beguile 
From  Beauty's  cheek  one  favouring  smile 
(Jold  is  the  woman's  only  theme. 
Gold  is  the  wotnan's  only  dream. 
Oh  I  never  be  that  wretch  forgiven — 
Forgive  him  not,  indignant  Heaven  ! — 
Whose  grovelling  eyes  could  first  adore, 
Whose  heart  could  [)ant  for  sordid  ore. 
Since  that  devoted  thirst  began, 
Man  has  forgot  to  feel  for  man  ; 
The  pulse  of  social  life  is  dead. 
And  all  its  fonder  feelings  fled  ! 
War  too  has  sullied  Nature's  charms. 
For  gold  provokes  the  world  to  arms ! 
And  oh  !  the  worst  of  all  its  art, 
I  feel  it  breaks  the  lover's  heart ! 


ODE  XXX.> 

'Twas  in  an  airy  dream  of  night, 

1  fancied  that  I  wing'd  my  (light 

On  pinions  fleeter  than  the  wind. 

While  little  Love,  whose  feet  were  twined 

(I  know  not  why)  with  chains  of  leao. 

Pursued  me  as  I  trembling  fled  ; 

Pursued — and  could  1  e'er  have  thought? — 

Swift  as  the  moment  I  was  caught! 

What  does  the  wanton  Fancy  mean 

By  such  a  strange,  illusive  scene  ? 

I  fear  she  whispers  to  my  breast. 

That  you,  my  girl,  have  stolen  my  rest  ; 

That  though  my  fancy,  for  a  while, 

Has  hung  on  many  a  woman's  smile, 

I  soon  dissolved  the  passing  vow. 

And  ne'er  was  caught  by  Love  till  now  ! 


ODE  XXXL* 

Arm'd  with  hyaciuthine  rod 
(Arms  enough  for  such  a  god,) 


This  shall  be  my  only  curse, 
(Cdiilil  I,  could  I  wish  tlicm  worse  ?) 
May  they  ne'er  ihe  rapture  prove. 
Of  the  smile  from  lijjs  we  love! 

1  Barnes  imasinos  from  this  allegory,  that  our  poet  mar- 
ried very  late  in  life.  I  do  not  perceive  any  tiling  in  the  ode 
which  seems  lo  a!kide  to  matrimony,  except  it  bo  the  lead 
upon  the  feet  of  Cupid  ;  and  1  must  confess  that  I  agree  in 
the  opinion  of  M:ulnme  Dacier,  in  her  life  of  the  poet,  that 
hn  was  always  too  fond  of  pleasure  to  marry. 

2  The  design  of  Ihls  little  fiction  is  lo  intimate,  that  much 
greater  pain  attends  insensibility  than  can  ever  result  from 
Ihe  tenderest  impressions  of  love.  Lonsepierre  has  quoted 
an  ancient  epigram  (I  do  not  know  where  he  found  it,) 
which  has  some  similitude  to  this  ode: 

Leeto  eomposilus,  vix  prima  silentia  noetis 

Carpeliam,  et  soiiino  lumina  victa  dabam; 
Cum  me  s;evus  Amor  prensum,  sursumque  capillis 

E\eitat,  et  lacerum  pervigilare  jubef. 
Tu  famulus  mens,  inquit,  ames  cum  mille  puellas, 

Solus  lo,  solus,  dure  jacere  potes? 
Rxilioet  pedibus  nudis,  timicaque  soluta, 

Omne  iter  impcdio  nullum  iter  expedio. 


Cupid  bade  me  wing  my  pace, 
And  try  with  him  the  rapid  race. 
O'er  the  wild  torrent,  rude  and  deep 
By  tangled  brake  and  pendent  steep, 
With  weary  foot  I  panting  flew. 
My  brow  was  chill  with  drops  of  dew 
And  now  my  soul,  exhausted,  dying, 
To  my  lip  was  faintly  flying; 
And  now  I  thought  the  spark  had  fled, 
When  Cupid  hover'd  o'er  my  head. 
And,  finning  light  his  breezy  plume, 
Rccall'd  me  from  my  languid  gloom  ; 
Then  said,  in  accents  half-reproving, 
"  Why  hast  thou  been  a  foe  to  loving  V 


ODE  XXXII.' 

Strew  me  a  breathing  bed  of  leaves 
Where  lotus  with  the  myrtle  weavea ; 


Nunc  propero,  nunc  ire  piget;  rursum(|ue  redire 

Poenitet;  et  pudor  est  stare  via  media. 
Ecce  tacent  voces  honiinum,  sirepilusque  ferarum, 

Et  volucruin  caritus,  turba(pie  Hdn  canum. 
Solus  ego  ex  cunciis  paveo  sonummque  torumque, 

Et  sequor  imjiuriuin,  siEVu  Cujiido,  tuuni. 

Upon  my  couch  1  lay,  at  night  profound, 

Mv  languid  eyes  in  magic  slumber  bound, 

When  Cupid  came  and  snatch'd  me  from  my  bed, 

Anil  forced  me  many  a  weary  way  to  tread. 

''Wiiat  I  '.said  the  god)  shall  you,  whose  vows  are  known, 

Who  love  so  many  nympis,  thus  sleep  alone?" 

I  rise  and  follow;  all  the  night  I  stray, 

Unslielter'd,  trembling,  doubtful  of  my  way. 

Tracing  with  naked  loot  the  painful  track, 

Loth  to  jiroceed,  yet  fearful  to  go  bs.ck. 

Yes,  at  that  hour,  when  Nature  seems  interr'd. 

Nor  warbling  birds,  nor  lowing  flocks  are  heard; 

I,  I  atones,  a  fugitive  from  rest. 

Passion  my  guide,  and  madness  in  my  breast. 

Wander  the  world  around,  unknowing  where, 

The  slave  of  love,  the  viclim  of  despair! 

My  l/row  was  chill  with  drops  of  dew.]  I  have  followed 
those  who  read  Tsipsf  iJpj..;  for  —tifiv  uJpo;  ;  (he  former  u 
partly  authorized  by  the  MS.  which  reads  ^nfiv  iSfjif. 

JInd  now  my  soul,  cxhiwsted,  dying; 

To  my  lip  was  faintly  Jlyivg,  etc.]  In  the  original,  ha 
says  his  heart  flew  to  Irs  nnse ;  but  our  manner  more  nam 
riiily  transfers  it  to  the  lips.  Such  is  the  effect  thai  Plate 
tells  us  he  felt  from  a  kiss,  in  a  distich,  quoted  by  Aulas 
Gellius: 

Try  ■l/V/.Ytv,  AyxS-jivit  ^iKuiVfOTi   jjeiXsmv  «(r%or 
H^.5e   yap  H  rKvi/ijiv  oif  Ji»S>iff-o//si<)). 

Wiiene'er  thy  nectar'd  kiss  I  sip, 
And  drink  thy  breath,  in  melting  twine, 

Mv  soul  then  flutters  to  mv  lip, 
Ready  to  fly  and  mix  with  thine. 

Aulus  Gellius  subjoins  a  paraphrase  of  this  epigram,  in 
which  we  find  manv  of  those  mignardises  of  expression, 
which  mark  the  effeminatiou  of  the  Latin  language. 

j9nrf,  fanning  light  his  breezy  plume, 

Hrcall'd  in e  from  my  languid  gloom.]  "The  facility 
with  which  Cupiil  recovers  him,  signifies  that  the  sweets  of 
love  make  us  easily  forget  any  solicitudes  which  he  may  oc- 
casion."—  /yO  Fosse. 

1  We  here  have  the  poet,  in  his  true  attributes,  reclining 
upon  myrtles,  with  Cupid  for  his  crip-bearer.  Soirre  inter- 
preters have  ruined  Ihe  picture  by  making  Epaj  the  name 
of  his  slave.  None  but  Love  should  fill  the  gnblet  of  .Ana- 
rreon.  Sappho  lias  assigned  this  oflicc  to  Venus,  in  a  frag- 
m<'nt.      Ex5s,  Ku;Tpi,  %pu<riixi(ri*'  iv  xvKixsiraii  abpoij  (ru/r*. 

/^ifjuy/itsviv      ^X\tXl(ri      VSXTXp      Oll'0%OOU(r34      TOUTO*0*4     to«^ 

fTaipoif  t/no"?  yt  1X1  o-oij. 
Which  may  be  thus  paraphrased  : 

Hither,  Venus!  queen  of  kisses. 
This  shall  be  the  night  of  blisses' 


252 


MOOIIE'S  WORKS. 


And,  while  in  luxury's  dream  1  sink, 

Let  me  the  balm  of  Bacchus  drink  ! 

In  this  dehcinus  hour  of  joy 

Young  Love  shall  be  my  goblet-boy; 

Folding  his  little  golden  vest, 

With  cinctures,  round  his  snowy  breast, 

Himself  shall  hover  by  my  side, 

And  minister  the  racy  tide  ! 

Swift  as  the  wheels  that  kindling  roll. 

Our  life  is  hurrying  to  the  goal  : 

A  scanty  dust  to  feed  the  wind. 

Is  all  the  trace  't  will  leave  behind. 

Why  do  we  shed  the  rose's  bloom 

Upon  the  cold,  insensate  tomb  ! 

Can  flowery  breeze,  or.  odour's  breath, 

Affect  the  slumbering  chill  of  death  ? 

No,  no ;  I  ask  no  balm  to  steep 

With  fragrant  tears  my  bed  of  sleep : 

But  now,  while  every  pulse  is  glowing. 

Now  let  me  breatlie  the  balsam  flowing ; 

Now  let  the  rose  with  blush  of  fire, 

Upon  my  brow  its  scent  expire ; 

And  bring  the  nymph  with  floating  eye, 

Oh !  she  will  teach  me  how  to  die  ! 

Yes,  Cupid  !  ere  my  soul  retire, 

To  join  the  blest  Elysian  choir. 

With  wine,  and  love,  and  blisses  dear, 

I'll  make  my  own  Elysium  here ! 


ODE  XXXIIL' 

'T  WAS  noon  of  night,  when  round  the  pole 
The  sullen  Bear  is  seen  to  roll ; 
And  mortals,  wearied  with  the  day, 
Are  slumbering  all  their  cares  away: 
An  infant,  at  that  dreary  hour. 
Came  weeping  to  my  silent  bower, 
And  waked  me  with  a  piteous  prayer, 
To  save  him  from  the  midnight  air ! 
"And  who  art  thou,"  1  waking  cry, 
"  That  bid'st  my  blissful  visions  fly  ?" 


Tliis  thcnislu,  to  lVieiuislii|)  dear, 
TliijQ  shall  be  our  Hebe  here. 
Fill  the  gold(m  brimjiiur  high, 
Let  it  sparkle  like  thine  eye! 
Bid  the  rosy  current  gush, 
Let  it  maiitlK  like  thy  blush! 
Venus!  hast  thou  e'er  above 
Seen  a  feabt  so  rich  in  love  ? 
Not  a  soul  that  is  not  mine! 
Not  a  soul  that  is  not  thine  ! 

"Compare  with  this  ode  (says  the  German  commentator) 
the  beaulil'ul  pof^n  in  Ramler's  Lyr.  Blumcnlese,  lib.  iv.  p. 
896.     Amor  als  Uiener." 

1  Monsieur  Bernnrde,  llie  author  of  I'Art  d'ainicr,  hns 
written  a  ballet  called  "  Les  Surprises  dc  I'Ainour,"  in 
which  the  subject  ot  the  third  entree  is  Anacreon,  and  the 
suiry  of  this  ode  sugi^esis  one  of  the  scenes.  Qiluvres  de 
Bernard,  Anac.  scene  4th. 

The  German  annolator  refers  us  here  to  an  imitation  by 
1,'z,  lib.  ill.  "  Amor  und  8(!in  Brnder,"  and  a  poem  of  Kleist 
die  Ileiluni;  I>a  Fontaine  has  translated,  or  rnlher  inntaled, 
thm  ode. 

"  Jlnd  mho  art  tlioii"  I  waliinsr  cry, 

"That  hid'.it  my  blissful  visions  fly  1]  Anacreon  ap- 
prnrs  to  have  been  H  voluptuary  even  in  dreaminji,  by  the 
ively  regret  which  Im  Bxpressoi  al  being  disiurlied  from  his 
inionary  enjoyments.     See  the  odes  x.  and  xxxvii. 


"  O  gentle  sire!"  the  infant  said, 

In  pity  take  me  to  thy  shed ; 

Nor  fear  deceit :  a  lonely  child 

1  wander  o'er  the  gloomy  wild. 

Chill  drops  the  rain,  and  not  a  ray 

Illumes  the  drear  and  tnisty  way!" 

I  hear  the  baby's  tale  of  woe ; 

I  hear  the  bitter  night-winds  blow ; 

And,  sighing  for  his  piteous  fate, 

I  trimm'd  my  lamp,  and  oped  the  gate. 

'T  was  Love  !  tlie  little  wandering  spriVi 

His  pinion  sparkled  through  the  night. 

I  knew  him  by  his  bow  and  dart ; 

I  knew  him  by  my  fluttering  heart  L 

I  take  him  in,  and  fondly  raise 

The  dying  embers'  cheering  blaze  ; 

Press  from  his  dank  and  clinging  hair 

The  crystals  of  the  freezing  air. 

And  in  my  hand  and  bosom  hold 

His  little  fingers  thrilling  cold. 

And  now  the  embers'  genial  ray 

Had  warm'd  his  anxious  fears  away ; 

"I  pray  thee,"  said  the  wanton  child 

(My  bosom  trembled  as  he  smiled,) 

"  I  pray  thee  let  me  try  my  bow, 

For  through  the  rain  I've  wander'd  so, 

That  much  I  fear  the  ceaseless  shower 

Has  injured  its  elastic  power." 

The  fatal  bow  the  urchin  drew; 

Swift  from  the  string  the'ariow  flew; 

Oh !  swift  it  flew  as  glancing  flame. 

And  to  my  very  soul  it  came  ! 

"  Fare  thee  well,"  I  heard  him  say. 

As  laughing  wild  he  wing'd  away ; 

"  Fare  thee  well,  for  now  I  know 

The  rain  has  not  relax'd  my  bow  ; 

It  still  can  send  a  maddening  dart. 

As  thou  shalt  own  with  all  thy  heart  I 


ODE  XXXIV.' 

Oh  thou,  of  all  creation  blest. 
Sweet  insect  I  that  delight'st  to  rest 
L'pon  the  wild  wood's  leafy  tops, 
To  drink  the  dew  that  morning  drops. 
And  chirp  thy  song  with  such  a  glee. 
That  happiest  kings  may  envy  thee ! 


"Picas  Love!  the.  III  tic  wandcrivg  sprite,  etc.'\     See  the 
beautiful  description  of  Cupid,  by  Moschus,  in  his  first  idyl. 

1  Father  Riipin,  in  a  Latin  ode  addressed  to  the  grasshop- 
per, has  preserved  some  of  the  thoughts  of  our  author . 
O  qnse  viretiti  graininis  in  toro. 
Cicada,  blande  sidis,  et  herbidos 
Saltus  oherras,  otiosos 
Ingeniosa  ciere  cantus. 
Seu  forte  adultis  floribns  incnbas, 
Cieli  ciiducis  ebria  Hetibus,  etc 

Oh  thou,  that  on  the  grassy  bed 
Whicii  Nature's  vernal  hand  has  spread, 
Reclines!  soft,  and  tunest  thy  song, 
The  dewy  herbs  and  Ic'avcs  among  ! 
Whether  thou  liest  on  springing  flowers. 
Drunk  with  the  balmy  morning-showers. 
Or,  etc. 
See  what  Licetus  says  about  grasshoppers,  cap.  93  ami  185 

.flnil  rhirj)  thy  son  n-  with  such  ajrlcc^ctc]  "  Some  authors 
have  affiinicd   (s.iys  M.idauio  Dacier,)  that   t  is  only  malt 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


253 


WTialever  decks  the  velvet  field, 
Wliate  er  the  circling  seasons  yield, 
Whatever  buds   whatever  blows, 
For  iliee  it  buds,  for  thee  it  grows. 
Nor  yet  art  thou  the  peasant's  fear, 
To  hiin  thy  friendly  notes  are  dear; 
For  thou  art  mild  as  matin  dew. 
And  still,  when  summer's  flowery  hue 
Begins  to  paint  the  bloomy  plain, 
We  hear  thy  sweet  prophetic  strain  ; 
Thy  sweet  prophetic  strain  we  hear, 
And  bless  the  notes  and  thee  revere! 
Tiie  Muses  love  thy  shrilly  tone  ; 
Apollo  calls  thee  all  his  own  ; 
'T  was  he  who  gave  that  voice  to  thee, 
'T  is  he  who  tunes  thy  minstrelsy. 
Unworn  by  age's  dim  decline, 
The  fadeless  blooms  of  youth  are  thine. 
Melodious  insect !  child  of  earth  ! 
In  wisdom  mirthful,  wise  in  mirth  ; 
Exempt  from  every  weak  decay, 
That  withers  vulgar  frames  away  ; 
With  not  a  drop  of  blood  to  stain 
The  current  of  thy  purer  vein; 
So  blest  an  age  is  pass'd  by  thee, 
Thou  seern'st  a  little  deity  ! 


ODE  -XXXV.' 

Cupid  once  upon  a  bed 

Of  roses  laid  his  weary  head ; 


'ristilioppers  which  sing,  and  iliat  the  females  are  silent; 
iliif  on  tins  circumstance  is  fouinlnl  alion-inol  ofXenarchns, 
tlie  cojnic  poet,  who  says  e't'  na-iv  oi  tsttij-s;  oux  luSxi- 
«oi/5j,  tuv  xaij  yuvxiiiv  ouJ"  OTi  ouf  O'jii'iis  svi  ;  '  are  not  tlje 
srasshoppers  happy  iji  having  ilnnib  wives?'  "  This  note  is 
originally  Henry  Stephen's;  hiii  [  chose  rather  to  make 
Madame  Dacier  my  authority  for  it. 

The  Musrs  love  tliy  shrillij  tone,  etc.]  Phile,  de  Animal. 
Proprietat.  calls  this  insect  Msutxi;  ciXoj,  the  darMng  of  the 
Muses;  and  Moucraiv  opviu,  tlie  bird  of  the  Moses;  and  we 
finil  Plato  compared  for  his  eloiiuence  to  the  crasshopper,  in 
the  following  punning  lines  of  Timon,  preserved  by  Dioge- 
nes Laertius : 

H?u£5ri);  TSTTiiiv   KT.oypxfoe,  oi  5'  cnxSiifiiiv 
&ivSpB:i  E0£^5/zivo*  OTTot  K£ipiO£(rirxv  *£to-*. 

This  last  line  is  borrowed  from  Homer's  Iliad,  K.  where 
there  occurs  the  very  same  simile. 

Melodious  insect!  child  of  earth!]  Longepierre  has 
quoted  the  two  first  lines  of  an  epigram  of  Antipater,  from 
the  first  book  of  tlie  Anthologia,  where  he  prefers  the 
grasshopper  to  the  swan: 

Aniiiv  xuxvaiv  eiori  ysy-utoTEpoi. 

In  dew,  lliat  drops  from  morning's  wings, 

The  gay  Cicada  sipping  lloats; 
And,  drunk  with  dew,  his  matin  sings 
Sweeter  lh;in  any  cygnet's  notes. 
1  Theocritus  has  imitated  this  beautiful  oile  in  his  nine- 
teenlh  idyl,  but   is  very  inferior,  I  think,  to  his  original,  in 
delicMK-y  ol^  point,  and  naivelti  of  expression.     Spenser  in 
on,-!  of  his  smaller  compositions,  has  sported  more  diffusely 
on  the  same  subject.     Tlie   poem  to  which  I  allude  begins 
'bus: 

U|ion  a  dav,  as  I^ove  lay  sweetly  slumbering 

All  in  his  mother's  lap ; 
A  gentle  bee,  with  his  loud  trumjjet  murmuring, 
About  him  flew  by  hap,  etc. 

In  Almeloveen's  collection  of  epigrams,  there  is  one  by 
L'lvorius,  correspondent  somewhat  with  the  turn  of  Ana 


Luckless  urchin  not  to  see 

Within  the  leaves  a  slumbering  bee  ! 

Tlic  bee  awaked — with  anger  wild 

The  bee  awaked  and  stung  the  child. 

Loud  and  piteous  are  his  cries; 

To  Venus  quick  he  runs,  he  flies! 

"  <Jh  mother  I — 1  am  wounded  througl>- 

I  die  with  pain — in  sooth  1  do  I 

Stung  by  some  little  angry  thing, 

Some  serpent  on  a  tiny  wing — 

A  bee  it  was — for  once,  1  know, 

I  heard  a  rustic  call  it  so." 

Thus  he  spoke,  and  she  the  while 

Heard  him  with  a  soothing  smile; 

Then  said,  "  .Aly  infant,  if  so  much 

Thou  feel  the  little  wild  bee's  touch, 

How  must  the  heart,  ah,  (/'upid  !  be. 

The  hapless  heart  that  's  stung  by  thee  ! 


ODE  XXXVI. 

If  hoarded  gold  possess'd  a  power 
To  lengthen  life's  too  fleeting  hour, 


creon,  where  Love  complains  to  his  mother  of  being  wound- 
ed Ly  a  rose. 

The  ode  before  us  is  the  very  flower  of  simplicity.  The 
infaniine  complainings  of  the  litlle  god,  and  ihe  natural  and 
impressive  relliclioiis  which  lliey  draw  from  Venus,  are 
beauties  of  iniinilable  grace.  I  hope  I  shall  be  pardoneit  for 
introducing  anoihcT  Greek  .^nacreontic  of  Monsieur  Men- 
age, not  for  its  similitude  to  the  subject  of  this  ode,  bu'  for 
some  f;iint  traces  of  this  natural  simplicity  which  it  appeaid 
to  me  to  have  preserved : 

Ep-jjf  wot'  IV  xof-""! 
Tujv   zrapSlvaiv   a:uTOv 
Till'  ^toi   (piXifi/   Kopivvav 
12;    tiSiv^  wj    xrpof   u.vt)hv 
npoo-iJpa/^i-  T(x'M>^ii 

'I'iXEi     jU£,    ^)lT£p,    itTTS, 
KxKOV/:t£ViJ    Kaptvvx 
M>IT;-p,    Ep-jjpiX^El, 
11;      ITXpJsl'O;    /Z£V     OUO-36, 

K'  «UT05  Ss   Sutrx^P^tVMVy 
ilf  o/i,ux(ri   •=Xxi'i|i)«if, 
Ep.of   ipujpi^ts'. 
Ey'ji   Ss   01    ■SFxpxtTTXif 
Ml)   Su(rzif="vt,  CKfi. 
K\i7Tjiiv  rs   XXI   K':ptvvxv 

K:4*    01    &K67!0VTi^    050, 

As  dancing  o'er  ihe  enamell'd  plain, 
The  flow'ret  of  the  virgin  train. 
My  soul's  Corinna,  lightly  play'd. 
Young  Cupid  saw  the  graceful  maid, 
He  saw,  and  in  a  moment  flew. 
And  round  her  neck  his  arms  he  threw; 
And  said,  with  smiles  of  infant  joy, 
"  Oh  1  kiss  me,  moiher,  kiss  thy  boy  I" 
ITiiconscious  of  a  moiher's  name, 
Thi>  modest  virgin  hlush'd  with  shame! 
And  angry  Cnpid,  scarce  believing 
That  vision  could  he  so  di'Ceiving 
Thus  to  inisiake  his  Cyprian  damfa. 
The  little  infant  blush'd  with  shame. 
"  Be  not  ashamed,  my  boy,"  I  cried, 
For-  1  was  lini'cring  by  bis  side  ; 
"Coriiina  and  thy  lovely  mother. 
Believe  me,  are  so  like  each  oiher. 
That  clearest  eyes  are  oft  betray'd. 
And  lake  thy  Venus  for  the  maid." 

Zitto,  in  his  Cai)priciosi  Pensieri,  has  translated  thii  od( 
of  Anacreon. 

1  .Monsieur  Fontrnelle  has  translated  this  ode,  in  his  dia 
logne  between  .Anacreon  and  .Aristotle  in  Ihe  shades,  wahr> 
he  bestows  the  prize  of  wisdom  upon  the  poet. 


254 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  purchase  from  the  hand  o/" death 

A  little  span,  a  moment's  breath, 

How  i  would  love  the  precious  ore  ! 

And  e\e!y  day  should  swell  my  store  ; 

1  iiat  when  the  Fates  would  send  their  minion. 

To  waft  me  off  on  shadowy  pinion, 

I  might  some  hours  of  life  obtain, 

And  bribe  him  back  to  hell  again. 

But,  since  we  ne'er  can  charm  away 

The  mandate  of  that  awful  day. 

Why  do  we  vainly  weep  at  fate. 

And  sigh  for  life's  uncertain  date  ? 

The  light  of  gold  can  ne'er  illume 

The  dreary  midnight  of  the  tomb  ! 

And  why  should  1  then  pant  for  treasures  ? 

Mine  be  the  brilliant  round  of  pleasures; 

The  goblet  rich,  the  board  of  friends. 

Whose  flowing  souls  the  goblet  blends ! 

Mine  be  the  nymph  whose  form  reposes 

Seductive  on  that  bed  of  roses  ; 

And  oh  !  be  mine  the  soul's  excess, 

Expiring  in  her  warm  caress  ! 


ODE  XXXVII. ' 

'T  WAS  night,  and  many  a  circling  bowl 
Had  deeply  warm'd  my  swinnning  soul ; 


'■  The  German  imitatois  of  it  nre,  Lfssuis,  in  liis  pooin 
(Jt^lern  Biucler,  etc'  Gliiin,  in  tlie  ocio  '  An  den  'J'oii,' 
\m\  Schmidt  in  der  Poet.  BluniLnl.  Gulling.  1763,  p.  7." — 
iJigen. 

That  when  the  Fairs  would  srnd  their  minion, 
'I'o  waft  me  off  on  sha.loicij  pinion,  etc.]  The  commen- 
tators, who  are  so  fond  of  disputing  "  delanacaprina,"  liave 
heen  very  busy  on  the  authority  of  the  [dirase  'k'  xv  6»v6iv 
iTTiKiti.  Tlie  reading  of  iv'  xv  ectvaro;  tynKit,  which  I)e 
Medenbach  proposes  in  his  Ania'uilales  Liiteraria;,  was 
already  hinted  by  Le  Fevre,  wlio  seldom  suggests  any  thing 
worth  notice. 

The.  goblet  rich,  the  board  of  friends, 

Whose flowin g  sniils  the  goblet  blinds'.]  This  commu- 
nion ot  IVieniiship,  which  sweetened  the  bowl  of  Anacieun, 
has  not  been  forgotten  by  the  autlior  of  the  followuig  .-.clio- 
lium,  where  the  blessings  of  life  are  enum(^rated  with  pro- 
verbial sinipliciiy.  Tyixiviiv  ftiv  apicrrov  avapi  J-i-iiTu;. 
^iurifov  Je,  xxXov  <fu>iv  ytveo-SoK.      To  rpiTOi/  it,  ct\out£ii/ 

«Jo\i»>S.        Kxi     TO     TSTKpTOV,  O-UVJlSaV  /»ST»    t  JJV    f  iKMV . 

Of  mortal  blessings  here,  the  first  is  health, 
.And  next,  those  charms  by  which  the  eye  we  move; 

The  third  is  weallh,  unwonnding,  guiltless  wealth. 
And  then,  an  intercourse  with  those  we  love'. 

I  "Compare  with  this  ode  the  beautiful  poem,  'd-y 
I'raom  of  IJz.'  " — Dcgrn. 

Monsieur  Le  Fi;vre,  in  a  note  upon  this  ode,  eniers  into 
an  eiaboraie  and  learned  justificuiion  of  drunkenness;  and 
this  is  probably  the  cau^-e  of  \\i>-.  severe  repridiension  which 
I  believe  he  siifi'ered  for  his  Anacreon.  "  Fuit  olim  fateor 
(says  he,  in  a  noie  upon  l.onginus,)  cum  Sap])honem  ama- 
ham.  Serl  r.x(|Uo  ilia  u}e  perdilisr^iiua  fieminii  pene  miserum 
pordidit  cum  sceleralissimo  sno  cotig^rrone  (Vnacreonti'in 
dico,  si  nescis  Lector,)  noli  sperare,"  etc.  etc.  lie  adduces 
on  thi.-i  ode  the  nulhorily  of  Plato,  who  nllowed  ebriely,  at 
the  Oionv-ian  fi'Stivals,  to  men  arrived  at  their  forti''th  year. 
He  likewise  quotes  the  following  line  from  Aic;xis,  which  he 
lays  no  one,  who  is  not  totally  ignorant  of  the  world,  can 
lesitaie  to  confess  the  truih  of: 

Ou^iij  $i>.on-OTtif  eiTTii/  dv^poTTo;  xxxo^. 
"  No  lover  ofdrmking  was  ever  a  vicious  man." 

when  all  my  dream  of  joi/s. 
Dimpled  girls  and  ruddy  biii/s, 

.111  mere  trone!]  Nonnnssays  of  P.aei-luis,  almost  in  the 
nmo  ".nrds  that  Anacton  uses, 


As  lull'd  in  slumber  I  was  laid. 
Bright  visions  o'er  my  fancy  play'J ! 
With  virgins,  bloomnig  as  the  dawn, 
I  seem'd  to  trace  the  opening  lawn  ; 
Light,  on  tiptoe  bathed  in  dew, 
We  flew,  and  sported  as  we  flew ! 
Some  ruddy  striplings,  young  and  sleek. 
With  blush  of  Bacchus  on  their  cheek, 
Saw  me  trip  the  flowery  wild 
With  dimpled  girls,  and  slyly  smiled — 
Smiled  indeed  with  wanton  glee; 
But  ah  I  't  was  plain  they  envied  me. 
And  still  I  flew— and  now  I  caught 
The  panting  nymphs,  and  fondly  thouglit 
To  kiss — when  all  my  dream  of  joys, 
Dimpled  girls  and  ruddy  boys. 
All  were  gone  !  "  Alas  !"  I  said, 
Sighing  for  the  illusions  fled, 
"  Sleep  !  again  my  joys  restore. 
Oh  !  let  me  dream  them  o'er  and  o'er !" 


ODE  XXXVIIL' 

Let  us  drain  the  neciar'd  bowl. 
Let  us  raise  the  song  of  soul 
To  him,  the  god  who  loves  so  well 
The  nectar'd  bowl,  the  choral  swell ! 
Him,  who  instructs  the  sons  of  earth 
To  thrid  the  tangled  dance  of  mirth  ; 
Him,  who  was  nursed  with  infant  Love, 
And  cradled  in  the  Paphian  grove, 
Him,  that  the  snowy  Queen  of  Charms 
Has  fondled  in  her  twining  arms. 
From  him  that  dream  of  transport  flows, 
Which  sweet  intoxication  knows; 
With  him  the  brow  forgets  to  darkle, 
And  brilliant  graces  learn  to  sparkle. 
Behold  !  my  boys  a  goblet  bear, 
Whose  sunny  foam  bedews  the  air. 
Where  are  now  the  tear,  the  sigh? 
To  the  winds  they  fly,  they  fly  ! 
Grasp  the  bow! ;  in  nectar  sinking, 
Man  of  sorrow,  drown  thy  thinking! 


Ej.  po^si'O;  Js 
HxfiSsvOV   OUx'  £X*X.10"£,  Kxi   vt^eKSV    Ku9l$    IttUEiy. 

Waking,  he  lost  the  phantom's  charms, 

He  found  no  bi'auly  in  his  iirms; 

Agiii;  to  sinodji'r  he  essay'd, 

Again  to  clasp  the  shadowy  maid  !      l.ongepterre 

"  Sleep  !  again  my  joys  restore. 

Oh .'  let  me  dream  them  o'er  and  o'ert]  Doctor  Johnson, 
in  his  preface  to  Shakspeare,  animadverting  U|ion  the  com 
mentators  of  that  poet,  who  jireteiided,  in  every  liltle  coinci 
denee  of  thought,  to  delect  an  iuiiialion  of  some  anci-nl 
poet,  alludes  in  the  following  words  to  ilie  line  of  Anacreon 
he'bre  us:  "  I  have  been  lo!d  that  when  Caliban,  after  a 
pletising  dieam,  says,  'I  tried  lo  sleep  iisain,'  the  inilhor 
imit.iies  .'Viiiureon,  who  hail,  like  any  other  man,  the  same 
wish  on  the  same  occasion." 

1  "Compare  with  this  beaiuiful  ode  the  verses  of  Hage- 
dorn,  lib.  v.  <las  Gesellschjftliche  ;  and  of  Burger,  p.  51," 
tc.  etc. — Degen. 

Him,  that  the  snowy  Qveen  of  Charms 

ffas  fonitird  in  her  twining  arnis.'\  Robertellus,  upon 
Ihe  eiiilhalaiiiium  of  CaUillns,  mentions  an  ingenious  neriva- 
lioii  of  (,'ylhi^ram,  the  name  of  Venus,  ij-otpoe  to  y.ivitiv  tomj 
ip.i.Ta,-,  which  seems  to  hint  that  "  Love's  fairy  favours  are 
lost,  when  not  concealed." 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


205 


Oh  !  can  the  tears  we  lend  to  thought 
In  life's  account  avail  us  aught  ? 
Can  we  discern,  with  all  our  lore, 
The  path  we're  )'ct  to  journey  o'er? 
No,  no,  the  walk  of  life  is  dark, 
T  is  wine  alone  can  strike  a  spark! 
Then  let  me  quaff  the  foamy  tide, 
And  through  the  dance  meandering  glide  ; 
Let  me  imbibe  the  spicy  breath 
Of  odours  chafed  to  fragrant  death; 
Or  from  the  kiss  of  love  inhale 
A  more  voluptuous,  richer  gale  ! 
To  souls  that  court  the  phantom  Care, 
Let  him  retire  and  shroud  him  there; 
While  we  exhaust  the  nectar'd  bowl, 
And  swell  the  choral  song  of  soul 
To  him,  the  (iod  who  loves  so  well 
The  nectar'd  bowl,  the  choral  swell ! 


ODE  XXXIX. 

How  I  love  the  festive  boy, 
Tripping  with  the  dance  of  joy! 
How  I  love  the  mellow  sage, 
Smiling  through  the  veil  of  age  ! 
And  whene'er  this  man  of  years 
In  the  dance  of  joy  appears, 
Age  is  on  his  temples  hung. 
But  his  heart — his  heart  is  young  ! 


ODE  XL. 

I  KNOW  that  Heaven  ordains  me  here 
To  run  this  mortal  life's  career ; 
The  scenes  which  1  have  journey'd  o'e» 
Return  no  more — alas  !  no  more; 
And  all  the  path  I've  yet  to  go 
I  ncitlier  know  nor  ask  to  know. 
Then  surely,  Care,  thou  canst  not  twino 
Thy  fetters  round  a  soul  like  mine; 
No,  no,  the  heart  that  feels  with  me 
Can  never  be  a  slave  to  thee  ! 
And  oh  !  before  the  vital  thrill. 
Which  trembles  at  my  heart,  is  still, 
I'll  gather  joy's  luxurious  flowers, 
And  gild  with  bliss  my  fading  hours; 
Bacchus  shall  bid  my  winter  bloom, 
And  Venus  dance  me  to  the  tomb ! 


JSo,  no,  the  walk  of  life  is  dark, 

'Tis  wiiie  aliiiie  can  strike  a  spark!]  The  brevity  of 
life  alli)\vs  argiiiiients  for  the  vohiptu;iry  as  well  as  tiie 
moralist.  Amoiif;  many  parallel  pa!'s;igcs  which  Longepierre 
has  adduced,  I  shall  content  myself  with  this  epigram  I'rom 
tlie  Anthologia : 


2\xjj|Uev,  xuKihx;  fin'Covxi   apa^iyoi. 


-   '0?   5   X»<pO 

r>ip»?  xju\u(rsi,  xa<   TO  nKof   ixvi 


Of  which  the  following  is  a  loose  paraphrase: 

Fly,  my  beloved,  to  yonder  stream,  • 

We'll  [)liitige  us  from  the  noontide  beam  ! 
Then  cull  the  rose's  humid  bud, 
And  dip  it  in  our  goblet's  flood. 
Our  age  of  bli^^s,  my  nymph,  shall  fly 
As  sweet,  though  passing,  as  that  sigh 
Which  seems  to  whisper  o'er  your  lip, 
"Come,  while  you  mny,  of  rapture  sip." 
For  age  will  steal  the  rosy  form, 
And  chill  the  pulse,  which  trembles  warm  ! 
And  death — alas!  that  hearts,  which  thrill 
Like  yours  and  mine, should  e'er  be  still! 

^/re  is  on  his  temples  hung; 

But  liis  heart— his  heart  is  yonnir  ']   Snint  Pavin  makes 
llie  same  distinction  in  a  sonnet  to  a  young  girl. 

Je  sais  bicn  quo  les  destinies 
Ont  mal  compass^  nos  ann^es; 
Ne  regardez  (pie  mon  amour. 
Peut-^ire  en  screz  vous  6mue: 
II  est  .jeune,  et  n'est  que  dn  jour, 
Belle  Iris,  que  je  vous  ai  vue. 

Fair  and  voung,  thou  bloomest  now, 

And  I  full  many  a  year  have  told  ; 
But  read  the  heirt  and  not  the  brow, 

Thou  shall  not  find  my  love  is  old. 

My  love  's  a  child  ;  and  thou  canst  say 

How  much  his  little  age  may  be, 
For  he  was  born  th(  very  day 

That  first  1  set  my  eyes  on  thee ' 


ODE   XLI. 

When  Spring  begems  the  dewy  scene, 
How  sweet  to  walk  the  velvet  green, 
And  hear  the  Zephyr's  languid  sighs, 
As  o'er  the  scented  mead  he  flies  ! 
How  sweet  to  mark  the  pouting  vine. 
Ready  to  fall  in  tears  of  wine  ; 
And  with  the  maid  whose  every  sigh 
Is  love  and  bliss,  entranced  to  lie 
Where  the  embowering  branches  meet- 
Oh  !  is  not  this  divinely  sweet  ? 


JVo,  no,  the  heart  that  feels  icith  me, 

Can  never  he  a  slave  tu  thee!]  Longepierre  quoten  at 
epigram  hero  from  the  Anthologia,  on  account  of  the  eimi 
laiity  of  a  particular  phrase;  it  is  by  no  means  anacreontic 
but  has  an  interesting  simplicity  which  induced  me  to  para 
phase  it,  and  may  alone  for  its  intrusion. 

E\3-i;,  XXI   rxi,  rvxii,  ftsyx  y^xifSTi.  TO     Xi^tv    ivfit 
OuSiv  i/isi  x'  v/<iv.  nxii^tre  touj  /jst'  tf^i. 

At  length  lo  Forlune,  and  to  you, 
Delusive  Hope  I  a  last  adieu. 
The  cbiirm  that  once  beguiled  is  o'er, 
And  I  have  reach'd  my  di'stimd  shore! 
Away,  away,  your  flattering  arts 
May  now  betray  some  simpler  hearts, 
And  you  will  smile  at  their  believing. 
And  they  shall  weep  at  your  deceiving! 

Bacehus  shall  bid  my  winter  bloom, 

.Ind  Wciivs  dance  me  to  the  tomb  !]  The  same  commen 
tator  has  quoted  an  epitaph,  written  upon  our  poet  by  Julian 
where  he  makes  him  give  the  precepts  of  good-fellowshif 
even  from  llie  tomb. 


\UX\xt 


-/>'" 


tnT»^X!ti  EX  TvfiZav  St  6oija*w 

UTi^V    Xfi[^lZxKtJT3i    XOViV, 


This  lesson  oft  in  life  I  sung, 

,'\nil  from  my  grave  I  still  shall  cry, 

"  Drink,  mortal!  drink,  while  time  is  young 
Ere  death  has  made  thee  cold  asL" 

^nd  with  the  maid,  whose  ever;/  siVA 
Is  love  and  bliss,  etc.]    Thus  Horace: 

Quid  babes  illius,  illius 
Clna-  spirabat  amores, 
Quie  me  surpuerat  mihi. 

And  does  there  then  remain  but  this, 
And  hast  thou  lost  each  rosy  ray 

Of  her,  who  breathed  ihi-  son!  of'ilisB, 
And  stole  me  from  niyse'.f  away  1 


256 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ODE  XLII.' 

Yes,  be  the  glorious  revel  mine, 

Where  humour  sparkles  from  the  wine ! 

Around  iiie  let  the  youthful  choir 

Respond  to  my  bcauiling  lyre  ; 

And  while  the  red  cup  circles  round, 

Mingle  in  soul  as  well  as  sound  ! 

Let  the  bright  nymph,  with  trembling  eye, 

Beside  me  all  in  blushes  lie  ; 

And,  while  she  weaves  a  frontlet  fair 

Of  hyacinth  to  deck  my  hair. 

Oh  !  let  me  snatch  her  sidelong  kisses, 

And  that  shall  be  my  bliss  of  blisses  ! 

My  soul,  to  festive  feeling  true. 

One  pang  of  envy  never  knew; 

And  little  has  it  learn'd  to  dread 

The  gall  that  Envy's  tongue  can  shed. 

Away — 1  hate  the  slanderous  dart, 

Which  steals  to  wound  the  unwary  heart ; 

And  oh  I  I  hate,  with  all  my  soul. 

Discordant  clamours  o'er  the  bowl, 

Where  every  cordial  heart  should  be 

Attuned  to  peace  and  harmony. 

Come,  let  us  hear  the  soul  of  song 

Expire  the  silver  harp  along  : 

And  through  the  dance's  ringlet  move. 

With  maidens  mellowing  into  love; 

Thus  simply  happy,  thus  at  peace. 

Sure  such  a  life  should  never  cease  ! 


ODE  XLIIL 

While  our  rosy  fillets  shed 
Blushes  o'er  each  fervid  head, 
With  many  a  cup  and  many  a  smile 
The  festal  moments  we  beguile. 
And  while  the  harp,  impassion'd,  flings 
Tuneful  rapture  from  the  strings, 


1  The  characK'r  of  AniioroiPi)  is  lieie  very  strikingly  de- 
pic-.ted.  His  lovL!  of  social,  iiarnionized  iileasures  is  exjjress- 
Bd  with  a  wariulh,  ainialjlu  and  endearing.  Among  the 
spigratns  inipiiled  to  Anacreon  is  the  following;  it  is  the 
only  one  worth  triinslalioii,  and  it  breathes  the  same  senti- 
aients  wilh  this  ode  : 

Ou   <)JlA.O;,    0;   xpviTJipi     -SIXpoo    •J^itu    0lvO57-OT«l^a,v, 

AKK''  oo-Ti;  Mou(r£u,v  t£,  xxi  xyXxx  i\op  AcpoJiTiff 
Eu^^io-j-Aif,  ifxzn%  /ivn(rx£T»i  =u<?pO(ruvi)5. 

When  to  the  lip  the  hrimniing  cup  is  press'd, 
And  hearls  arc  ail  afloat  npnn  (he  stream, 

Then  banish  from  my  lioard  the  nn|)olisli'd  guest 
W))o  makes  the  feats  of  war  his  biirbarous  theme. 

Bui  bring  the  man,  who  o'er  his  goblet  wreathes 
The  Muse's  laurel  wilh  the  (/ypriiui  flower: 

Oh  ;  give  me  him  whose  lieart  (expansive  breathea 
All  the  refinements  of  the  social  hour. 

^nd  while  the  harp,  impassion'd,  fiiiiirs 

Tuneful  riipf ure  from  the  strings,  etc.]  On  the  barhiton 
a  host  of  aothoritiHS  may  be  colli.'cted,  which,  after  nil,  leave 
us  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  instrument.  There  is 
•cnTcely  »ny  point  \ipoi\  which  we  are  so  totally  uninform- 
ed as  the  music  of  the  nticients.  The  authors  (a)  extant 
upon  the  subiect  are,  I  imagine,  little  miderstood  ;  but  cer- 
tainly if  one  of  Ihi'ir  moods  was  a  progression  by  quarter- 
rones,  which  w(^  are  told  was  ihe  nature  of  the  enharmonic 
«cule,  simplicity  was  by  no  means  the  characteristic  of  their 

'ni  Collected  by  Meiboniius. 


Some  airy  nymph,  with  fluent  limbs, 
Through  the  dance  lu.\uriant  swims. 
Waving,  in  her  snowy  hand, 
The  leafy  Bacchanalian  wand. 
Which,  as  the  tripping  wanton  flies, 
Shakes  its  tresses  to  her  sighs  ! 
A  youth,  the  while,  with  loosen'd  hair 
Floating  on  the  listless  air. 
Sings,  to  the  wild  harp's  tender  tone, 
A  tale  of  woes,  alas  1  his  own; 
And  then,  what  nectar  in  his  sigK, 
As  o'er  his  lip  the  murmurs  die 
Surely  never  yet  has  been 
So  divine,  so  blest  a  scene  ! 
Has  Cupid  left  the  starry  sphere, 
To  wave  his  golden  tresses  here  ? 
Oh  yes!  and  Venus,  queen  of  wiles, 
And  Bacchus,  shedding  rosy  smiles, 
All,  all  are  here,  to  hail  with  me 
The  Genius  of  Festivity! 


ODE  XLIV.' 

Buds  of  roses,  virgin  flowers, 
CuU'd  from  Cupid's  balmy  bowers, 
In  the  bowl  of  Bacchus  steep, 
Till  with  crimson  drops  they  weep! 
Twine  the  rose,  the  garland  twine, 
Every  leaf  distilling  wine; 


melody  ;  lor  tins  is  a  nicety  of  progression  of  which  modern 
music  IS  not  susceptible. 

The  invention  of  the  barbiton  is,  by  Athenteus,  attributed 
to  Anacreon.  See  his  fourth  book,  where  it  is  called  to 
ivftlfix  Tou  Ai'»xptoi/To;.  Neanthes  of  Cyzicus,  as  quoted 
by  Gyraldus,  asserts  the  same.  Vide  Chabot.  in  Horat  on 
the  words  "  Lesboum  barbiujn,"  in  the  first  ode. 

Jlnd  then,  ichat  nectar  in  his  sigh, 

Jls  o'er  his  lip  the  viiirmurs  die!]  Longepierre  has 
quoted  here  an  epigram  from  the  Anthologia: 

Koupvj  T(5  jW*  i(^tK^Ts  -croSeo-Trfipa  %6*/.e(riv  vypotg, 

NsXTXp   iJIV    TO    (^tk>}/HA,  TO    yXp   tTTOfXX   VEJLTStfiOg   STTVtt 
NyV   fitilUM   TO    i^tKt\fAXy   ZrOKUV   TOV   £puoTC«    Ty£5rttI)tttiJ, 

Of  which  the  following  may  give  some  idea: 
The  kiss  that  she  left  on  my  lip 

Like  a  dew-drop  shall  lingering  lie; 
'Twas  nectar  she  gave  me  to  sip, 
'Twas  nectar  I  drank  in  her  sigh! 

The  dew  that  distill'd  in  that  kiss, 

To  my  soul  was  voluptuous  wine; 
Ever  since  it  is  ilnink  with  the  bliss. 
And  feels  a  delirium  divine  ! 
Has  Cupid  left  the  starry  sphere. 

To  wave  his  golden  tresses  here  ?]  The  introduction  of 
these  deities  to  the  festival  is  merely  allegorical.  Madame 
Dacier  thinks  that  the  poet  describes  a  masipierade,  where 
these  deities  were  i)ersonated  by  the  company  in  masks 
The  translation  will  conform  with  either  idea. 

Jill,  all  here,  to  hail  with  me 

'I'he  Genius  of  Festinitij!]  Kaf^nf,  the  deity  or  geniua 
of  mirth.  I'hihistratns,  in  the  third  of  his  pictures  (as  all 
the  aiinotators  have  observed)  gives  a  very  beautiful  de- 
Bcri|)tion  of  this  god. 

1  This  spirited  poem  i.=  an  eulogy  on  the  rose ;  ami  ngnin, 
in  the  fifiy-fifth  ode,  wo  shall  lind  our  author  rich  in  the 
praises  of  that  flower,  hi  a  fragment  of  Sappho,  in  the 
romance  of  Achilles  Tatius,  to  which  Barnes  refers  us,  the 
rose  is  very  elegantly  styled  "  the  eye  of  flowers;"  and  (he 
same  po(!ti'Ss,  in  another  fragment,  calls  the  favours  of  the 
Muse  "  the  roses  of  I'ieria."  See  the  notes  on  the  fil)y- 
lifth  ode. 

"  (Compare  with  this  forty-fourth  ode  (says  the  German 
annotator)  the  beautiful  ode  of  Vz.  die  Rose." 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


257 


Drink  and  smile,  and  learn  to  think 
That  we  were  born  to  smile  and  drink. 
Rose!  thou  art  the  sweetest  flower 
That  ever  drank  the  amber  shower; 
Rose  !  tlioii  art  the  fondest  child 
Of  (iinipied  Spring,  the  wood-nymph  wild  ! 
Even  the  gods,  who  wi!k  the  sky, 
Are  amorous  of  thy  scented  sigh. 
Cupid  too,  in  Paphian  shades, 
His  hair  with  rosy  tillet  braids. 
When,  with  the  l)hishing  naked  Graces, 
The  wanton  winding  dance  he  traces. 
Then  bring  me  show  ers  of  roses,  bring. 
And  shed  them  round  nie  while  I  sing; 
Great  Bacchus !  in  thy  haliow'd  shade, 
With  some  celestial,  glowing  maid. 
While  gales  of  roses  round  me  rise. 
In  perfume  swceten'd  by  her  sighs, 
I  '11  bill  and  twine  in  early  dance, 
Goniniingling  soul  with  every  glance  ! 


ODE  XLV. 

Within  this  goblet,  rich  and  deep, 

I  cradle  all  my  woes  to  sleep. 

Why  should  we  breathe  the  sigh  of  fear, 

Or  pour  the  unavailing  tear? 

For  Death  will  never  heed  the  sigh. 

Nor  soften  at  the  tearful  eye ; 

And  eyes  that  sjiarkle,  eyes  that  weep. 

Must  all  alike  be  seal'd  in  sleep  ; 

Then  let  us  never  vainly  stray, 

In  search  of  thorns,  from  pleasure's  way ; 

Oh  !  let  us  quati"  the  rosy  wave 

'^'^hich  Bacchus  loves,  which  Bacchus  gave ; 

Ana  in  the  goblet,  rich  and  deep. 

Cradle  our  crying  woes  to  sleep  ! 


ODE  XLVI.' 

See,  the  young,  the  rosy  Spring, 
Gives  to  the  breeze  her  spangled  wing ; 


H'lirn  with  the  bliishiiig,  naked  Graces, 
The  loantun    winding  dance  he  traces]      "This  sweet 
'.(lea  of  Love  dancing  with  the  Graces,  is  almust  peculiar  to 
Anacreon." — Degen. 

IVith  some  celestial,  glowing'  maid,  etc.]  The  eiiiihet 
6x5u>t»x.^o5,  which  he  givi'S  to  the  iiyni|)li,  is  literally  "  fiill- 
biisoined:"  if  'his  was  really  Anacreoii's  laste,  tlie  hiaven 
of  Mahomet  would  suit  him  in  every  particular.  See  the 
Koran,  cap.  72. 

The?!  Irt  us  never  vainly  stray. 

In  search  of  'horns  from  Pleasure's  way,  etc.]     I  liave 
thus  endeavoured  to  con-vcy  the  ineanin;;'of  n  ii  tov  oiov 
i>.«iau^*i  ;  according  to  Re^rnier's  parapliraso  of  the  line: 
E  che  val,  fiior  della  strada 
Del  piaceri!  alma  e  gradila, 
Vaneggiare  in  que  ta  vita? 
J  The  fastidious  affectation  of  some  commentators  has 
denounced   this   ode  as  spurious.     Degen   pronounces  the 
four  last  lines  to  be  the  patch-work  of  some  misertihle  ver- 
sificator;  iipd  Brunck  condemns  the  whole  ode.    It  appears 
to  me  to  be  elegantly  graphical;  full  of  elegant  expressions 
and  luxurious  imagery.     The  abruptness  of  Us  ■tzx,^   sxpo; 
(fxvivTiJi   w  Striking  and   spirited,  and   has   been   imitated 
'ather  languidly  by  Florace: 

Vides  lU  alia  slel  nive  candidum 

Soracte 

R 


While  virgin  Graces,  warm  with  May, 
Fling  roses  o'er  her  dewy  way  ! 
The  murmuring  billows  of  the  deep 
Have  languish'd  into  silent  sleep; 
And  mark  !  the  flitting  sea-birds  lave 
Their  plumes  in  the  reflecting  wave; 
While  cranes  from  hoary  winter  flv 
To  flutter  in  a  kinder  sky. 
Now  the  genial  star  of  day 
Dissolves  the  murky  clouds  away; 
And  cultured  field,  and  winding  stream 
Are  sweetly  tissued  by  his  beam. 
Now  the  earth  prolific  swells 
With  lo.ify  buds  aiul  flowery  bella; 
Gemming  shoots  the  olive  twine. 
Clusters  ripe  festoon  the  vine ; 
All  along  the  branches  creeping. 
Through  the  velvet  fohage  peeping, 
Little  infant  fruits  we  see 
Nursing  into  lu.xury  I 


ODE  XLVII. 

'T  IS  true,  my  fading  years  decline, 

Yet  I  can  quaff  the  brimming  wine 

As  deep  as  any  stripling  fair 

Whose  cheeks  the  flush  of  morning  wea'; 

And  if,  amidst  the  wanton  crew, 

1  'm  call'd  to  wind  the  dance's  clue. 

Thou  shall  behold  this  vigorous  hand, 

Not  faltering  on  the  bacchant's  wand. 

But  brandishing  a  rosy  flask. 

The  only  thyrsus  e'er  I  '11  ask ! 


The  imperative  '^£  is  infinitely  more  impressire,  aa  in 

Shakspeare, 

But  look,  the  morn,  in  russet  mantle  clad, 
Walks  o'er  the  dew  of  yon  high  eastern  hill. 

There  is  a  simple  and  poetical  description  of  Spring,  in 
Catullus's  be.iuiiful  farewell  to  Bithynia.     Curm.  44. 

Barnes  conjectures,  in  his  life  of  our  poet,  that  this  ono 
was  written  utter  he  had  returned  from  Athens,  to  settle  in 
his  paternal  seat  at  Teos  ;  there,  in  a  little  villa  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  city,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  ^"ean 
Sea  and  the  islands,  he  cimleniplated  (he  beauties  of  nature, 
and  enjoyed  the  felicities  ot  retirement.  Vide  Barnes,  io 
Anac.  vita.  \^  xxxv.  This  supposition,  however  unauthen- 
ticated,  forms  a  pleasant  association,  which  makes  the  poem 
more  interesting. 

Monsieur  Chevreau  says,  that  Gregory  Narianzenus  hac 
paraphrased  somewhere  this  description  of  Spring.  I  can- 
not find  it.    See  Chevreau,  CEuvres  Melees. 

"  Compare  with  !  his  ode  (says  Degen^  the  verses  of  Ha"8 
(lorn,  book  fburih,  der  Friihl^iig,  and  book  fifth,  der  Mai." 

IVhile  virgin  Oraces,  warm  uilh  May, 

Fling  roses  o'er  her  dewy  way  /J  De  Paiiw  reads,  Xxpj- 
Txf  paSx  SpuouTii',  "  the  ros.-s  disphiy  their  gr:ices."  Thig 
is  not  uningenious;  but  we  lose  by  it  the  beauty  of  the  per- 
sonification, to  the  boldness  of  which  Regnier  has  objected 
very  frivolously. 

The  murmuring  billows  of  the  deep 

Have  languish'd  into  silent  slrep,  etc.]  It  has  been 
justly  remarked  that  the  lirpiid  flow  of  the  line  »^x\-jt'nxi 
y»A.>iv>i  is  perfectly  expressive  of  the  tranquillity  which  it 
describes. 

j9nd  cultured  f  eld,  and  winding  stream,  etc.]  By  5p3- 
Tu)!-  ifyx,  "  the  works  of  men,"  'says  Baxter,)  he  means 
cities,  temples,  and  towns,  which  are  then  illuminated  by 
the  beams  of  the  sun. 

Rut  brandishing  a  T0S1I  flask,  etc.]  Arxof  was  a  kind 
of  leathern  vessel  for  wine,  very  much  in  use,  as  should 
seem  by  the  proverb  xirxnf  xsei  duXaxoc,  which  was  applied 
to  those  who  were  intempeiate  in  catin;;  and  Irinkiis.   Thu 


258 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Let  those  who  pant  for  glory's  charms 
Embrace  her  in  the  field  of  arms ; 
While  my  inglorious,  placid  soul 
Breathes  not  a  wish  beyond  the  bowl. 
Then  fill  it  high,  my  ruddy  slave. 
And  bathe  me  in  its  honied  wave  ! 
For,  though  my  fading  years  decay, 
And  though  my  bloom  has  pass'd  away, 
Like  old  Silenus,  sire  divine. 
With  blushes  borrow'd  from  my  wine, 
I  '11  wanton  'mid  the  dancing  train. 
And  live  my  follies  all  again ! 


ODE  XLVIIL 

When  my  thirsty  soul  I  steep, 
Evf'ry  sorrow  's  lull'd  to  sleep. 
Talk  of  monarchs  I  I  am  then 
Richest,  happiest,  first  of  men ; 
Careless  o'er  my  cup  I  sing. 
Fancy  makes  me  more  than  king ; 
Gives  me  wealthy  Croesus'  store, 
Can  1,  can  I  wish  for  more  ? 
On  my  velvet  couch  reclining. 
Ivy  leaves  my  brou-  entwining, 
While  my  soul  dilates  with  glee, 
What  are  kings  and  crowns  to  me  ? 
If  before  my  feet  they  lay, 
I  would  spurn  them  all  away  ! 
Arm  you,  arm  you,  men  of  might, 
Hasten  to  the  sanguine  fight — 
Let  me,  oh,  my  budding  vine  ! 
Spill  no  other  blood  than  thine. 
Yonder  brimming  goblet  see, 
That  alone  shall  vanquish  me ; 
Oh  !  1  think  it  sweeter  far 
To  fall  in  banquet  than  in  war ! 


ODE  XLIX.' 

When  Bacchus,  Jove's  immortal  boy. 
The  rosy  harbinger  of  joy, 


proverb  is  muiitioneil  in  some  versps  quoted  by  Alhena3us, 
jToiil  tin;  Hesione  of  Alexis. 

The  uvlij  tltyrsus  e'er  IHl  imk!]  Pliiirnutus  assigns  as  a 
leason  for  ihe  coiiseccutiuii  of  Ihe  thyrsus  to  Bacchus,  that 
inebriety  ol'  en  renders  ilie  supjiorl  ol  a  slick  veiy  necessary. 

Ivy  leaves  my  brum  entiEiiiinff,  etc.]  "  The  ivy  was  con- 
secrated to  Bacchus  (says  Moiitl'aucon,)  because  he  fornieily 
lay  hid  under  that  tree,  or,  as  others  will  have  it,  because 
its  leaves  resemble  those  of  the  vine.  Other  reasons  for  its 
consecration,  and  the  use  of  it  in  garlands  at  ban(|uets,  may 
be  found  in  Longepierre,  Barries,  etc.  etc. 

./Jrm  ynu,  arm  you,  men  uf  might, 

Hasten  la  the  saniruinc fiirlil.]    I  have  adopted  the  inter- 
;jr»'.ation  of  Reamer  and  others; 
Altri  segua  Miirto  fero  ; 
Che  sol  B:icco  e  'I  mio  conforto. 

1  This,  the  preceding  ode,  and  a  few  morn  of  the  same 
eharacter,  are  merely  chansons  a  boire.  Must  likely  they 
were  the  effusions  of  the  rnomon'  of  conviviality,  anil  were 
»ung,  we  iin.igine,  with  ra|iture  in  Greece ;  bul  that  inKnest- 
ing  association,  by  which  they  always  recall. ;d  the  convivial 
emctions  that  produced  ihein,  can  be  very  little  felt  by  the 
most  enlhiisiastic  reader;  mid  much  less  by  a  phlegmatic 
grammarian,  who  sees  nolliing   in   thoiii   but   dialects  and 


Who,  with  the  sunshine  of  the  bowl, 
Thaws  the  winter  of  our  soul ; 
When  to  my  inmost  core  he  glides, 
And  bathes  it  with  his  ruby  tides, 
A  flow  of  joy,  a  lively  heat. 
Fires  my  brain,  and  wings  my  feet ! 
'T  is  surely  something  sweet,  1  think, 
Nay,  something  heavenly  sweet,  to  drink ' 
Sing,  sing  of  love,  let  Music's  breath 
Softly  beguile  our  rapturous  death, 
While,  my  young  Venus,  thou  and  I 
To  the  voluptuous  cadence  die  ! 
Then,  waking  from  our  languid  trance. 
Again  we'll  sport,  again  we  '11  dance. 


ODE  L.' 

When  I  drink,  I  feel,  I  feel 

Visions  of  poetic  zeal ! 

Warm  with  the  goblet's  freshening  dews, 

My  heart  invokes  the  heavenly  Muse. 

When  I  drink,  my  sorrow  's  o'er  ; 

I  think  of  doubts  and  fears  no  more ; 

But  scatter  to  the  railing  wind 

Each  gloomy  phantom  of  the  mind  ! 

When  I  drink,  the  jesting  boy, 

Bacchus  himself,  partakes  my  joy; 

And,  while  we  dance  through  breathing  bowent. 

Whose  every  gale  is  rich  with  flowers, 


Wko,  with  the  sunshine  of  the  bowl, 

Thaws  the  winter  uf  our  soul.]  Auaicj  is  the  title  which 
he  gives  to  Bacchus  in  the  original.  It  is  a  curious  circum- 
stance, that  Plutarch  mistook  the  name  of  Levi  among  ths 
Jens  lor  Atui  (one  of  the  bacclianal  cries,)  and  accordingly 
supposed  they  worshipped  Bacchus. 

1  Faber  thinks  this  spurious;  but,  I  believe,  he  is  singular 
in  his  opinion.  It  has  all  the  jpirii  of  our  author.  Like  the 
wreath  which  he  presented  in  the  dream,  "it  smells  of  Ana- 
creon." 

The  form  of  this  ode,  in  the  original,  is  remarkable.  Il 
is  a  kind  of  song  of  seven  quairaiii  stanzas,  each  beginning 
wiih  the  line 


The  first  stanza  alone  is  incomplete,  consisting  but  of 
three  lines. 

"  Com|)are  with  this  poem  (says  Degen)  the  verses  of 
Hagedorn,  lib.  v.  der  VVein,  where  that  divine  poet  has 
wantoned  in  the  praises  of  wine." 

fVhcn  I  drink,  I  feel,  I  feel 

Visions  of  poetic  zeal!]  "  Anacreon  is  not  the  only  one 
(says  Longepierre)  whom  wine  has  inspired  with  poetry. 
There  is  an  epigram  in  the  first  book  of  the  Anthologia. 
which  begins  thus: 

Oll/Of   TOi    5i»pi£l'Tl    ^£J-CtS    -aiXll     ITTTTOf   aOlJ'tl, 
tS'jlf   Si    •sriva;v,  XXKOV   OU   TSUOiJ   ETTOJ." 

If  with  water  ynu  fill  up  your  glasses, 
You'll  never  write  any  thing  wise; 

For  wine  is  the  horse  of  Parnassus, 
Which  hurries  a  bard  to  the  skies  ! 

Jlnd,  while  we  clavrc  thruash  breathing  bowers,  etc.]  If 
some  of  the  transhitoi-s  had  observed  l>octor  Tiapp's  cau- 
tion, with  regard  to  doxuavfito-if  At  iv  xvfxtg, "  Cave  ne  C(b- 
luni  intelligas,"  they  would  not  have  spoiled  the  simplicity 
of  Anaireon's  fancy,  by  such  e.\travagant  conceptions  of 
the  passage.  Could  our  poet  imagine  such  bombast  as  the 
following : 

Ciuand  jc  hois,  mon  mil  s'imagine 
Que,  dims  un  tonrbilliin  plein  do  parfuma  diven, 

Bai-rhiis  ni'iinporte  dans  les  airs, 

Uenipli  de  sa  liiiueur  divine. 


OUES  OF  ANACREON. 


2^9 


[r  bowls  he  makes  m}'  senses  swim, 
Till  the  gale  breathes  of  nouglit  but  him  ! 
When  1  drink,  1  deftly  twine 
Flowers,  bogemm'd  with  tears  of  wine  ; 
And,  while  with  festive  hand  I  spread 
The  smiling  garland  round  my  head, 
Something  whispers  in  my  breast. 
How  sweet  it  is  to  live  at  rest  I 
When  1  drink,  and  pcrfunie  stills 
Around  me  all  in  balmy  rills. 
Then  as  some  beauty,  smiling  roses 
In  languor  on  my  breast  reposes, 
V'enus  !  1  breathe  my  vows  to  thee, 
In  many  a  sigh  of  luxury  ! 
When  I  drink,  my  heart  refines, 
And  rises  as  the  cup  declines, — 
Rises  in  the  genial  llow 
That  none  but  social  spirits  know, 
W  hen  youthful  revellers,  round  the  bov^ 
Dilating,  mingle  soul  with  soul ! 
When  I  drink,  the  bliss  is  inine,-^ 
There  's  bliss  in  every  drop  of  -rine  ! 
All  other  joys  that  I  hive  Known, 
i  've  scarcely  dared  to  call  my  own  ; 
Rut  this  the  Fates  can  ne'er  destroy, 
Till  Death  o'ershadows  all  my  joy  ! 


ODE  LI.' 
Fly  not  thus,  my  brow  of  snow, 
Lovely  wanton  !  fly  not  so. 
Though  the  wane  of  age  is  mine. 
Though  the  brilliant  Hush  is  thine, 
Still  I'm  doom'd  to  sigh  for  thee. 
Blest,  if  thou  couldst  sigh  for  mc  ! 


IwVi  mi  inena 
Mentre  lietro  ubro  dcliro 
Baccho  in  giro 
Per  la  vaga  aura  serena. 

IVhm  youthful  revellers^  round  the  bowl, 

Dilatinir,  mingle  soul  with  soul.']  Sul;join<>d  to  Gail's 
iilitiuii  uf  Aiiacruon,  lliere  are  some  curious  Icdcrs  upon  the 
Btx<rai  of  llie  ancients,  wliicli  appeared  in  theFienr.h  .Jour- 
nals. At  the  opening  oi'theOdeon,  in  Pans,  the  managers  of 
the  spectacle  rei|iieste(l  Professor  G;iil  to  give  them  som(!  un- 
common name  for  the  fetes  of  this  instiluion.  He  suggest- 
ed llie  Word  "  Tliiase,"  which  was  adopted  ;  but  the  liusrati 
of  Paris  quc^slioned  the  pro|)ricty  of  it,  and  addressed  their 
criticisms  lo  Gail,  Ihrough  the  medium  of  the  public  prints. 
Two  or  tlirce  of  the  letters  he  has  inserted  in  his  edition, 
and  ihey  have  elicited  from  him  some  learned  research  on 
the  subject. 

1  Alberti  has  imitated  this  ode;  and  Capilupus,  in  the 
following  epigram,  has  given  a  version  of  it: 

Cur,  Laliige,  niea  vita,  meos  contemnis  amores  7 
Cut  fugis  e  nostra  pulchra  pujlla  sinu  ? 

Ne  fugias,  sint  sparsa  licet  inea  tenipora  canis, 
Inipie  tuo  rosens  fiilgoal  ore  color. 

Aspice  lit  inlextiis  deceant  quoque  (lore  corollas 
Candida  purpureis  lilia  mixta  rosis. 

Oh  !  why  repel  my  .soul's  impassion'd  vow, 
And  fly,  beloved  maid,  these  longing  arms  ? 

la  it,  that  wintry  time  has  strew'd  my  hrow. 
And  thine  are  ail  the  summer's  roseate  charms? 

See  the  rich  garland,  cttU'd  in  vernal  weather, 
Where  the  young  rosebud  with  the  lily  glows  ; 

In  wreathi  of  love  we  thus  may  twine  together. 
And  I  will  be  the  lily,  thou  the  rose  ! 


See,  in  yonder  flowery  braid, 
Cull'd  for  thee,  my  bluslnng  maid. 
How  the  rose,  of  orient  glow, 
Mingles  with  the  lily's  snow  ; 
Mark,  how  sweet  their  tints  agree, 
Just,  my  girl,  like  thee  and  me  ! 


ODE  LIL' 
Away,  away,  you  men  of  rules, 
What  have  I  lo  do  with  schools  ? 
They  'd  make  me  learn,  they  'd  make  mc  think, 
But  would  they  make  me  love  and  driuk  7 
Teach  me  this,  and  let  me  swim 
My  soul  upon  the  goblet's  brim; 
Teach  me  this,  and  let  me  twine 
My  arms  around  the  nymph  divine! 
Age  begins  to  blanch  my  brow, 
I  've  time  for  nought  but  pleasure  now. 
Fly,  and  cool  my  goblet's  glow 
At  yonder  fountain's  gelid  How ; 
I  '11  quaff',  my  boy,  and  calmy  sink 
This  soul  to  slumber  as  I  drink  ! 
Soon,  too  soon,  my  jocund  slave, 
You  '11  deck  your  master's  grassy  grave  , 
And  there  's  an  end — for  ah  I  you  know 
They  drink  but  little  wine  below  ! 


ODE  LTII. 
When  I  behold  the  festive  train 
Of  dancing  youth,  I  'm  young  again  ! 


."sffi  (11  yonder Jlowrrii  hraid, 

Cull'd  fur  Ihre,  my  blushinir  maid!]  "  In  the  same  man- 
ner that  Anacreon  pleads  for  the  whitenessof  his  .ocks,  froic 
the  beauty  of  the  colour  in  garlands,  a  shepherd,  in  Theocri- 
tus, endeavours  lo  lecommeud  his  black  hair: 

Kxi  TO  «ov  /ilKxv  fo-Ti,  x»i  X  yfxvTTa  uxxivSae 
Akk'  ijun-x;  i»  T3i{  o-Ti?»vsi{  Tx  -irpaiTa  KsyovTai," 
Longepierre,  Barnes  etc. 

1  This  is  doubtless  the  work  of  a  more  modern  poetthn^ 
Anacreon;  for  at  llie  period  when  he  lived,  rhetoricia:i> 
were  not  known." — Degen. 

Though  the  anlitiuily  of  this  ode  is  confirmed  by  the  Va- 
tican manuscript,  I  am  viry  much  inclined  lo  t^ree  .n  this 
argument  against  its  authenticity ;  foi,  though  the  dawninga 
of  rhetoric  might  already  have  appeared,  the  first  who  gave 
it  any  celebrity  was  Corax  of  Syracuse,  and  he  rloun^hed  in 
thi>  century  afier  Anacreon. 

Our  poei  iinlicipaied  the  ideas  of  Epicurus,  in  Ins  iver- 
siim  to  the  labours  of  learnin?,  as  well  as  h.s  net-ofion  tn 
voluptuousness.  ]Ix(r:cv  7xioiixv  /^xxxpioi  rsuj^sri,  said 
the  philosopher  of  the  garden  in  a  letter  lo  Pythocles 

Tr.ach  me  this,  and  let  me  twine 

j\Iij  arms  around  the  nymph  dirinen  By  SJpvts  \ifo- 
JiT).;  here,  I  undirstand  some  heau'ifiil  cirl ;  in  the  sii/ne 
manner  that  Auxio;  is  often  used  for  wine.  "  (Mildcn"  is 
iViupienlly  an  epithet  of  beauiv.  Thus  in  Virgil,  "  Venus 
aiirea;"  and  in  Properlius,  "Cynthia  aurea."  Tihullus, 
however,  calls  an  old  woman  "  golden." 

The  Iranslaiion  d'Aulori  Anonimi,  as  usual,  wanton» 
on  this  passage  of  .Anacreon: 

F.  m'  inscini  con  p^i  rare 
Forme  acrorle  d'  involare 
Ad  aintbile  bcliado 
II  bid  cinto  d'  nnestade. 

J}nd  thrre's  an  nid — for  nh!  you  know, 
Thry  drink   but  little   wine  below  H     Thus    the    wittf 
Maliiard  : 


260 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Memory  wakes  her  tragic  trance, 

And  wings  me  lightly  through  the  dance. 

Come,  Cybeba,  smiling  maid  ! 

Cull  the  flower  and  twine  the  braid  , 

Bid  the  blush  of  summer's  rose 

Burn  upon  my  brow  of  snows; 

And  let  me,  while  the  wild  and  young 

Trip  the  mazy  danoe  along. 

Fling  my  heap  of  years  away, 

And  be  as  wild,  as  young  as  they. 

Hither  haste,  some  cordial  soul ! 

Give  my  lips  the  brimming  bowl ; 

Oh  !  you  will  see  this  hoary  sage 

Forget  his  locks,  forget  his  age. 

He  still  can  chaunt  the  festive  hymn, 

He  stiU  can  kiss  the  goblet's  brim; 

He  still  can  act  the  mellow  raver, 

And  play  the  fool  as  sweet  as  ever  ' 


ODE  LIV.' 

Methinks,  the  pictured  bull  we  see 
Is  amorous  Jove — it  must  be  he  ! 
How  fonr  y  blest  he  seems  to  bear 
That  fairest  of  Phoenician  fair  ! 
How  proud  he  breasts  the  foamy  tide. 
And  spurns  the  billowy  surge  aside  ! 
Could  any  beast  of  vulgar  vein 
Undaunted  thus  defy  the  main  ? 


No  :  he  descends  from  climes  above, 
He  looks  the  God,  he  breathes  of  Jove  ! 


La  Mort  nous  guette;  et  qiiand  ses  lois 

Nous  out  enlermes  une  tois 

Au  sein  d'  une  fosse  profonde. 

Adieu  bons  viiis  el  bons  repas, 

Ma  science  ne  trouve  pas 

De!  cabarets  en  I'autre  monde. 

From  Mainard,  Gombauld,  and  De  Cailly,  old  Frencli 
uoels,  some  of  the  best  epigrams  of  the  English  language 
are  borrowed. 

B,d  tke  blush  of  summer's  rose 

Burn  upon  my  brow  of  snows,  etc.]  Licetus,  in  hisHie- 
roglyphica,  quoting  two  of  our  pocl's  odes,  where  he  calls 
for  garlands,  remarks,  "Constat  igiturfloreas  coronas  poetis 
el  potanlibus  in  symposio  convenire,  non  autem  sapieritibus 
el  pbilosophiam  atiectanti'jus."  "  It  appears  thai  wrealhs 
of  flowers  were  adapted  for  poets  and  revellers  at  ban(|iiets, 
but  by  no  means  became  llmse  who  had  pretensions  to 
wisdom  and  philosophy."  On  tl\is  principle,  in  liis  l;)2d 
chipler,  he  discovers  a  refinement  in  Virgd,  describing  the 
garland  of  lh°  poet  Siknus  as  fallen  otf;  which  distin- 
guishes, be  thinks,  the  divine  intoxication  of  Silenus  from 
Ihal  of  common  drunkards,  who  always  wear  their  crowns 
wliile  they  drink.  This,  indeed,  is  the  "  labor  ineptiarurn" 
ot  commentators. 

He  still  can  kiss  the  goblet's  brim,  etc.]  Wine  is  pre- 
S''ribed  by  Galen  as  an  excellent  medicine  for  old  men: 
"  tiuiid  frigidos  et  humoribus  explelos  calefuciat,"  etc. ; 
but  Nature  was  Anacreon's  physician. 

There  is  a  proverb  in  Eriphus,  as  quoted  by  Athona'iis, 
which  says,  "  that  wine  makes  an  old  man  dance,  whether 
he  will  or  not." 

Aoj-0{  itt'  xpX'*"^}  ""  x^twf  ejCoK, 

OivOV  KffOXXri    TOUf  yepOVTMJ,  u  U-»T6f, 
llilSilV  %Ofitiv   OU  JJ/.0VTX5 

J  "This  Olio  is  written  upon  a  picture  which  represented 
:he  rape  of  Europa." — .Madame  Oacicr. 

ft  may  perhaps  bo  considen  d  as  a  description  of  one  of 
those  coins,  which  the  Sidoniaiis  struck  off  in  honour  of 
Europa,  reprctsonting  a  woman  carried  across  the  sea  by  a 
bull.  Thus  Natalis  (.omen,  lib.  viii.  cap.  SU.  "  Sidonii  nu- 
mismata  cum  fiKiiiin:'  auri  dorso  insid'^iile  ac  mare  Irans- 
fretante,  cuilerunt  in  aiiis  honoiem."  In  th<;  little  treatise 
■ipon  the  giiildesj  of  ^vr■■l,  ai'.ribuloil  very  falsely  to  Lucian, 


ODE  LV.' 

While  we  invoke  the  wreathed  spring, 
Resplendent  rose  !  to  thee  we  '11  sing ; 
Resplendent  rose  !  the  flower  of  flowers, 
Whose  breath  perfumes  Olympus'  bowers , 
Whose  virgin  blush,  of  chasten'd  dye, 
Enchants  so  much  our  mortal  eye. 
When  Pleasure's  bloomy  season  glows, 
The  Graces  love  to  twine  the  rose  ; 
The  rose  is  warm  Dione's  bliss. 
And  flushes  like  Dione's  kiss  ! 
Oft  has  the  poet's  magic  tongue 
The  rose's  fair  luxuriance  sung; 


there  is  mention  of  this  coin,  and  of  a  temple  dedicated  b' 
the  Sidonians  to  Astarte,  whom  some,  it  appears,  confound 
ed  wiih  Europa. 

Moschus  has  written  a  very  beautiful  idyl  on  the  story  of 
Eurojia. 

JiTo  :  he  descends  from  climes  above, 

Be  looks  the  God,  he  breathes  of  Jove.]  Thus  Moschus 

Kpuys  S'iOv  xai  Tp£-.J/£  Sl/txf  xxt  yii/£TO  Tttupo; 

The  God  forgot  himself,  his  heaven  for  love, 
And  a  bull's  form  belied  the  almighty  Jove. 

1  This  ode  is  a  brilliant  panegyric  on  the  rose.  "  All  an- 
tiquity (says  Barnes)  has  produced  nothing  more  beaulil'ul." 

From  the  idea  of  peculiar  excellence  which  the  ancient* 
attached  to  this  tlower,  arose  a  pretty  proverbial  expression 
used  by  Aristophanes,  according  to  Suidas,  foSx  fj.'  tifi-^x( 
"  You  have  spoken  roses,"  a  phrase  somewhat  similar  tc 
the  "  dire  des  fleurettes"  of  the  French.  In  the  same  idea 
of  excellence  originated,  I  doubt  not,  a  very  curious  apjili 
cation  of  the  word  pojov,  for  which  the  inquisitive  readei 
may  consult  Gaulminus  upon  the  ejiithalamiuin  of  our  poet, 
where  it  is  introduced  in  the  romance  of  Theodorus.  Mure- 
tus,  in  one  of  his  elegies,  calls  his  mistress  his  rose: 

Jam  le  igitur  rursus  teneo,  formosula,  jam  te 
(Ciuid  trepidas'!)  teneo;  jam,  rosa,  te  teneo. 

Eleg.  a 

Now  I  again  embrace  thee,  dearest, 

(Tell  me,  wanton,  why  thou  fearesf?) 

Again  my  longing  arms  infold  thee, 

Again,  my  rose,  again  I  hold  thee. 
This,  like  most  of  the  terms  of  endearment  in  the  moden 
Latin  poets,  is  taken  from  Plautus ;  they  were  vulgar  an^ 
colloquial  in  his  time,  and  they  are  among  the  eleganciet 
of  the  modern  Lalinisls. 

Passeratius  alludes  to  the  ode  before  us,  in  the  beginning 
of  his  poem  on  the  Rose  : 

Carmine  digna  rosa  est;  vellem  caneretur  ut  illam 
Teius  aiguta  cecinit  testudine  vales. 

Kcsplendcnt  rose!  to  thee  we'll  sing.]  I  have  passed 
over  the  line  ruv  sTiipsi  »u^£i  /nX^viv  ;  it  is  corrupt  in  thia 
oriirinal  reading,  and  has  been  very  little  improved  by  the 
annolaiors.  1  simuld  supiiose  it  to  be  an  inlerpolation,  if  it 
were  not  for  a  line  which  occurs  afterwards  .  (?«pe  Syi  $uir<» 

Tke  rose  is  warm  Dione's  bliss,  etc.]  Belleau,  in  n  note 
U|ion  an  old  French  poet,  quoting  the  original  here  osppoSi- 
o-iouv  t'  aS'iptta,  translates  it,  "  comme  les  delicuset  mignar- 
dises  de  Venus." 

Oft  has  the  poet's  magic  tongue 

The  rose's  fair  luxuriance  sung,  etc.]  The  following  is 
a  fragment  of  the  Lesbian  poetess.  It  is  cited  in  the  ro- 
mance of  Achilles  Tatius,  who  appears  to  have  resolved 
the  numbers  into  prose.  Ei  toi;  xviiiriv  yiiiKsv  o  Ztuj 
sn-i3fivxi  lixa-iKix,-^)  poJov  XV  Tun.  xvSt'^v  e_Sjiiri/.!u!,  j.  >i( 
KTTi  xor/to,-,  (Jurist  xyt-xiTfix,  ocJ^X^o;  tevOi-uv,  >,ei/ti.jvOi 
spuOvijwx,  y.xKKo^  xtrrpxTrrov,  EpwToi  t?v6t,  A^po^iTn* 
Tr-pcJ;M't*,  iVitSsa-i  Cu>.?.o*$  xo/*:*,  EU>]ivtiTO(c  ViTnKoti 
Tpu^*,    TO    ^iTxXOV    TO    Zi^upw    y6Kx 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


ii;i 


And  Ion?  the  Muses,  heavenly  maids, 
Have  rear'd  it  in  their  tuneful  shades. 
When,  at  the  early  glance  of  morn, 
It  sleeps  upon  the  glitterinq;  thorn, 
"r  is  sweet  to  dare  the  tariLrlcd  fence, 
To  cull  the  timid  (low'rct  thence. 
And  wipe,  with  tender  hand,  away 
The  tear  that  on  its  blushes  lay  ! 
'Tis  sweet  to  hold  the  infant  stems, 
Yet  dropping  with  Aurora's  gems. 
And  fresii  inhale  the  spicy  sighs 
That  from  the  weeping  buds  arise. 
When  revel  rcMgns,  when  mirth  is  high. 
And  Bacchus  beams  in  ev(>ry  eye. 
Our  rosy  fillels  scent  exhale. 
And  fill  with  balm  the  fainting  gale! 
Oh,  there  is  nought  in  nature  bright, 
Where  roses  do  not  shed  their  light ! 
When  morning  paints  the  orient  skies. 
Her  fingers  burn  with  roseate  dyes; 
The  nymphs  display  the  rose's  charms, 
It  mantles  o'er  their  graceful  arms  ; 
Through  Cytherea's  form  it  glows, 
And  mingles  with  the  living  snows. 
The  rose  distils  a  healing  balm. 
The  beating  pulse  of  pain  to  calm ; 
Preserves  the  cold  inurned  clay. 
And  mocks  the  vestige  of  decay : 


If  Jove  would  frivo  Ihe  leafy  lirjwers 
A  queen  for  all  llu'ii  world  of  Mowers, 
The  rose  would  be  the  choice  of  Jove 
And  blush  the  queen  of  every  grove. 
Sweetest  child  of  weeping  morning. 
Gem,  the  vest  of  earth  adorning, 
Eye  of  fiow'reis,  glow  of  lawns, 
Bud  of  benuty  nursed  by  dawns: 
Soft  the  soul  of  love  it  breathes, 
Cypria's  brow  with  magic  wreathes, 
And,  to  the  Zephyr's  warm  caresses, 
Difl'uses  all  its  verdant  tresses, 
Till,  glowing  with  the  w-anton's  play, 
It  blushes  a  diviner  ray  ! 
Ulten  mornivfr  pmnts  the  orintt  skies. 
Her  fingers  hunt  with  roseat  dyes,  etc.]     In  the  original 
here,  he  enumerntcw  the  many  epithets  of  beauty,  borrowed 
from  roses,  which  were  iiseil  by  the  poets,  -srxfx  tjiv  o-osajv. 
We  see  that  poets  were  dignified  in  Greece  with  the  title  of 
sages  ;  even  the  careless  Anacreon,  who  lived  but  for  love 
anil  voluptuousness,  was  called  by  Plato  the  wise  Anacreon. 
Fuit  hajc  sa|iientia  quondam. 

I'resorres  the  cold  inurned  clay,  etc.]  He  here  alliules 
to  the  use  of  the  rose  in  embalming;  and,  perhaps  (as  Barnes 
thuiks,)  to  the  rosy  unguent  with  which  Venus  anointed  the 
corpse  of  Hector.  Homer's  Iliad.  ■J''  't  may  likewise 
regard  the  ancient  practice  of  putting  sarlands  of  roses  on 
tlie  dead,  as  in  Statius,  Theb.  lib.  x.  782. 

hi  eertis,  hi  veris  honore  solulo 


Acciimulant  artus  patriaque  in  sede  reponunt 
Corpus  odoratuni. 
Where  "  veris  honor,"  though  it  mean  every  kind  of  flow- 
ers, may  seem  more  particularly  to  refer  to  the  rose,  whicli 
our  Doet,  in  another  ode,  calls  sapoj  fnX'^in.  We  read,  in 
♦lie  Hieroglyphics  of  Pierius,  lib  Iv.  that  some  of  the  an- 
cients used  to  order  in  their  wills,  that  roses  should  be  an- 
nually scattered  on  their  tombs;  an<l  he  has  adduced  some 
sepulchral  inscriptions  to  this  pur|iose. 

Jind  mocks  the  vestige  of  decay.]  When  he  says  that 
this  flower  prevails  over  time  itself,  he  still  alludes  to  its 
efficacy  in  embalment  (tenera  poneret  ossa  rosa.  Pro[)ert. 
lib  i.  eleg.  17,)  or  perliaps  to  the  subsequent  idea  of  its 
fragrance  surviving  its  beaiitv ;  for  he  can  scarcelv  rnean  to 
pntse  for  duration  the  "niminm  breves  flores"  of  the  rose, 
rhilostratus  compares  this  flower  with  love,  and  says,  that 
they  both  defv  the  influence  of  time;  ^povou  Js  oure  Epj^, 
Bun  poJa  oiJii/.  Unfortunately  the  similitude  lies  not  in 
tnbir  duration,  lir>;  (heir  transience. 


And  when,  at  length,  in  pale  decline. 
Its  (lorid  beauties  taue  and  pine. 
Sweet  as  in  youth,  jts  brlmy  breath 
Dilfuses  odour  e'en  in  death  ! 
OhI  whence  could  such  a  plant  have  sprang? 
Attend — for  thus  the  tale  is  sung. 
When,  humid,  from  the  silvery  stream, 
Etl'using  beauty's  warmest  beam, 
V^enus  appear'd,  in  flushing  hues, 
Mellow'd  by  Ocean's  briny  dews ; 
When,  in  the  starry  courts  above. 
The  pregnant  brain  of  mighty  Jove 
Disclosed  the  nymph  of  azure  glance. 
The  nymph  who  shakes  the  martial  lance! 
Then,  then,  in  strange  eventful  hour, 
The  earth  produced  an  infant  flower, 
Which  sprung,  with  blushing  tinctures  dress'd. 
And  wanton'd  o'er  its  parent  breast. 
The  gods  beheld  this  brilliant  birth. 
And  liail'd  the  Rose,  the  boon  of  earth ! 
With  nectar  drops,  a  ruby  tide. 
The  sweetly  orient  buds  they  dyed. 
And  bade  them  bloom,  the  flowers  divine 
Of  him  who  sheds  the  teeming  vine ; 
And  bade  them  on  the  spangled  thorn 
Expand  their  bosoms  to  the  morn. 


ODE  LVI.' 

He,  who  instructs  the  youthful  crew 
To  bathe  them  in  the  brimmer's  dew. 


Sweet  us  in  youth,  its  balmy  breath 
Diffuses  iiduur  e'en  in  death.]     Thus  Caspar  Barleui,  in 
his  Rilus  Nui'tiarum: 

AmbrosiniTi  late  rosa  tunc  quoque  spargit  odorem, 
Cum  fluit,  aut  multo  languida  sole  jacet. 

Nor  then  the  rose  its  odour  loses. 
When  all  its  flushing  beauties  die; 

Nor  less  ambrosial  balm  dilfuses. 
When  wither'd  by  the  solar  eye ! 

n'^itk  nectar  drops,  a  ruby  tide, 

The  sweetly  orient  buds  they  dyed,  etc.]  The  author  of 
the  "Pcrvigduini  Veneris"  (a  poem  attributed  to  Catuhui, 
the  style  of  which  appears  to  me  to  have  all  the  laboured 
lu.xuriance  of  a  much  later  period)  ascribes  the  tincture  of 
the  rose  to  the  blood  from  the  wound  of  Adonis — 


Fusaj  aprino  do  cruore — 

accordinE  to  the  emendation  of  Lipsius.     In  the  following 
epigram  this  hue  is  dilfeiently  accounted  for: 

Ilia  quidem  sludiosa  suum  defendere  Adonim, 
Giadivus  stricio  quern  petit  ciise  fere's, 

Affi.xit  duris  vestigia  cajca  rosetis, 
Albaque  divino  picta  cruore  rosa  esL 

While  the  enamour'd  queen  of  joy 
Flies  to  protect  her  lovely  boy. 

On  whom  the  jenhuis  war-god  rushes; 
She  treads  upon  a  thorneil  rose, 
And  while  the  wound  wiili  crimson  flows. 

The  snowy  flowret  feels  her  blood,  and  blushei! 

1  "C<'mpare  with  this  elegant  ode  the  verses  of  L'z,  lib 
i.  die  Weinlese." — Defren. 

This  appears  to  be  one  of  the  hymns  which  were  sun?  n\ 
the  anniversary  f  stival  of  the  vini.iiie;  one  of  the  (^i>.i!vii>i 
u.uvoi,  ns  our  poet  himself  terms  them  in  Ihe  lifiy-ninth  ode 
We  cannot  help  feeling  a  peculiar  veneration  for  these  relic* 
of  the  religion  of  a'  tiquity.  Homes  may  be  supposed  to 
have  written  the  nineteenth  mle  of  his  second  hook,  and  ihe 
twenty-fif'h  oi  ihe  third,  for  some  bacchanalian  celehiaiior 
of  I  hi!,  ki"-* 


262 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  taste,  uncloy  d  by  rich  excesses, 
All  the  bliss  that  wine  possesses  ! 
He,  who  inspires  the  youth  to  glance 
In  winged  circlets  tiuough  the  dance! 
Bacchus,  the  god,  again  is  here, 
And  Icada  along  the  blushing  year  ; 
The  blushing  year  with  rapture  teems. 
Ready  to  shed  those  cordial  streams 
Which,  sparkling  in  the  cup  of  mirth, 
Illuminate  the  sons  of  earth; 
And  when  the  ripe  and  vermil  wine, 
Sweet  infant  of  the  pregnant  vine, 
Wliich  now  in  mellow  clusters  swells. 
Oh  !  when  it  bursts  its  rosy  cells, 
The  heavenly  stream  shall  mantling  flow, 
To  balsam  every  mortal  woe  ! 
No  youth  shall  then  be  wan  or  weak. 
For  dimpling  health  shall  light  the  cheek; 
No  heart  shall  then  desponding  sigh. 
For  wine  shall  bid  despondence  fly ! 
Thus — till  another  autumn's  glow 
Shall  bid  another  vintage  flow  ! 


ODE  LVII." 

And  whose  immortal  hand  could  shed 
Upon  this  disk  the  ocean's  bed? 
And,  in  a  frenzied  flight  of  soul. 
Sublime  as  Heaven's  eternal  pole. 
Imagine  thus,  in  semblance  warm, 
The  Queen  of  Love's  voluptuous  form. 
Floating  along  the  silvery  sea 
In  beauty's  naked  majesty  ? 
Oh  !  he  has  given  tlie  raptured  sight 
A  witching  banquet  of  delight ; 
And  all  those  sacred  scenes  of  Love, 
Where  only  hallowed  eyes  may  rove, 


IVhich,  sparklinrr  in  the  cup  of  mirth, 

Illuminate  the  suiis  of  earth.!]  In  tlie  original  -norov 
eKTTonov  xo/iijMv.  Madame  Uacier  thinks  lliat  the  poet 
here  had  the  nepfiiitlie  of  Homer  in  his  mind.  Odyssey, 
ib.  iv.  This  nepenthe  w.is  a  somelhing  of  exqnisite  charm, 
infused  by  Helen  into  the  wine  of  her  guesis,  which  had  the 
power  of  dispelling  every  anxiely.  A  French  wiiler,  with 
very  elegant  galUiniry,  conjectnres  that  this  spell,  which 
maile  the  bowl  so  beguiling,  was  the  charm  of  Helen's  con- 
versation.    Sec  de  Mer6,  qnoted  by  Bayle,  art.  Helene. 

1  This  ode  is  a  very  animated  de-:cription  of  a  picture  of 
Vi-Mius  on  a  discus,  which  presented  the  goddess  in  her  first 
emergence  from  ihe  waves.  About  two  centuries  after  onr 
pi.et  wrote,  the  pencil  of  the  artist  Apellcs  embellished  this 
tubject,  in  his  famous  painting  of  the  Venus  Anadvomen6, 
(lie  model  of  which,  a-;  Pliny  informs  us,  wiis  the  beautiful 
("arnpnspe,  given  to  him  hyAh-xander;  tlioiigli,  according 
to  Natalis  Comes,  lib.  vii.  cap.  KJ,  it  was  Phryno  who  Bat  to 
.Apelles  for  tlie  face  and  breast  of  this  Venus. 

There  are  a  few  blemishes  in  the  reading  of  the  ode  be- 
fore lis,  which  have  influenced  Faber,  Heyne,  Brunck,  etc. 
to  denounce  the  whole  poem  as  spurious.  Non  ego  pauois 
nffendar  maculis.  I  think  it  is  beautiful  enough  to  be  au- 
thentic. 

.^nd  whose  immortal  hand  rould  shed 

Upon  this  disk  the  ocean's  bid?]  The  abruptness  of 
xpa  Ti;  TOfiivirt  •srii/Tov,  is  finely  expressive  of  sudden 
ndmiration,  and  is  one  of  those  beauties  which  we  cannot 
but  admire  in  their  source,  though,  by  frequent  imitation, 
tlicy  are  now  become  languid  am)  unimpressive. 

^rtd  all  those  snerrd  scenes  of  love, 

IVhere  oiiiij  hallow  d  ryes  may  rone,  etc.]     The    picture 

»'ei(!  has  all  the  (h-liciite  clni'-acter  of  the  semi-ri'dncta  Vi- 

iis.  and  is  the  swootest  eiriblein  of  what  the  poetry  of  pas- 


Lie  faintly  glowing,  half-conceal'd, 
Within  the  lucid  billows  veil'd. 
Light  as  the  leaf  that  stimmer's  bree.ze 
Has  wafted  o'er  the  glassy  seas, 
She  floats  upon  the  ocean's  breast. 
Which  undulates  in  sleepy  rest, 
And  stealing  on,  she  gently  pillows 
Pier  bosom  on  the  amorous  billows. 
Her  bosom,  like  the  humid  rose. 
Her  neck,  like  dewy-sparkling  snows, 
Illume  the  liquid  path  she  traces. 
And  burn  within  the  stream's  embraces? 
In  languid  lu.\ury  soft  she  glides. 
Encircled  by  the  azure  tides, 
Like  some  fair  lily,  faint  with  weeping, 
Upon  a  bed  of  violets  sleeping ! 
Beneath  their  queen's  inspiring  glance, 
The  dolphins  o'er  the  green  sea  dance, 
Bearing  in  triumph  young  Desire, 
And  baby  Love  with  smiles  of  fire ! 
While,  sparkling  on  the  silver  waves, 
The  tenants  of  the  briny  caves 
Around  the  pomp  in  eddies  play. 
And  gleam  along  the  watery  way. 


ODE  LVIII.' 

When  gold,  as  fleet  as  Zephyr's  pinion, 
Escapes  like  any  faithless  minion. 
And  flies  me  (as  he  flies  me  ever,) 
Do  I  pursue  him  ?  never,  never ! 


sion  ought  to  be ;  glowing  but  tliroiigh  a  veil,  and  stealing 
upon  the  heart  from  concealment.  Few  of  the  ancients 
have  attained  this  modesty  of  description,  which  is  like  the 
golden  cloud  that  hung  over  .lupitcr  and  Juno,  imjiervious 
to  every  beam  but  that  of  fancy. 

Her  bosom,  like  the  humid  rose,  etc.]  "  TuaSimv  (saya  an 
anonymous  annotator)  is  a  whimsical  epithet  for  the  bosom." 
Neitlier  Catullus  nor  Gray  have  been  of  his  opinion.  The 
former  has  the  exiires.^ion, 

En  liic  in  roseis  latet  papillis. 
And  the  latter, 

Lo!  where  the  rosy-bosom'd  hours,  etc. 
Crottus,  a  modern  Latinist,  might  indeed  be  censured  foi 
too  vague  an  use  of  the  epithet  "  rosy,"  when  he  applies  i) 
to  the  eyes:  "e  roseis  oculis." 

young  Desire,  etc.]  In  the  original  ^I^spof 
who  was  the  same  deity  witli  .locus  among  tlie  Koniuns. 
Aurelius  Augurellus  has  a  poem  beginning 

Invitat  olim  Bacchus  ad  coenain  sues 
Conion,  Jocuni,  Cupidinein. 

Which  Parnell  has  closely  imitated: 

Gay  Bacchus,  liking  Estcourt  s  wine, 

A  nob'.e  meal  bespoke  us; 
And,  for  the  guests  that  were  to  dine, 

Brought  Coinus,  Love,  and  Jocus,  etc. 

1  I  have  followed  Barnes's  arrangement  of  this  ode;  it  de- 
atcs  somewhat  from  the  Vatican  MS.  but  it  appeared  to 
me  the  more  natural  order. 

JVhen  jTold,  as  fleet  as  Zephyr's  pinion. 

Escapes  like  a.ntj  faithless,  minion,  etc.]    In  the  original 

JpxjrcTa;   0   xfviroi.     There  is   a   kind  of  pun  in   thi'so 

ords,  as  Madame  Diicicr  has  already  remarked  ;  for  Cliry- 

so*,  which  signifies  gold,  was  also  a  freijuent  name  for  a 

slave.     In   one   of  liiici.in'a  dialogues,  there  is,    I  think,  a 

iniilar  play  upon  the  word,  where  the  followers   of  Chry 

ippus  are  called  gulden  fishes.     The  puns  of  Iho  aiicienta 

are,  in  general,  even  more  vapid  than  our  own     some  o) 

(he  he-t  are  those  recorded  of  Diogenes. 

.'hid firs-  me  (as  he  flies  me   eve 


Thi 


:)l  iterat'oii   iias    alri:-iiiy  been   lahpr 


OJES  OF  ANACREON. 


2G3 


No,  let  the  fiilse  deserter  go, 
For  who  would  court  his  direst  foe? 
But,  when  I  feel  my  hghten'd  mind 
No  more  by  ties  of  gold  confined, 
I  loosen  ail  my  clinging  cares. 
And  cast  thoin  to  the  vagrant  airs. 
Then,  then  I  feel  the  Bluse's  spell, 
And  wake  to  life  the  dulcet  shell; 
The  dulcet  shell  to  beauty  sings. 
And  love  dissolves  along  the  strings! 
Thus,  when  my  heart  is  sweetly  taught 
How  little  gold  deserves  a  thought. 
The  winged  slave  returns  once  more, 
And  with  him  wafts  delicious  store 
Of  racy  wine,  whose  balmy  ait 
In  slumber  seals  the  anxious  heart! 
Again  he  tries  my  soul  to  sever 
From  love  and  song,  perhaps  for  ever  ! 
Away,  deceiver  !  why  pursuing 
Ceaseless  thus  my  heart's  undoing? 
Sweet  is  the  song  of  amorous  fire  ; 
Sweet  are  the  sighs  that  thrill  the  lyre ; 
Oh  !  sweeter  far  than  all  the  gold 
The  wallage  of  thy  wings  c:in  hold. 
1  well  remember  all  thy  wiles; 
Thy  witht^r'd  Cupid's  flowery  smiles, 
And  o'er  his  harp  such  garbage  shed, 
I  thought  its  angel  breath  was  fled  ! 
They  tainted  all  his  bowl  of  blisses, 
His  bland  desires  and  hallow'd  kisses. 
Oh  !  fly  to  haunts  of  sordid  men, 
But  rove  not  near  the  bard  again ; 
Thy  glitter  in  the  3Iuse's  shade 
Scares  from  her  bower  the  tuneful  maid ; 
And  not  for  worlds  would  I  forego 
That  moment  of  poetic  glow, 
When  my  full  soul,  in  Fancy's  stream, 
Pours  o'er  the  lyre  its  swelling  theme. 
Away,  away  !  to  worldling?;  hence, 
Who  feel  not  this  diviner  sense. 
And,  with  thy  gay  fallacious  blaze, 
Dazzle  their  unrefined  gaze. 


aoiif-e  of.  Though  somclinips  merely  a  playful  beauty,  it  is 
[leciiliaiiv  exiMfsiive  ofinipassiorieil  suiitiiiieiit,  iiiiil  we  may 
(jasily  bblieve  that  it  was  one  of  the  many  sources  of  that 
•fnergetic  sensibilitv  which  hieathod  through  the  style  of 
Saiipho.  See  Gyrald.  Vet.  Poet.  Dial.  9.  It  will  not  be 
saiil  that  this  is  a  mechanical  ornament  by  any  one  who  can 
feel  its  cliarm  in  those  lincsof  Catullus,  wiiere  he  complains 
uf  the  infidelity  of  his  mistress,  Lesbia. 

Ctpli,  Lesbia  nostra,  Lesbia  ilia. 
Ilia  Lesbia,  quam  Catullus  unam, 
Plus  quaiTi  se  atque  suos  amavit  omnes, 
Nunc,  etc. 
Si  SIC  onnia  dixissetl  but  the  rest  does  not  bear  citation. 

They  tnivted  all  his  bowl  of  blinses, 

His,  bland  desires  and  hallowed  kisscs-l     Original : 

Horace  has  "  Desiderique  lenipeiare  pocidum,"  not  fi;;u 
inlively,  however,  like  Anacreon,  but  importing  the  love- 
philtres  of  the  witches.  By  "  cu))S  of  kisses"  our  poet  may 
allude  to  a  favourite  gallantry  among  the  ancienis,  of  drink- 
ing when  the  lips  of  their  mistresses  had  touched  the  brim: 
"  Or  leave  a  kiss  within  the  cup, 
And  I  'II  not  ask  for  wine," 

asin  Ben.Tonson's  translation  from  Philostralus;  and  Lucian 
lus  a  conceit  upon  the  same  idia,  "  Ux  xxj  i^ivy;  xftx  x»i 
ciKi^i  "  "  that  vuu  mav  at  once  both  drink  and  kiss." 


ODE  LIX-' 

Sableu  by  the  solar  beam. 

Now  the  f ery  cltisters  teem. 

In  osier  baskets,  borne  along 

By  all  the  festal  vintage  throng 

Of  rosy  you'.hs  and  virgins  fair, 

Ripe  as  the  melting  Iruits  they  bear. 

Now,  now  they  press  the  pregnant  grapei. 

And  now  the  captive  stream  escapes, 

In  fervid  tiac  of  nectar  gushing, 

And  for  its  bondage  proudly  blushing! 

While,  round  the  vat's  impurpled  brim, 
The  choral  song,  the  vintage  hymn 

Of  rosy  youths,  and  virgins  fair. 

Steals  on  the  cloy'd  and  panting  air. 

Mark,  how  they  drink,  with  all  their  eyes. 

The  orient  tide  that  sparkling  flies  ; 

The  infant  balm  of  all  their  fears. 

The  infant  Bacchus,  born  in  tears ! 

When  he,  v\hose  verging  years  decline 

As  deep  into  the  vale  as  mine. 

When  he  inhales  the  vintage-spring, 

His  heart  is  fire,  his  foot 's  a  wing ; 

And,  as  he  flies,  his  hoary  hair 

Plays  truant  with  the  wanton  air! 

While  the  wann  youth,  whose  wishing  soul 

Has  kindled  o'er  the  inspiring  bowl, 

Impassion'd  seeks  the  shadowy  grove, 

Where,  in  the  tempting  guise  of  love, 

Reclining  sleeps  some  witching  maid, 

Whose  sunny  charms,  but  half  display'd. 

Blush  through  the  bower,  that,  closely  twined. 

Excludes  the  kisses  of  the  wind  ! 

The  virgin  wakes,  the  glowing  boy 

Allures  her  to  the  embrace  of  joy  ; 

Swears  that  the  herbage  Heaven  had  spread 

Was  sacred  as  the  nuptial  bed  ; 

That  laws,  should  never  bind  desire, 

And  love  was  nature's  holiest  fire  ! 

The  virgin  weeps,  the  virgin  sighs ; 

He  kiss'd  her  lips,  he  kiss'd  her  eyes; 

The  sigh  was  balm,  the  tear  was  dew. 

They  only  raised  his  flame  anew. 

And,  oh  I  he  stole  the  sweetest  flower 

That  ever  blooin'd  in  any  bower ! 

Such  is  the  madness  wine  imparts, 
Whene'er  it  steals  on  youthful  hearts. 


1  The  tiile  Effix.>iviii5  o^vo?,  which  Barnes  has  given  to 
this  ode,  is  by  no  means  apironriate.  We  have  al.eady 
had  one  of  those  hymns  (ode  50,)  but  this  is  a  description  u'l 
the  vintage;  and  the  titles'?  oimv,  which  it  bears  in  the  Vati- 
can MS.,  is  more  correct  than  any  thai  have  been  siiegcslol. 

Uogen,in  the  true  spirit  of  literary  scepticism,  doubts  thai 
this  ode  is  genuine,  wiilmut  assigning  any  reason  lor  such  u 
suspicion.  "  Noii  amo  te,  Sabidi,  nee  possum  dicere  quare ," 
but  this  is  far  from  satisfactory  criticism. 

Swears  that  the  kerbafrc  Heaven  had  spread, 

IVas  iacred  as  the  nuptial  bed,  etc.]  The  orijinal  Hera 
has  hern  variously  inteiprelcd.  Some,  in  their  zeal  for  out 
author's  purity,  have  supjioscd  that  the  youth  only  persuadef 
her  to  a  premature  marriage.  Others  understand  from  the 
words  -sfuSoriv  yx,us!v  ysv!<rixi,  that  he  si'iiuces  her  lo  a 
violation  of  the  nuptial  vow.  The  turn  which  I  have  giveo 
it  is  somewhat  hke  the  sentiment  of  Hehisa,  "  amoreni  ron 
jugio,  libertalem  vinculo  praferre."  (.See  her  original  Lpl 
ters.)  The  Italian  translations  have  almost  all  wanlo-ied 
upon  this  description  :  but  that  of  Marchetti  is  iiidccil  ''  n* 
mium  lubricus  asoici." 


264 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ODE  LX.' 

Awake  to  life,  my  dulcet  shell, 
To  PiK^bus  all  thy  sighs  shall  swell ; 
And  thov.gh  no  glorious  prize  be  thine, 
No  Pythian  wreath  around  tliee  twine, 
Yet  every  hour  is  glory's  hour, 
To  him  who  gathers  wisdom's  flower  : 
Then  wake  thee  from  thy  magic  slumbers, 
Breathe  to  the  soft  and  Phrygian  numbers. 
Which,  as  my  trembliug  lips  repeat, 
Thy  chords  shall  echo  back  as  sweet. 
The  cygnet  thus,  with  fading  notes, 
As  down  Cayster's  tide  he  doats. 
Plays  with  his  snowy  plumage  I'a  r 
Upon  the  wanton  murmuring  air, 
Wliich  amorously  lingers  round. 
And  sighs  responsive  sound  for  sound  ! 
Muse  of  the  Lyre  I  illume  my  dream. 
Thy  Phcebus  is  my  fancy's  theme ; 
And  hallow'd  is  the  harp  I  bear. 
And  hallow'd  is  the  wreath  1  wear, 
Hallow'd  by  him,  the  god  of  lays, 
Who  modulates  the  choral  maze  ! 
I  sing  the  love  whifli  Daphne  twined 
Around  the  godhc  ..i's  yielding  mind  ; 
I  sing  the  blushing  Daphne's  flight 
From  this  aethereal  youth  of  light ; 
And  how  the  tender,  timid  maid 
Flew  panting  to  the  kindly  shade, 
Resign'd  a  form,  too  tempting  fair. 
And  grew  a  verdant  laurel  there  ; 
Whose  leaves,  in  sympathetic  thrill. 
In  terror  seem'd  to  tremble  still ! 
The  god  pursued,  with  wing'd  desire  ; 
And  when  his  hopes  were  all  on  fire, 
And  when  he  thought  to  hear  the  sigh 
With  which  enamour'd  virgins  die, 
He  only  heard  the  pensive  air 
Whispering  amid  her  leafy  hair  ! 
But  oh,  my  soul !  no  more — no  more  ! 
Enthusiast,  whither  do  I  soar  ? 
This  sweetly  maddening  dream  of  soul 
Has  hurried  me  beyond  the  goal. 
Why  should  I  sing  the  mighty  darts 
Which  fly  to  wound  celestial  hearts, 


1  This  liynin  to  Apollo  is  sup|)0scd  not  to  liavi;  been 
written  by  Anucreon,  and  it  cenainly  is  rallier  a  sublimer 
flight  than  the  Tcian  wing  is  accustomed  to  soar.  But  we 
Slight  not  to  judge  tVom  this  diversity  of  style,  in  a  |ioet  of 
wlioin  time  has  preserved  such  partial  relics.  If  we  knew 
Horace  but  as  a  satirist,  should  we  easily  believe  there  could 
dwell  such  animation  in  his  lyro  ?  Suidas  says  that  our 
(loet  wrote  hyimis,  and  this  perhaps  is  one  of  ihem.  We 
can  ])erceive  in  wnat  an  altered  and  impert'oct  state  his 
works  are  at  present,  when  we  find  a  scholiast  upon  Horace 
siting  an  ode  from  the  third  book  of  Anacreon. 

^nd  liow  the  tenilcr,  timid  maid 

Hew  panting  to  ike  kindly  shade,  etc.'\     Original : 

To  uiv  sxTTiifnyt   xjvTpoi/, 

I  find  the  word  xsvxpov  here  has  a  double  force,  as  it  also 
•ignifies  that  "omnium  parentem,  ipiain  sanctus  Nunia," 
etc.  etc.  (See  Marlnil.)  In  order  to  confirm  this  import  of 
'he  word  here,  tliase  who  are  curious  in  new  readings  may 
alacc  the  stop  afltr  (puirs-uj    thus: 

To  fjnv  tx-TTi^tuyt  Mtvrpov 


When  sure  the  lay,  with  sweeter  tone, 
Can  tell  the  dai  ts  that  wound  my  own  ? 
Still  be  Anacreon,  still  inspire 
The  descant  of  the  Teian  lyre : 
Still  let  the  nectar'd  numbers  float. 
Distilling  love  in  every  note  ! 
And  when  the  youth,  whose  burning  soul 
Has  felt  the  Paphian  star's  control, 
When  he  the  liquid  lays  shall  hear, 
His  heart  will  flutter  to  his  ear. 
And  drinking  there  of  song  divine, 
Banquet  on  intellectual  wine  ! 


ODE  LXl.' 

Golden  hues  of  youth  are  fled  ; 
Hoary  locks  deform  my  l}ead. 
Bloomy  graces,  dalliance  gay, 
All  the  flowers  of  life  decay 


Still  be  .Suacreun,  still  inspire 

The  descant  of  the  'J'einn  lure.]  The  original  is  Tov  Av«- 
xfiiovTx  ,ui^ou.  I  have  translated  it  under  the  supposition 
that  the  hymn  is  by  Anacreon  ;  though  I  tear,  from  this  very 
line,  that  bis  claim  to  it  can  scarce  be  sup|)orted. 

Toi/  AvxifsovTx  /"i/iou,  "  Imitate  Anacreon."  Such  ie 
the  lesson  given  us  by  the  lyrist;  and  if,  in  poetry,  a  simple 
elegance  of  sentiment,  enriched  by  the  most  playful  felicities 
of  fancy,  be  a  charm  which  invites  or  deserves  imilatinn, 
where  shall  we  find  such  a  guide  as  Anacreon  ?  In  nioralily, 
too,  with  some  little  reserve,  I  think  we  m:ght  not  blush  to 
follow  in  his  footsteps.  For  if  his  song  be  the  language  o. 
bis  heart,  though  lu.xurious  and  relaxed,  he  was  artless  and 
benevolent;  and  who  would  not  forgive  a  few  irregularitiis, 
when  ainned  for  by  virtues  so  rare  and  so  endearing?  When 
we  think  of  the  sentiment  in  those  lines. 
Away  !  I  hate  the  slanderous  dart, 
Which  steals  to  wound  the  unwary  heart, 

how  many  are  there  in  the  world  to  whom  we  would  wish 

to  say,  Toi/  Avx-ifiovrx  /ii^uou  ! 

Here  ends  the  last  of  the  odes  in  the  Vatican  MS.  whose 
authority  confirms  the  genuine  antiquity  of  ihein  all,  though 
a  lew  have  stolen  among  the  number  which  we  may  hesi- 
tate in  attrdiuting  to  Anacreon.  In  the  little  essay  prefixed 
to  this  translation,  I  observed  that  Barnes  had  quoted  this 
maniiscri|it  incorrectly,  relying  upon  an  imperfecl  copy  of  it, 
which  Isaac  Vossius  had  taken  ;  1  shall  just  mention  two  or 
tliree  instances  of  this  inaccuracy,  the  first  which  occurtome. 
In  the  ode  of  the  Dove,  on  the  words  nripoxri  a-vyxxKv^ui, 
he  says,  "  Vatican  MS.  o-uo-xix^-jjv,  etiam  Presciano  invito," 
ihongh  the  MS.  reads  iruv!ca>.i(-.J/u>,  with  o-uo-xiao-iu  interlined. 
Degen,  too,  on  the  same  line,  is  somewhat  in  error.  In  the 
twenty-second  ode  of  this  series,  line  thirteenth,  the  MS  hai 
Tsvii)  with  »i  interlined,  and  Barnes  imputes  to  it  the  read- 
ing of  TtvSit.  In  the  fifty-seventh,  line  twelfth,  he  professes 
to  have  preserved  the  reading  of  the  MS.  A}^x'\y,fisv>i  J'  ijr' 
auT;j,  while  the  latter  has  xKxKv\uivo;  S'  ew'  xvrx.  Almost 
all  the  other  annotators  have  transplanted  these  errors  from 
Barnes. 

I  The  intrusion  of  this  melancholy  ode  among  the  care- 
less levities  of  our  poet,  has  always  reminded  nie  of  the 
skeletons  which  the  Egyptians  used  to  hang  up  in  their 
biuKinel-rooms,  fo  inculcate  u  thought  of  mortality  ever: 
amidst  the  dissipations  of  mirth.  If  it  were  not  for  the  beantj 
of  its  numbers,  the  Teian  Muse  should  disown  this  ode. 
Quid  hahet  illius,  illius  qua?  splrabat  amoresl 

To  Stoba;ns  we  are  indebted  for  it. 

Bloomy  srracrs,  dalliance  ffay, 

Jill  the  flowers  of  life  decay.]  Horace  often,  with  fechn^ 
and  elegance,  deplores  the  fngacity  of  human  enjoyment* 
See  book  ii.  ode  11  ;  and  thus  in  the  .second  epistle,  book  u 

Singula  de  nobis  anni  pitei/antur  enntes, 
Kiipuere  jocos,  venerem,  convivia,  ludum. 

The  wing  of  every  passing  day 
Withers  some  blooming  joy  away  , 
And  wafts  from  our  enamour'd  arms 
The  banquet's  mirth,  the  virgin's  cnarms. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


2Gc 


Withering  age  begins  to  trace 
Sad  memorials  o'er  my  face  ; 
Time  lias  shod  its  swectfst  bloom, 
All  the  future  must  be  gloom ! 
This  awakes  my  hourly  sighing; 
Dreary  is  the  thought  of  dying! 
Pluto's  is  a  dark  abode, 
Sad  the  journey,  sad  the  road  : 
And,  the  gloomy  travel  o'er. 
Ah  !  we  can  return  no  more! 


ODE  LXII.' 

Fill  me,  boy,  as  deep  a  draught 

As  e'er  was  hlled,  as  e'er  was  quaff'd; 

But  let  the  water  amply  flow. 

To  cool  the  grape's  intemperate  glow  ; 

Let  not  the  liery  god  be  single, 

But  with  the  nymphs  in  union  mingle  ; 

For,  though  the  bowl's  the  grave  of  sadness, 

Oh  !  be  it  ne'er  the  birth  of  madness ! 

No,  banish  from  our  board  to-night 

The  revelries  of  rude  delight  I 

To  Scythians  leave  these  wild  excesses, 

Ours  be  the  joy  that  soothes  and  blesses  ! 

And  while  the  temperate  bowl  we  wreathe, 

Our  choral  hymns  shall  sweetly  breathe. 

Beguiling  every  hour  along 

With  harmony  of  soul  and  song ! 


Drearij  is  the  thought  of  dying,  itc]  R.-gjiifi,  a  librr- 
;lne  ■•'"rcui-h  puet,  lias  written  soim;  sonmUs  on  the  apiiroucli 
nl'deuih,  full  ofgloomy  and  trtiiibliiig  repentance.  Cliau- 
lieu,  liowever,  sup|)orls  mure  coiisistenlly  llie  spirit  of  IIk! 
Kpicuruan  philosopher.  See  his  poem,  addressed  to  the 
Marquis  La  Farre. 

PIusj'  approche  du  terrae  et  moins  je  le  redoute,  etc. 

I  shall  leave  it  to  the  moralist  to  make  his  reflections  here : 
it  IS  unpossible  to  be  very  anacreontic  on  sncli  a  subject. 

.'ind,  the  gloomy  travel  o''er, 

Jih!  t"*  curt  return  no  inore!]  Scaliger,  upon  (Jatullus's 
ivell- known  lines,  "(iui  nunc  it  per  iter,"  etc.  remarks,  that 
Acheron,  with  the  same  idea,  is  culled  ai/tjotfof,  by  Theo 
criius,  and  Jursxa'po^o;  by  Nicander. 

1  This  ode  consists  of  two  fragments,  which  are  to  be 
found  in  Athena;us,  book  x.  and  which  Barnes,  from  the 
similarity  of  their  teiidLiicy,  has  combined  into  one.  1 
think  ihis  a  very  juslitiable  liberty,  and  liave  adopted  it  in 
Buine  other  fragments  of  our  poet. 

Ui-gen  refers  us  here  to  verses  of  Uz,  lib.  iv.  der  Trinker. 

But  let  the  water  amply  flow, 

Tu  caul  the  grape's  intemperate  glow,  etc.]  It  wtvs 
Amphiclyon  who  first  taught  the  Greeks  to  mix  water  wilh 
their  wine  ;  in  commemoration  of  which  circumstance  they 
erected  altars  to  Bacchus  and  tlie  nymjihs.  On  this  mytho- 
logical allegory  the  following  epigram  is  founded : 

Arilentem  ex  utero  Semeleslavere  Lyajuin 
Naiades,  extincto  fulminis  igne  sacri ; 

Cum  [lymphis  igiiui  Iractabilis,  at  sine  nymphia 
Candeiiti  rursus  fulmine  corripitnr. 

Fierius  yalcrianus. 

'Vhicli  is,  Ron  verbuin  verbo. 

While  heavenly  fire  consumed  nis  Theban  dame, 
A  Naiiid  caught  young  Bacchus  from  the  Hame, 

And  ilipp'd  him  burning  in  her  purest  lymph: 
Still,  still  he  loves  the  sea-inaid's  crystal  urn. 
And  when  his  native  fiies  infuriate  burn, 

Ho  bathes  him  in  'ne  fountain  of  the  nymph. 


ODE  LXllI.' 

To  Love,  the  sof\  and  blooming  child 

I  touch  the  harp  in  desciiiit  wild  ; 

To  Love,  the  babe  of  Cyprian  bowers, 

The  boy,  who  breathes  and  blushes  flowers  ' 

To  Love,  lijr  heaven  and  earth  adore  liini. 

And  gods  and  mortals  bow  before  liira ! 


ODE  LXIV.^ 

iI.\STE  thee,  nymph,  whose  winged  spuai 
Wounds  the  fleeting  mountain-deer! 
Dian,  Jove's  immortal  child. 
Huntress  of  the  savage  wild  ! 
(ioddess  with  the  sun-bright  hair  ! 
Listen  to  a  people's  prayer. 
'J'urn,  to  Lethe's  river  turn. 
There  thy  vanquish'd  people  mourn  ! 
Come  to  Lethe's  wavy  shore. 
There  thy  people's  peace  restore. 
Thine  their  hearts,  their  altars  thine  ; 
Dian  I  must  they — must  they  pine  ? 


ODE  LXV.' 
Like  some  wanton  filly  sporting, 
Maid  of  Thrace  !  thou  fly'st  my  courting. 
Wanton  filly  !  tell  me  why 
Thou  trip'st  away,  witli  scornful  eye, 
And  seem'st  to  think  my  doting  heart 
Is  novice  in  the  bridling  art  ? 
Believe  me,  girl,  it  is  not  so ; 
Thou'lt  find  this  skilful  hand  can  throw 
The  reins  upon  that  tender  form. 
However  wild,  liowever  warm  ! 


f  "  This  fragment  is  preserved  in  Clemens  Alexandrinus, 
S;roin.  hb   vi.  and  in  -ArsBiiius,  Collect.  Grajc." — Uarnts. 

It  appears  to  have  been  the  opening  of  a  hymn  in  prv'-se 
of  Love. 

2  This  hymn  to  Diana  is  extant  in  Hephsslion.  Tlicrois 
an  anecdote  of  our  jioet,  which  has  led  to  some  doubt  whe- 
ther he  ever  wrote  any  odes  of  this  kind.  It  is  related  by 
the  Scholiast  upon  Pindar  (Isihmionic.  od.  ii.  v.  ].  as  cited 
by  Barnes.)  Anacreon  being  asked,  why  he  addre^scd  all 
his  hymns  to  women,  and  nunc  to  the  deities?  answer<»l 
"Because  women  are  my  deities." 

I  have  assumed  the  same  liberty  in  reporting  this  anecdote 
which  I  have  done  in  translating  some  of  the  odes;  and  it 
were  to  be  wished  that  these  little  infidelities  were  always 
considered  pardonable  in  the  inter)irelalion  of  the  ancienls  ; 
thus,  when  nature  is  forgotten  in  the  original,  in  the  trans- 
lation, "  tamen  usque  recurret." 

7'HrH,  to  I.vthe^s  river  turn. 

There  thy  van'/uish'd  people  mourii!]  Lethe,  a  i.ver 
of  Ionia,  according  to  Sirabo,  falling  into  the  .Meander, 
near  to  it  was  situated  the  town  Magnesia,  in  I'avour  of 
whose  inhabitants  our  poet  is  supposed  lu  have  uddiessed 
this  supplication  to  Diana.  It  was  written  (as  Madame 
Dacier  conjectures)  on  the  occasion  of  some  battle,  in  wliicli 
the  Magnesians  had  been  defeated. 

3  This  ode,  which  is  addressed  to  some  Thrncnn  gu.. 
exi.-ts  in  Heraclides,  and  has  been  imitated  very  frequently 
by  Horace,  as  all  the  annotatcrs  have  remarked.  Mudanip 
Dacier  rejects  the  allegory,  which  runs  so  obviously  thmugn 
out  it,  and  supposes  it  to  have  been  addressed  to  a  youn^ 
mare  belonging  to  Polycrates:  there  is  more  modesty  tiiaa 
ingenuity  in  the  lady's  conjecture 

Pierius,  in  the  fourth  book  of  his  Hieroglypbics.  cites  thig 
ode,  and  informs  us,  that  the  horse  was  the  niiroxi>pr'f» 
emblem  of  pride. 


266 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Thou'lt  own  that  I  can  tame  thy  force, 
And  turn  and  wind  thee  in  the  course. 
Though  wasting  now  thy  careless  hoars, 
Thou  sport'st  amid  the  herbs  and  flowers, 
Thou  soon  shalt  feel  tlie  rein's  control. 
And  tremble  at  the  wish'd-for  goal! 


ODE  LXVI." 

To  thee,  the  Queen  of  nymphs  divine. 
Fairest  of  all  that  fairest  shine  ; 
To  thee,  thou  blushing  young  Desire, 
Who  rulest  the  world  with  darts  of  fire! 
And  oh  I  tiiou  nuptial  Power,  to  thee 
Who  bear'st  of  life  the  guardian  key ; 
Breathing  my  soul  in  fragrant  praise, 
And  weaving  wild  my  votive  lays. 
For  thee,  O  Queen !  1  wake  the  lyre. 
For  thee,  thou  blushing  young  Desire  ! 
And  oh  !  for  thee,  thou  nuptial  Power, 
Come,  and  illume  this  genial  hour. 
Look  on  thy  bride,  luxuriant  boy  ! 
And  while  thy  lambent  glance  of  joy 
Plays  over  all  her  blushing  charms. 
Delay  not,  snatch  her  to  thine  arms, 
Before  the  lovely,  trembling  prey. 
Like  a  young  birdling,  wing  away! 
Oh  '  Stratocles,  impassion'd  youth  ! 
Dear  to  the  Queen  of  amorous  truth. 
And  dear  to  her,  whose  yielding  zone 
Will  soon  resign  her  all  thine  own; 
Turn  to  Jlyrilla,  turn  thine  eye. 
Breathe  to  Myrilla,  breathe  thy  sigh  ! 
To  those  bewitching  beauties  turn  ; 
For  thee  they  mantle,  flush,  and  burn  ! 
Not  more  the  rose,  the  queen  of  flowers, 
Outblushes  all  the  glow  of  bowers. 
Than  she  unrivall'd  bloom  discloses. 
The  sweetest  rose,  where  all  are  roses  ! 
Oh  I  may  the  sun,  benignant,  shed 
His  blandest  influence  o'er  thy  bed; 
And  foster  there  an  infant  tree. 
To  blush  like  her,  and  bloom  like  thee ! 


1  This  ode  is  introducod  in  the  Romance  of  Theodorus 
Proiromus,  and  is  that  kind  of  epilliulaniium  wliieh  was 
sung  like  a  scholiiini  at  ihe  nii|)iial  biinqutH. 

Among  the  m;itiy  works  of  the  impassioned  Sappho,  of 
whicii  time  and  Ignorant  supcislilion  have  deprived  lis,  the 
loss  of  her  epiihal.imiums  is  not  one  of  ihe  least  Ihal  we  de- 
plore. A  suliject  so  interesting  to  an  amorous  fancy  was 
warmly  fell,  and  must  have  heen  warmly  desciihed,  by  such 
a  soul  and  such  an  imaginalion.  The  (bllowing  lines  are 
cited  as  a  relic  of  one  of  her  epithalainiums  : 

ExTjT«/.£(rT',  6'x.ti(  5"e  TffapSevov  xv  apxo, 
SjeScaliger,  in  his  Poetics,  on  the  Epithalamium. 

^nd  foster  there  an  ivfinit  tree, 

To  hlusk  like  iter,  and  hlunm  like  thee!'\  Original  Kuttci- 
^iTTdf  Si  uecuxot  crtv  ifi  xiiTToo.  Passeraiius,  upon  the 
words  "cum  caslum  aniisil  florem,"  in  the  nuptial  song  of 
Catullus,  after  ex|ilahiing  "  flos,"  in  somewhat  a  similar 
sense  to  that  \vln(-li  Gaulmiiuis  attributes  to  poJoi/,  says, 
"  Horluni  rpiO'iue  vocaiit  in  quo  llos  ille  carpitur,  et  Gra>cis 
KtfTTOv  (irrt  TO  (C*j?**ov  yvvxiK  itv. 

May  [  remark,  that  the  author  of  tlie  Greek  version  of  this 
charming  nde  (ir("atullus  has  neglected  a  most  striking  and 
Biincreoruic  beauty  in  those  verses,  "  Ut  flos  in  septis,"  etc. 
which  In  the  repetition  of  the  line,  "Mnlli  illnin  pueri, 
•nul'U'  optavcre  puellaj,"  with  die  sliglil  allcration  of  nulli 


ODE  ^XVIL' 

Gp;ntle  youth  !  whose  looks  assume 
Such  a  soft  and  girlish  bloom. 
Why  repulsive,  why  refuse 
The  friendship  which  my  heart  pursues  'i 
Thou  little  know'st  the  fond  control 
With  which  thy  virtue  reins  my  soul ! 
Then  smile  not  on  my  locks  of  gray, 
Believe  me  oft  with  converse  gay  ; 
I've  chain'd  the  years  of  tender  age, 
And  boys  have  loved  the  prattling  sage  ' 
For  mine  is  many  a  soothing  pleasure, 
And  mine  is  many  a  sootliing  measure; 
And  much  1  hate  the  beaniless  mind, 
Whose  earthly  vision,  unrefined, 
Nature  has  never  formed  to  see 
The  beauties  of  simplicity  I 
Simplicity,  the  flower  of  heaven. 
To  souls  elect,  by  Nature  given ! 


ODE  LXVin.'^ 

Rrcii  in  bliss,  I  proudly  scorn 
The  stream  of  Amalthea's  horn  I 
Nor  should  1  ask  to  call  the  throne 
Of  the  Tartessian  prince  my  own; 
To  totter  through  his  train  of  years, 
The  victim  of  declining  fears. 
One  little  hour  of  joy  to  me 
Is  worth  a  dull  eternity ! 


ODE  LXIX.' 

Now  Neptune's  sullen  mouth  appears. 
The  angry  night-cloud  swells  with  tears; 
And  savage  storms,  infuriate  driven. 
Fly  howling  in  the  face  of  heaven  ! 
Now,  now,  my  friends,  the  gathering  gloom 
With  roseate  rays  of  wine  illume  . 


and  nnllic.  Catullus  himsell",  however,  has  been  e<iual!y 
injudicious  in  his  version  of  the  famous  ode  of  Sappho;  lie 
has  translated  ytXiucra;  i/«£po£v,  but  takes  no  notice  of  aSv 
?j)roucr»5.  Horace  has  caught  the  spirit  of  it  more  faith- 
fully : 

Dulce  ridentem  Lalagen  aniabo, 
Dulce  loquentem. 

1  I  have  formed  this  poem  of  three  or  four  different  frag- 
ments, which  is  a  liberty  that  perhaps  may  be  jiisiified  by 
the  example  of  Harnes,  who  has  thus  compiled  the  fifty- 
seventh  of  his  edition,  and  the  little  ode  beginning  (ftp'  \jSaf, 
(jsp'  (HKOK,  uj  -crxi,  which  he  has  subjoined  to  the  epigrams. 

The  fragments  combined  in  this  ode,  are  the  sixty-seveniii, 
niiiely-sixtb,  ninety-seventh,  and  luiiulredth  of  Barnes'i 
idition,  to  which  I  refer  the  reader  tor  the  names  of  the 
authors  by  whom  they  are  preserved. 

Jlnd  hoys  have  loved  the  prattling'  sage!]  Monsieur 
Chaulieu  has  given  a  very  amiable  idea  of  un  old  man's  in 
tercouise  with  youth: 

Que  chcrch^  par  les  jeunes  gens. 
Pour  leurs  errenis  plein  d'indulgeiice, 
Je  tolore  leur  impruileiK'e 
En  faveur  de  leurs  agrtinens. 

2  This  fragment  is  preserved  in  the  third  bonk  of  Slrabo. 
Of  the  Tartessian  prince  mil  nwn.]     He  here  alludes  lo 

Argaiillionius,  who  lived,  according  to  Lucian,  a  hundred 
and  fifiy  years;  and  reigned,  according  to  Herodotus, 
eighty.     See  Barms. 

3  This  is  composed  of  two  fragments;  the  seventieth  nno 
eighlv  first  in  Haities.     Tliev  arc  both  loniid  in  EiislalhiuB 


ODES  OF  ANACREON 


207 


And  while  our  wreaths  of  parsley  spread 
Their  fadeless  foli;ige  round  our  head, 
We'll  livnin  the  almighty  ])o\ver  of  wine, 
And  slied  libations  on  his  shrine  ! 


ODE  LXX'. 
Thky  wove  the  lotus  band,  to  deck 
And  fan  with  pensile  wreath  their  neck ; 
And  every  guest,  to  shade  his  head, 
Three  little  breathing  chaplets  spread; 
And  one  was  of  Egyptian  leaf, 
The  rest  were  roses,  fair  and  brief! 
While  from  a  golden  vase  profound, 
To  all  on  Howcry  beds  around, 
A  goblet-nymph,  of  heavenly  shape, 
Poi'r'd  the  rich  weepings  of  the  grape  ! 


ODE  LXXI.2 

A  UROKEN  cake,  with  honey  sweet, 
Is  all  rny  spare  and  simple  treat ; 
And  while  a  generous  bowl  I  crown. 
To  float  my  little  banquet  down, 
I  take  the  soft,  the  amorous  lyre. 
And  sing  of  love's  delicious  fire  ! 
In  mirthful  measures,  warm  and  free, 
I  sing,  dear  maid,  and  sing  for  thee ! 


ODE  LXXII.' 

WiTM  twenty  chords  my  lyre  is  hung. 

And  while  1  wake  them  all  for  thee, 
Thou,  O  virgin  !   wild  and  young, 

Disport'st  in  airy  levity. 
The  nursling  fawn,  that  in  some  shade 

Its  antler'd  mother  leaves  behind, 
Is  not  more  wantonly  afraid, 

3Iore  timid  of  the  rustling  wind  ! 


1  Tlirir  riiiL'niriits  (brill  lliis  littli^  ode,  all  of  which  are 
pri'sPrvi'd  in  Alhcnsiis.  Tliey  are  the  eighty-second,  sevcM- 
ly-lifth,  and  eighty-third,  in  IJarnes. 

^nd  every  ^'•wcsi,  to  shaiU  his  head. 

Three  liltle  breathing  chiiplets  spread.]  Longepierre,  to 
give  an  idea  of  the  luxurious  esliniaiion  in  wliidi  garlands 
were  held  by  the  ancients,  relates  an  an(>cdole  of  a  courti- 
ran,  who,  in  order  to  gratify  throe  lovers,  without  leaving 
cause  for  jealousy  with  any  of  theni,  gave  a  kiss  to  one,  let 
the  other  drink  after  her,  a!id  put  n  garland  on  tlie  brow  of 
the  third  ;  so  that  each  was  satisfied  with  his  favour,  and 
flattered  himself  with  the  preference. 

This  circunistinice  i.s  extremely  like  the  subject  of  one  of 
the  tonsons  of  Savari  de  Maiiltoii,  a  troubadour.  Sec  I'His- 
toire  Littiiraire  des  Trouhiidours.  The  recital  is  a  curious 
picture  of  (he  puerile  gallantries  of  chivalry. 

2  This  poem  is  compiled  by  Harnes,  from  .^thenteus, 
Hepliipsiion,  and  Arsenius.     See  Barnes,  ROth. 

3  This  I  have  formed  from  the  eiiihty-fourlh  and  eighty- 
fifth  of  rSarnes's  edition.  The  [wo  fragments  arc  found  in 
Atheiianis. 

The,  viirslina  fawn,  that  in  some  shade 

Its  autl/r'd  mother  leaves  behind,  etc.]     In  tho  original : 

O;  sv   uA.lt  xsposo-o-i;; 
AtTOXEI^Sm;  U7TC   ^i|Tp05. 

'•  Horned"  here,  undoubtediv,  seems  a  strange  epithet: 
MailaiTie  Dacier,  however,  observes,  that  Sophocles,  Calli- 
niachus,  etc.  have  all  applied  it  in  the  very  same  manner, 
and  she  seems  to  agree  in  tlio  conjecture  of  the  scholiast 
jpoi  Pindar,  that  perhaps  horns  are  not  always  peculiar  to 
he  males.  I  think  we  mnji  with  more  ease  conclude  it  to 
re  a  iicense  of  the  ooet,  "  jussit  habere  puellain  cornua." 


ODE  LXXIII.' 

Fare  thee  well,  perlidious  maid  I 

I\Iy  soul,  too  long  on  earth  delay'd, 

Delay'd,  perfidious  girl  I  by  thee. 

Is  now  on  wing  for  liberty. 

I  fly  to  seek  a  kindlier  sphere, 

Since  tliou  hast  ceased  to  love  me  here 


ODE  LXX1V.» 

I  liLooM'u,  awhile,  a  happy  flower. 
Till  I.ove  approach'd,  one  fatal  hour, 
And  made  my  tender  branches  feel 
The  wounds  of  his  avenging  steel. 
Then,  then  I  feel  like  some  poor  willow 
That  tosses  on  the  wintry  billow  ! 


ODE  LXXV.' 

Monarch  Love  !  resistless  boy, 
W'ith  whom  the  rosy  Queen  of  Joy, 
And  nymphs,  that  glance  ethereal  blue. 
Disporting  tread  the  mountain-dew; 
Propitious,  oh  !  receive  my  sighs, 
Which,  burning  with  entreaty,  rise  ; 
That  thou  wilt  whisper,  to  the  breast 
Of  her  I  love,  thy  soft  behest ; 
And  counsel  her  to  learn  from  thee 
The  lesson  thou  hast  taught  to  me. 
Ah  !  if  my  heart  no  flattery  tell, 
Thou  'it  own  I  've  learn'd  that  lesson  well ! 


ODE  LXXVI.* 
Spirit  of  Love  !  whose  tresses  shine 
Along  the  breeze,  in  golden  twine. 


1  This  fragment  is  preserved  by  the  scliidiast  ujion  Aristo- 
phanes, and  IS  the  eigiily-seventli  in  Barnes. 

2  This  is  to  be  found  in  llepiiaiston,  and  in  llie  eighty-ninth 
of  Barnes's  edition. 

I  must  here  apologise  for  omitting  a  very  considerable 
fragment  imputed  to  our  poet,  Bxvi/i  J'  E-jpun^uXii  ftiKu,  etc 
which  is  preserved  in  the  twelfth  book  of  .Vtheiia'us,  and  ■• 
the  ninety-tirst  in  Barnes.  If  It  was  realty  Anacreon  wi.c 
wrote  it,  nil  fuit  uni;uam  sic  impar  sibi.  It  is  in  u  Ftyle  of 
gross  satire,  and  is  full  of  expressions  which  never  could  be 
gracefully  translated. 

3  This  fragment  is  preserved  by  Dion. — Chrysostom,  Oral. 
li.  de  Rigno.     See  Barnes,  !13. 

4  This  fragment,  which  is  extant  in  Alhenteus  (Barnes, 
101,)  is  supposed,  on  the  authority  of  Chama;leon,  to  have 
been  addressed  to  Sappho.  We  have  also  a  stanza  auri- 
huled  to  lier,  which  some  romancers  have  supposed  to  be 
heranswer  to  Aiiacreon.  "  Mais  par  malheur  (as  Bayle  says^ 
Sappho  vint  au  inoiide  environ  cent  on  six  vingls  aiis  avan 
Anacreoii."  Noiivelles  de  la  Rep.  des  letl.  torn.  ii.  de  No- 
vembre,  iriR4.  The  following  is  her  frugnieni,  the  compli- 
ment oi' which  is  very  fint-ly  imagined;  she  supposes  tjal 
the  Muse  has  dictated  tlie  verses  of  Anacreon  : 

Kiti'ov,  o)  %puo-oj"povs  Msvc-*,  fvitrrrs^ 

rips(r5u5  xyxxioq. 

Oh  Muse!  who  siU'st  on  golden  tiirona. 
Full  many  a  hymn  of  dulcet,  tone 

The  Teian  sage  is  taught  by  thee  ; 
But,  joddess,  frnm  thy  throne  of  gold, 
The  sweetest  hymn  thou  'st  ever  told, 

He  lately  lua  ii°d  and  sang  for  mn 


268 


MOORES  WORKS. 


Come,  within  a  fragrant  cloud, 
Blushing  with  liglit,  thy  votary  shroud  ; 
And,  tin  those  wings  that  sparkling  play. 
Waft,  oh  I  wall  ine  hence  away  ! 
Love  !  my  soul  is  full  of  thee. 
Alive  to  all  thy  luxury. 
But  she,  the  nymph  for  whom  I  glow, 
The  pretty  Lesbian,  mocks  my  woe ; 
Smiles  at  the  hoar  atid  silver'd  hues 
Whvch  Time  upon  my  forehead  strews. 
Alas  !  1  fear  she  keeps  her  charms 
In  store  for  younger,  happier  arms  ! 


ODE  LXXVIL" 

Hither,  gentle  Muse  of  mine. 
Come  and  teach  thy  votary  old 

3Iany  a  golden  hymn  divine. 

For  the  nymph  with  vest  of  gold. 

Pretty  nymph,  offender  age. 
Fair  thy  silky  locks  unfold  ; 

Listen  to  a  hoary  sage. 

Sweetest  maid  with  vest  of  gold  ! 


ODE  LXXVIIL'^ 

Would  that  I  were  a  tuneful  lyre, 

Of  burnish'd  ivorj'  fail 
Which  in  the  Dionysian  choir 

Some  blooming  boy  should  bear ! 

Would  that  I  were  a  golden  vase. 
And  then  some  nymph  should  hold 

My  spotless  frame  with  blushing  grace. 
Herself  as  pure  as  gold  ! 


ODE  LXXIX.' 

When  Cupid  sees  my  beard  of  snow, 
Which  blanching  time  has  taught  to  flow, 
Upon  his  wing  of  golden  light 
He  passes  with  an  eaglet's  flight. 
And,  flitting  on,  he  seems  to  say, 
"  Fare  thee  well,  thou  'st  had  thy  day  !" 
*  Cupid,  whose  lamp  has  lent  the  ray 
W'hich  lightens  our  meandering  waj- — 
Cupid,  vvithin  my  bosom  stealing, 
Excites  a  strange  and  mingled  feeling, 
Which  pleases,  though  severely  teasing. 
And  teases,  though  divinely  pleasing ! 


1  This  13  formed  of  llie  12!th  and  UiUh  fragments  in 
BarncB,  both  of  wliir.li  an;  to  be  found  in  Scaligcr's  Poetics. 

I)i;  I'anw  thinks  that  those  detached  lines  and  coii|ilets, 
which  Sealiger  ha-;  adduced  as  examples  in  his  Poetics,  are 
by  no  means  aulheiitic,  hut  of  his  own  fabrication. 

2  This  is  genernlly  inserted  among  the  remains  of  Alcteus. 
Ponie,  however,  have  alttihiited  it  to  Anacieon.  See  our 
poet's  tweiily-fiecond  ode,  and  the  notes. 

3  See  Barnes,  17:)d.  This  fragtnent,  to  which  I  have 
.akon  (ho  liberty  of  addin:;  a  turn  not  to  be  found  in  the 
original,  is  cited  by  Lucian  in  his  little  essay  on  the  Gallic 
Hercules 

4  Barn™  l^Sth.  This,  if  I  remember  right,  is  in  Soaligei's 
"outi's.     Gail  has  omitted  it  in  his  collection  of  fragments. 


'  Let  me  resign  a  wretched  breath, 
Since  now  remains  to  me 

No  other  balm  than  kindly  death, 
To  sooth  my  misery  ! 


^  I  KNOW  thou  lovest  a  brimming  measure, 
And  art  a  kindly  cordial  host ; 

But  let  me  fill  and  drink  at  pleasure. 
Thus  I  enjov  the  goblet  most 


'  I  FEAR  that  love  disturbs  my  rest, 
Yet  feci  not  love's  impassion'd  care ; 

1  think  there  's  madness  in  my  breast, 
Yet  cannot  find  that  madsess  there  ! 


*  From  dread  Leucadia's  frowning  stea 
I  '11  plunge  into  the  whitening  deep. 
And  there  1  '11  float,  to  waves  resign'd, 
For  love  intoxicates  my  mind  ! 


'  Mix  me,  child,  a  cup  divine. 
Crystal  water,  ruby  wine ; 
Weave  the  frontlet,  richly  flushing, 
O'er  my  wintry  temples  blusliing. 
Mix  the  brimmer — love  and  I 
Shall  no  more  the  gauntlet  try. 
Here — upon  this  holy  bowl, 
I  surrender  all  my  soul ! 

Among  the  Epigrams  of  the  Anthologia,  there  are 
some  panegyrics  on  Anacreon,  which  1  had  trans- 
lated, and  originally  intended  as  a  kind  of  Coronis  to 
the  work;  but  I  found,  upon  consideration,  that  they 
wanted  variety :  a  frequent  recurrence  of  the  same 
thought,  within  the  limits  of  an  epitaph,  to  which 
they  are  confined,  would  render  a  collection  of  them 
rather  uninteresting.  1  shall  take  the  liberty,  how- 
ever, of  subjoining  a  few,  that  I  may  not  appear  to 
have  totally  neglected  those  elegant  tributes  to  the 
reputation  of  Anacreon.     The  four  Epigrams  which 


1  This  fragment  is  extant  in  Arseniiis  and  Hephsstioii. 
See  Barnes,  (G9th,)  who  has  arranged  the  metre  of  it  vtiy 
ulegaiilly. 

2  Barnes,  72d.  This  fragment,  which  is  quoted  by  A  the 
niEus,  is  an  excellent  lesson  for  the  votaries  of  Jupiier  Hos- 
pitalis. 

3  This  fragment  is  in  Hepha;stion.     See  Barnes,  95th. 
Catullus  expresses  something  of  this  contrariety  of  feeling 

Odi  et  amo  ;  quare  id  faciam  fortasse  rcquiris; 

Nescio :  sed  fieri  sentio,  et  excrucior.        Carm.  53. 
I  love  thee  and  hate  ihce,  but  if  I  can  tell 

The  cause  of  my  love  and  my  hate,  may  I  die  I 
I  can  feel  it,  alas!  I  can  feel  it  too  well, 

That  I  love  thee  and  hate  thee,  but  cannot  tell  why. 

4  This  also  is  in  Ilephreslon,  and  perhaps  is  a  fragment 
of  some  poem,  in  which  AnacrcMin  had  commemorated 
the  fate  of  Sappho.     Ii  is  in  the  123d  of  Barnes. 

a  This  fnigiiieiit  is  collected  by  Barnes  from  Demetriuft 
Phulaieus,  and  Eustalhius,  and  is  subjoined  in  his  edition 
to  the  (epigrams  attributed  to  our  poet.  Ami  here  js  the  hisl 
of  thi'se  little  sciittered  flowers  which  I  tlioiight  !  mighl 
venture  with  !'ny  grace  In  irnnsjilant.  I  wish  it  could  bfi 
said  of  the  gat  land  \\  liieli  they  funii,  To  S' ui(^'  AvaxpiOvr^, 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


2(J9 


I  give  are  imputed  to  Antipater  Sidonius.  They  are 
rendered,  perhaps,  with  too  much  freedom  ;  but,  de- 
signing u  translation  of  all  that  arc  on  the  subject,  1 
rmaginod  it  was  necessary  to  eidiven  their  uniformity 
by  sometimes  indulging  in  the  liberties  of  paraphrase. 


AvTfKarpov  ^tStiiviov,  ci;  AvaKpcovra. 
flAAAOI  TCTpaKopvfi^oi,  KvaKpcov,  apupi  ct  Kiaaoi 

a(ii>a  Tt  \tipit>vii>v  TTop(pvpewv  ncra^a' 
niiyai  <5'  apyivotvTOi  avadXilioivTO  yaXuKTOi, 

tv(i)&€S  (5*  airo  yrii  ;;(5u  ■)^toiTO  piOv, 
*(ppa  Kt  TOi  azoitri  re  Kai  o^ia  Tcpi^tv  aptjTat, 

ct  Si  ri;  (pdipivots  ^ptiiTTTCTttt  cv'Ppoavva, 
0  TO  (piXov  r-Ps«Si  ^'yt)  (SapliiTov,  0)  aw  aoi6a 

TTavTa  Sin~\ij}aas  xai  aw  tpiDTi  fitov. 

'Around  the  tomb,  oh  bard  divine  ! 

Where  soft  thy  hallow'd  brow  reposes, 
Long  may  the  deatliiess  ivy  twine. 

And  Summor  pour  her  waste  of  roses ! 

And  many  a  fount  shall  there  distil. 
And  many  a  rill  refresh  the  flowers ; 

But  wine  "hall  gush  in  every  rill. 
And  every  fount  be  milky  showers. 

Thus,  shade  of  him  whom  Nature  taught 
To  tune  his  lyre  and  soul  to  pleasure, 

Who  gave  to  love  his  warmest  thought. 
Who  g.-'ve  to  love  his  fondest  measure  i 

Thus,  a^er  death,  if  spirits  feel. 

Thou  mf._  '"St,  from  odours  round  thee  streaming, 
A  pulse  of  past  enjoyment  steal. 

And  live  again  in  blissful  dreaming ! 


Tou  avTov,  £15  Tov  aurov. 
TYME02  AvaKpeiovTOi.  6  Tj/ioj  cvOuSc  kvkvos 

Kv&tt,  ■)(ri  THiiSiiiv  ^uipoTaTTj  fiavir], 
AKprjv  XtiptocvTi  piXi^tTut  ap(pi  BaOvWifi 

'Iptpw  Kilt  Kiaaov  XwKoi  o6(j)Sc  XiOog. 


I  \ntipater  Siflonius,  the  author  of  this  epigram,  lived, 
[ircofdiii^  to  Vossius,  tie  Poetis  Gra-cis,  in  the  second  year 
i.i'the  Iti'Jtli  Olympiad.  He  appt^ars,  from  what  Cicero  and 
(i.iintilinn  have  said  of  him,  to  have  heeii  a  kind  of  impro- 
visalore.  See  Inslilut.  Oriit.  lib.  s.  cap.  7.  There  is  no- 
thing more  known  respecting  this  poit,  except  some  parti- 
culars about  his  illness  and  dea'h,  which  are  mentioned  as 
curious  by  Pliny  and  others;  and  there  remain  of  his  works 
but  a  few  epigrams  in  the  Anthologia,  ainting  which  are 
those  I  have  selected,  upon  Anacnon.  Those  remains 
have  been  sometimes  imputed  to  another  poet  (a)  of  the 
same  name,  of  whom  Vossius  gives  us  the  following  ac- 
count: ".Antipater  Thessalonicensis  vixit  lemi)ore  Angusli 
Ciesaris,  ul  nui  sallantem  viderit  Pyladem,  sicut  consiai  ex 
quodam  ejus  cpigrammate  AviroX-oyia;,  lib.  4.  til.  t's  Of- 
XtTTjiiix;.  At  eum  ac  Bathyllum  primes  fuisse  pantomi- 
mos,  ac  sul)  Angusto  claruisse,  satis  notum  ex  Dione,"  etc. 

The  reader,  who  thinks  it  worth  observing,  mav  find  a 
strange  oversight  in  Hoft'm.in's  quotation  of  this  article  from 
Vos-jus,  Lexic.  Univers.  By  the  omission  of  a  sentence  he 
has  made  Vossius  assert  that  the  poet  Antipater  was  one 
of  the  first  pantomime  dancers  in  Rome. 

Barnes,  upon  the  epigram  bel'ore  us,  mentions  a  version 
of  it  by  Brod.Tus,  which  is  not  to  be  found  in  that  commenta- 
lor;  but  he  more;  than  once  confounds  Brodieiis  with  ano- 
Iher  annolalor  on  the  Antholnsia,  Vincentius  ObsopcEUS, 
who  has  given  a  translation  of  the  epigram. 

a:   Pleraquo  tamen  Tliessalonicf^n^i  tribiienda  videntur. 
Brunck    Lectiones  et  Emendat. 


Ou(3'  AtSrjs  aot  cpiorai  avia{ii.otv  iv  &'  Avtporro% 
Slv,  oXoj  ii>iivtti  KuTr/>«i(  OtppoTtptj. 

Here  sleeps  Anacreon,  in  this  ivied  shade; 
Here,  mute  in  death,  the  Teian  swan  is  laid. 
Cold,  cold  the  heart,  which  lived  but  to  respire 
All  the  voluptuous  iVenzy  of  desire  ! 
And  yet,  oh  bard!  thou  art  not  mute  in  dcailj. 
Still,  still  we  catch  tiiy  lyre's  delicious  breath, 
And  still  tliy  songs  of  soil  Bathylla  bloom. 
Green  as  the  ivy  round  the  mouldering  tomb .' 
Nor  yet  has  deatli  obscured  thy  lire  ol  love, 
Still,  still  it  lights  thee  through  the  Elysian  grove 
And  dreams  are  thine  that  bless  the  elect  alone, 
And  Venus  calls  thee,  even  in  death,  her  own ! 


Ton  avTov,  CIS  TOV  aurov. 
HEINE,  Taipov  napa  Xitov  AvuKpiiovroi  a/jci/?(i» 

Er  Ti  Toi  IK  fitji\u)V  i;\dcv  tjiinv  oi/ifAo;, 
"Lvtiaov  Cftr]  a-o&ti),  anciaov  yavog,  oippa  Kcv  01VI» 

O^ea  yrjOrjae  Tana  voTt^opeva, 
'ilf  i  Aiovvaov  pipcXrjpivos  ovuat  Kbipoi 

' Sli  h  iptXaxptiTov  awTpocfios  apponrji, 
MriSe  KaraipOiptvos  Huk'^ov  <5i;^a  rouroi  vToiau 

Tov  ycvqi  ptpo-ttiav  'xypov  o<pu\opivov. 

'Oil  stranger  !  if  Anacreon's  shell 
Has  ever  taught  thy  heart  to  swell 


the  Teian  swan  is  laid.]     Thus  Horace  of  Pindar 

Multa  Dirca'um  levat  aura  cycnum. 

A  swan  was  the  hieiog  yphical  emb'em  of  a  poet.  Ana- 
crcon  has  been  called  the  swan  of  Tcos  by  another  of  hii 

eulogists. 

Ev    TOiJ    ^£\4%pO*S     IflSpOIO'i    CUVTpO^OV 
Au;«lO;     AvXXp:0l'T=6,     T>|101>     XU^VJl', 

E<j-¥>t\«;  vyfir,   vixrafo;  /is>.iiJoni. 

Euj-svouj,  AvioKiy 

God  of  the  grape!  thou  hast  betray'd. 
In  wine's  bewildering  dream. 
The  fairest  swan  that  ever  play'd 
Along  the  Muse's  stream  ! 
The  Teian,  nursed  with  all  those  honied  boys, 
The  young  Desires,  light  Loves,  and  rose-lipp'd  Joys! 
Still,  still  ire  catch  thy  hire's  delicious  breath.]     Thus 
Simoiiides,  speaking  of  our  poet : 

MoX;r>r5  J'  Ou  X)j6>J  jUiX.iT6p-B-£05,  aA.\*  «Ti  xeivo 

Nor  yet  are  nil  his  numbers  mute, 

Though  darii  within  the  tomb  he  lies, 
But  living  still,  his  amorous  lute 
With  sleepless  animation  sighs! 

This  IS  the  famous  Simoiiides,  wlmm  Plato  styled  di- 
vine," though  Le  Fivre,  in  his  Poties  Grecs,  sU|ipo<r5  that 
the  epigrams  under  his  name  are  all  i'alsely  impuied.  'i'lii- 
most  considirable  of  his  r.  mains  is  a  satirical  poe.ii  upon 
women,  preseivcd  by  S  oba-us,  ■ioj'O!  yvvx^xuiv. 

We  may  judge  from  the  lines  I  have  just  qnoie'l,  and  the 
import  of  ihe  epigram  before  us,  that  the  works  of  .\nacreon 
were  perfect  in  the  times  of  Slmonid"S  and  .Antipater.  Ob 
so|i<Pii8,  the  commentator,  here  appears  to  e.xult  in  their  de- 
struction, and  telling  us  ihey  were  burned  by  the  bishops 
and  patriarchs,  he  adds,  "nee  sane  id  necquicquam  fece- 
runt,"  attributing  to  this  outrage  an  effect  which  it  could 
never  produce. 

1  The  spirit  of  .Anacreon  utters  these  verses  from  Iha 
tomb,  somewhat  "mutatjs  ab  I'to,"  at  lea;?t  in  simplicity  oi 
expression. 

//  Jlnacrcnv's  shell 

Has  ever  taiiirht  thii  heart  to  swell,  etc.]  We  may  guess 
from  the  words  sx  ciS>.jov  t^ttvov,  that  .Anacr<on  was  noi 
merely  a  writer  of  billets-doux,  as  some  French  critics  have 
called  him.     Amongst  these,  M.  Le  Fevre,  wi'h  ill  his  \<iu 


270 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


With  passion's  throb  or  pleasure's  sigh, 
In  pity  turn,  as  wandering  nigh, 
And  drop  thy  goblet's  richest  tear, 
In  exquisite  libation  here  ! 
So  shall  my  sleeping  ashes  thrill 
With  visions  of  enjoyment  still. 
I  cannot  even  in  death  resign 
The  festal  joys  that  once  were  mine, 
When  Harmony  pursued  my  ways, 
And  Bacchus  wanton'd  to  my  lays. 
Oh  I  if  delight  could  charm  no  more. 
If  all  the  goblet's  bliss  were  o'er, 
A\nien  Fate  had  once  our  doom  decreed, 
Then  dying  would  be  death  indeed ! 
Nor  could  1  think,  unblest  by  wine. 
Divinity  itself  divine! 


Tou  avTov,  tti  Tov  avTov. 
E'VAEiS  tv  (pQificvoiaiv,  Avaxpeov,  £<79Xa  irovrjaa^, 

thbti  6'  1/  yXvKipri  vvKTiXaXog  Kidapa, 
fv^ci  Kai  Suto^if,  -0  TloQmv  sap,  (f  av  peXia&wv 

iidpfiiT  1  avtxpovov  vCKTap  cvappoviov. 
tjtdtov  yap  Epuiroj  cipvi  ctko-o;'  £s  Se  as  povvov 

To^a  re  Kai  uKoXia;  st^^cv  iKr]^oXiai.\ 

At  length  thy  golden  hours  have  vving'd  their  flight, 
And  drowsy  death  that  eyelid  steepeth; 


fp5=ed  admiration,  I. as  given  our  poet  a  character  by  no 

means  of  an  elevated  cast: 

Aussi  c'est  pour  cela  que  la  posterity 
L'a  toiijours  jiisleiiient  d'age  en  age  chant6 
Coniiiie  un  franc  goguenard,  ami  de  goinfrerie, 
Ami  de  billets-doux  et  de  badinerie. 

See  the  verses  prefixi'd  to  his  Poetes  Grecs.  This  is  un- 
like the  language  of  Tlieocritus,  to  whom  Anacreon  is  in- 
debted for  the  following  simple  eulogium: 

©^(7:4*     TOV     XV^ptXvrx    TOUTOV,    u)     £;v£, 

(Tjrou'K,  XXI   ^sy\  S7TXV  e;   oixov   c\S>i( 
Avxy-fsavro;   sixov'  sijov  £\i    Tecu. 

Twv  Trpoa-j''  a   t*   Tripitrcrov  wS'iTrstMV, 
■crpaa-isi;  J:   %'joti   toi;   viattriv  aJtro, 
cps*5   xTpi-/.svi^  oxov  TOi*  xvSpx, 

Upon  the  Statue  of  Anacreon. 

Stranger!  who  near  this  statue  chance  to  roam. 
Let  it  awhile  your  studious  eyes  engage: 

And  you  may  say,  returning  to  your  home, 
"  I've  seen  the  image  of  the  Teian  sage. 
Best  of  the  bards  who  deck  the  Muse's  page." 

riien,  if  you  add,  "  That  slri|)lings  loved  him  well," 

Vou  tell  them  all  he  was,  and  aptly  tell. 

The  simplicity  of  this  inscription  has  always  delighted 
li.e  ;  I  have  "liven  it,  I  believe,  as  literally  as  a  verse  trans- 
lation will  allow. 

.Ind  drop  thij  pnhUt's  richest,  tear,  etc.']  Thus  Simo- 
nides,  in  another  of  his  epitaphs  on  our  poet: 

Y.XI  ii.iv  XII  Ttyyoi  vortp^  Jpocroc,  ii;  o  yjpxiof 
AxpOTtpov  fi»'KxX'j3v  srrvttv  jx  ittojuxt  -.-v. 

Lei  vmes,  in  clustering  beauty  wreathed, 

Drop  all  their  treasures  on  his  head, 
Whose  lips  a  dew  of  sweetness  breathed, 
Richer  than  vine  hath  ever  shed! 
.^nr/  Rar.cliii.1  icanton'd  to  mi/  Idi/s,  etc.]    The  original 
here  If  corns  ted  ;  the  line  ■/)?  o  A.ovu<rou,  is  unintelligible. 

Brunck's  emin  lation  improves  the  sense,  hut  I  doubt  if  it 
nnn  bn  commended  for  elegance.     He  reads  the  line  thus  : 
w(  0  Ai'ijfutroio   KtKxtr^svi^   ov^toti   xwft'jjv, 
rii-e  Ifruii'-k,  Ana'ecta  Viter.  Poet  Gra!c.  vol.  ii. 

Thy  hnrp,  tlini  inlihfirr'd  thmurrh  each  Umrprivsr  vinkt, 
»<:.'     In   ariothi"  uf  these  poentis,  "the   nightly-speaking 


Thy  harp,  that  whisper'd  through  each  lingering  nij!a< 
Now  mutely  in  oblivion  sleepeth ' 

She,  too,  for  whom  that  heart  profusely  shed 

The  purest  nectar  of  its  numbers, 
She,  the  young  spring  of  thy  desires,  has  fled, 

And  with  her  blest  Anacreon  slumbers! 
Farewell !  thou  hadst  a  pulse  for  every  dart 

That  Love  could  scatter  from  his  quiver  ; 
And  every  woman  I'ound  in  thee  a  heart. 

Which  thou,  with  all  thy  soul,  didst  give  her  I 


lyre"  of  the  bard  is  not  allowed  to  be  silent  even  after  iiit 
death. 

u,{   0    pi\xxpiiTO,-   T£   xai   aivaZxfiq   ciKox^fidf 
Ti-xwu'/,'"!   xpouoi  (a)  Tifv   :;iKo-xiSx  %s/.uv. 

ilif^jiviSov,  ii;   AvxxpsoiiTa. 
To  beauty's  smile  and  wine's  delight, 

To  jovs  he  loved  on  earth  so  well, 
Still  shall  his  spirit,  all  the  night. 
Attune  the  wild  aijrial  shell! 
She,  the  young'  .spring  of  thy  desires,  etc.]    The  original 
1-0  lloj-jiv  ixp,   is  beautil'ul.     We  regret  that  such   praise 
should  be  lavished  so  preposterously,  and  feel  that  the  poet's 
mistress,   Eurypvle,   would    have    diserved   it   better.     Her 
name  has  been  told  us  by  Meleager,  as  already  quoted,  and 
111  another  epigram  by  Aniipater. 

uypx  Si  j£fxo^  =  voi<rii/  £v  (ift/.i.x(riv  ov\ov  xsiSiify 

Yli  !!-po;  E-jpyjTTMKviv  -!iTpx[ifiivoi; 

Long  may  the  nymph  around  thee  play, 

Eurypyle,  thy  soul's  desire  I 
Basking  her  beauties  in  the. ray 

Tliat  lights  thine  eyes'  dissolving  fire! 

Sing  of  her  smile's  bewitching  power. 

Her  every  grace  that  warms  and  blesses, 
Sing  of  her  brow's  luxuriant  flower. 
The  beaming  glory  of  her  tresses. 
The  expression  here,  xv  jo;  xo/<>u,  "  the  flower  of  the  hair," 
is  borrowed  from  .Anacreon  himself,  a.-?  appears  by  a  fragmen! 
of  the  poel    preserved   in   Stobaus:    A.-rfx£ipx5  J'  xTixKm 

fl'jlfiOV     XV^Of 

The  purest   vctar  of  its   numbers,    etc.]     Thus,    says 
Brunck,  in  the  prologue  to  the  Satires  of  Persius: 
Cantare  ciedas  Pegaseium  nectar. 

"  Melos"  is  the  usual  reading  in  this  line,  and  Casaubon 
has  defended  it;  but  "nectar,"  I  think,  is  much  more 
s|iirited. 

Farewell!  thou  hadst  a  pulse  for  every  dart,  etc.]  ffuc 
rxoCTOf ,  "  scojius  eras  natura,"  not  "  speculator,"  as  Barnes 
very  falsely  inu-rprets  it. 

Vincentius  Obsopfciis,  upon  this  passage,  contrives  to 
indulge  us  wiih  a  littlit  astrological  wisdom,  and  talks  in  a 
style  of  learned  scandal  about  Venus,  "  male  |iosita  cum 
Marie  in  domo  Saturni." 

j]nd  every  woman  fouvd  in  thee  a  heart,  etc.]  This 
couple!  is  not  oineraise  warranted  by  the  original,  than  aa 
it  dilates  the  thought  which  Aniipater  has  figuratively  ex- 
pressed. 

Tov  Ss  yvvxxti-MV  fjtiXi-jiv  ttKs^xvtx  ttot'  ujJ«$, 
HTuv  Avxy.pi>ovTx,  (4)  T£a,;  £ij  EkKxS'  xv>,yiv, 
X\)fi7rco-iMV  ipsrtTy.Xj  yvvxi-Ajjv  >j;r£pon-£u^x, 

Critias,  of  Athens,  pays  a  tribute  to  the  legitimate  ga^ 
lantry  of  Anacreim,  calling  him,  with  elegant  conciseneaa, 

■yuvxiijiv  i^mpomviAX. 

I'eos  gave  to  Greece  her  treasure, 

S  ige  Anacreon,  sage  in  loving; 
Fondly  weaving  lays  of  pleasure 

For  the  maids  who  blush'd  approving! 
Oh!  in  niffhtly  ban(|uets  S|iorling, 

Where's  the  guest  could  ever  fly  liimt 
Oh  !   with  hive's  seduction  conning. 

Where  "s  the  nymph  could  e'er  deny  liim  t 

(a)  Brunck  has  xpov..!]' ;  but  xpouoi,  the  common  reading 
blotter  suits  a  detached  quotation. 

(i)  Thus  Scaliger,  in  his  dedicatory  verses  to  Ronsaid- 
Blaiidus,  suaviloquus,  d'llcis  Anacreon. 


lilTTLrE'S  POE3IS. 


Ll'sissE  Pi'DET. — Hot. 


ToeJ'  iff-T*  Ofiipu 


vsoTipcuv  (yotwTa(r/jaT»,  eiov  X-nfOf. 
Mctrnc.  ap.  Diug.  Lacrt.  lib.  vi.  cap.  6. 


PREFACE 

BY  THE  EDITOR. 


The  Poems  which  1  take  the  liberty  of  publishing 
were  never  intended  by  the  Author  to  pass  beyond 
the  circle  of  his  friends.  He  thought,  with  some 
justice,  that  what  are  called  Ocrasicmal  Poems  must 
be  always  insipid  and  uninteresting  to  the  greater 
part  of  their  readers.  The  particular  situations  in 
which  they  were  written  ;  the  character  of  the  author 
and  of  his  associates ;  all  these  peculiarities  must  be 
known  and  fell  before  we  can  enter  into  the  spirit  of 
such  compositions.  This  consideration  would  have 
always,  I  believe,  prevented  Mr.  Littlf,  from  sub- 
mitting these  triH(!s  of  the  moment  to  the  eye  of  dis- 
passionate criticism  ;  and,  if  their  posthumous  intro- 
duction to  the  world  be  injustice  to  his  memory,  or 
mtrusi'on  on  the  public,  the;  error  must  be  imputed  to 
the  injudicious  partiality  of  friendship. 

Mr.  Little  died  in  his  one-and-twentieth  year; 
and  most  of  these  Poems  were  written  at  so  early  a 
period,  that  their  errors  may  claim  some  indulgence 
from  the  critic  their  author,  as  unambitious  as  indo- 
lent, scarce  ever  looked  beyond  the  moment  of  com- 
position ;  he  wrote  as  he  pleased,  careless  whether 
he  pleased  as  he  wrote.  It  may  likewise  be  remem- 
bered, that  they  were  all  the  productions  of  an  age 
when  the  passions  very  often  give  a  colouring  too 
warm  to  the  imagination  ;  and  this  may  palliate,  if  it 
cannot  excuse,  that  air  of  levity  which  pervades  so 
many  of  them.  The  "  aurea  legge,  s'  ei  place  ei  lice," 
he  too  much  pursued,  and  too  much  inculcates.  Few 
can  regret  this  more  sincerely  than  myself;  and  if  my 
friend  had  hved,  the  judgment  of  riper  years  would 
have  chastened  his  mind,  and  tempered  the  luxuriance 
of  his  fancy. 

Mr.  Little  gave  much  of  his  time  to  the  study  of 
the  amatory  writers.  If  ever  he  expected  to  find 
the  ancients  that  delicacy  of  sentiment  and  variety  of 
fancy  which  are  so  necessary  to  refine  and  animate 
the  poetry  of  love,  he  was  much  disappointed.  1 
know  not  any  one  of  them  who  can  be  regarded  as 
a  model  in  that  style ;  Ovid  made  love  like  a  rake, 
and  Propertius  like  a  schoolmaster.  TIio  mytholo- 
gical allusions  of  the  latter  are  called  erudition  by  his 
commentators  ;  but  such  ostentatious  display,  upon  a 
cubject  so  simple  as  love,  would  be  now  esteemed 
vague  and  puerile,  and  was,  even  in  his  own  times, 
Dcdantic.     It  is  astonishins  that  so  many  critics  have  I 


preferred  him  to  the  pathetic  TibuIIus;  but  I  believe 
the  defects  which  a  common  reader  condemns  have 
been  looked  upon  rather  as  beauties  by  those  erudite 
men,  the  commentators,  who  find  a  field  for  theit 
ingenuity  and  research  in  his  Grecian  learning  and 
quaint  obscurities. 

TibuIIus  abounds  with  touches  of  fine  and  natural 
feeling.  The  idea  of  his  unexpected  return  to  Delia, 
"Tunc  vcniam  subito,"'  etc.  is  imagined  with  all  the 
delicate  ardour  of  a  lover;  and  the  sentiment  of 
"  nee  te  posse  carere  vclim,"  however  colloquial  the 
expression  may  have  been,  is  natural  and  from  the 
heart.  But,  in  my  opinion,  the  poet  of  Verona  pos- 
sessed more  genuine  feeling  than  any  of  them.  His 
life  was,  I  believe,  unfortunate ;  his  associates  were 
wild  and  abandoned  ;  and  the  warmth  of  his  nature 
took  too  much  advantage  of  the  latitude  which  the 
morals  of  those  times  so  criminally  allowed  to  the 
passions.  All  this  depraved  his  imagination,  and 
made  it  the  slave  of  his  senses:  but  still  a  native 
sensibility  is  often  very  warmly  perceptible ;  and 
when  he  touches  on  patlios,  he  reaches  the  heart  im- 
mediately. They  who  have  felt  the  sweets  of  reiurn 
to  a  home,  from  which  they  have  long  been  absent, 
will  confess  the  beauty  of  those  simple  unalfected 
lines : 

O  quid  solutis  est  bealius  curis? 
Cum  mens  onus  rcponil,  ac  peregrino 
Labore  f'essi  veiiiimis  Larcm  ad  nostrum 
Di'siileratoijue  acquieseimus  lecto. 

Carm.  x.\xii. 
His  sorrows  on  the  death  of  his  brother  are  the 
very  tears  of  poesy  ;  and  when  he  complains  of  the 
ingratitude  of  mankind,  even  the  inexperienced  can- 
not but  sympathize  with  him.  I  wish  I  were  a  poet ; 
I  should  endeavour  to  catch,  by  translation,  the  spiri'. 
of  those  beauties  which  I  admire-  so  warmly. 

It  seems  to  have  been  peculiarly  the  fine  of  Catul- 
lus, that  the  belter  and  more  valuable  part  of  his 
poetry  has  not  reached  us ;  for  there  is  confessedly 
nothing  in  his  extant  works  to  authorize  the  epithet 
"  doctus,"  so  universally  bestowed  upon  him  by  the 
ancients.  If  tune  had  suffered  the  rest  to  escape,  we 
perhaps  should  have  found  among  them  some  more 
purely  amatory  ;  but  of  those  we  possess,  can  there 


1  Lib.  i.  elcg.  :). 

2  (i)  ihe  toliowiii!;  Popins,  there  is  a  translation  o(  one  ol 
liis  finest  Carmiiia:  but  I  I'niicv  ii  is  only  n  srliool-bov'* 
cHsay,  and  deserves  to  be  (iraised  for  little  niore  than  llir 
attemDt, 

271 


272 


JIOORE'S  WORKS. 


be  u  sweeter  specimen  of  warm,  yet  chastened  de- 
scrii)tion,  than  liis  loves  of  Acme  and  Septimius  ? 
and  the  few  little  songs  of  dalliance  to  Lesbia  are 
distinguished  by  such  an  exquisite  playfulness,  that 
they  have  always  been  assumed  as  models  by  the 
most  elegant  modern  Latinists.  Still,  1  must  confess, 
in  the  midst  of  these  beauties, 

Medio  de  Ionic  lepoiuin 

Surgit  aiiiari  aliiiiud,  i\ut)i\  in  ipsis  floribus  angal.' 

It  has  often  been  remarked,  tha'  .ne  ancients  knew 
nothing  of  gallantry  ;  and  we  are  told  there  was  too 
much  sincerity  in  their  love  to  allow  them  to  trifle 
with  the  semblance  of  passion.  Hut  I  cannot  per 
ceive  that  they  were  any  thing  more  constant  than 
the  moderns:  they  felt  all  the  same  dissipaiicui  of  the 
heart,  though  they  knew  not  those  seductive  graces 
by  which  gallantry  almost  teaches  it  to  be  amiable 
Watton,  the  learned  advocate  for  the  moderns,  de- 
serts them  in  considering  this  pomt  of  comparison, 
and  praises  the  ancients  for  their  ignorance  of  such 
a  refinement ;  but  he  seems  to  have  collected  his 
notions  of  gallantry  from  the  insipid  fadeurs  of  the 
French  romances,  which  are  very  unlike  the  senti- 
mental levity,  the  "  grata  protervitas,"  of  a  Rochester 
or  a  Sedley. 

From  what  I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  observing, 
the  early  poets  of  our  own  language  were  the  models 
which  Mr.  Little  selected  for  imitation.  To  attain 
their  simplicity  (aevo  rarissima  nostro  simplicitas)  v^as 
his  fondest  ambition.  He  could  not  have  aimed  at  a 
grace  more  difficult  of  attainment  f  and  his  hfe  was 
of  too  short  a  date  to  allow  him  to  perfect  such  a 
taste  ;  but  how  far  he  was  likely  to  have  succeeded, 
the  critic  may  judge  from  his  productions. 

I  have  found  among  his  papers  a  novel,  in  rather 
an  imperfect  state,  which,  as  soon  as  1  have  arranged 
and  collected  it,  shall  be  submitted  to  the  public  eye. 

Where  Mr.  Little  was  born,  or  what  is  the  gene- 
alogy of  his  parents,  are  points  in  which  very  few 
readers  can  be  interested.  His  life  was  one  of  those 
humble  streams  which  have  scarcely  a  name  in  the 
map  of  life,  and  the  traveller  may  pass  it  by  without 
inquiring  its  source  or  direction.  His  character  was 
well  known  to  all  who  were  acquainted  with  him  ;  for 
he  had  too  much  vanity  to  hide  its  virtues,  and  not 
enough  of  art  to  conceal  its  defects.  The  lighter  traits 
of  his  mind  may  be  traced  perhaps  in  his  writmgs ; 
but  the  few  for  which  he  was  valued  live  only  in  the 
remembrance  of  his  friends  T.  M. 


TO  J.  ATK— NS— N,  ESQ. 

MY  DEAR  SIR, 

1  FEEL  a  very  sincere  pleasure  in  dedicating  to  you 
the  Second  Edition  of  our  friend  Little's  Poems. 
I  am  not  unconscious  that  there  are  many  in  the  col- 
lection which  perhaps  it  would  be  prudent  to  have 
iltered  or  omitted  ;  and,  to  say  the  truth,  I  more  than 


1  Liicreliiis. 

2  It  is  a  curious  illustration  of  ihe  liibour  which  simplicity 
ii-quires,  that  the  llamhlers  of  .Johnson,  elaborate  as  ihey 
iippcnr,  wi'.xe  wriuen  with  flnciicy,  and  seldom  required 
revision;  while  Ihe  simple  langu-.ige  of  Kousseau,  whiili 
Hoems  to  come  Howing  from  the  heart,  was  the  slow 
production  of  painful  labour,  pausing  on  every  word,  and 
•alaP"'iig  '•very  sentence. 


once  revised  them  for  that  purpose  ;  but,  I  know  no 
why,  I  distrusted  either  my  heart  or  my  judgmtnt 
and  the  consequence  is,  you  have  them  in  their  ori- 
ginal form: 

Non  possnnt  nostros  imil  a',  Fanslino,  litura; 
Kmeiidare  jocos;  una  litna  potfsl. 
I  am  convinced,  however,  that  though  not  qnil-^  a 
casuists  relache,  you  have  charity  enough  to  ibrgive 
such  j^ioffensive  follies  :  you  know  the  pious  Beza 
was  not  the  less  revered  for  those  sportive  juveniVut 
which  he  published  under  a  fictitious  name ;  nor 
did  the  levity  of  Bembo's  poems  prevent  him  from 
making  a  very  good  cardinal. 

Beheve  me,  my  dear  friend. 

With  the  truest  esteem, 
Yours, 

T.  M 
April  19,  1802. 


POExMS,  ETC. 


TO  JULIA. 

IN  ALLUSION  TO  SOME  ILLIBERAL  CRITICISMS 

Why,  let  the  stingless  critic  chide 
With  all  that  fume  of  vacant  pride 
Which  mantles  o'er  the  pedant  fool, 
Like  vapour  on  a  stagnant  pool ! 
Oh  !  if  the  song,  to  feeling  true. 
Can  please  the  elect,  the  sacred  few. 
Whose  souls,  by  Taste  and  Nature  taught, 
Thrill  with  the  genuine  pulse  of  thought — 
If  some  fond  feeling  maid  like  thee, 
The  warm-eyed  child  of  Sympathy, 
Shall  say,  while  o'er  my  simple  theme 
She  languishes  in  Passion's  dream, 
"  He  was,  indeed,  a  tender  soul — 
No  critic  law,  no  chill  controul. 
Should  ever  freeze,  by  timid  art, 
The  flowings  of  so  fond  a  heart !" 
Yes  !  soul  of  Nature  !  soul  of  Love  ! 
That,  hovering  like  a  snow-wing'd  dove. 
Breathed  o'er  my  cradle  warblings  wild. 
And  hail'd  me  Passion's  warmest  child  ! 
Grant  me  the  tear  from  Beauty's  eye, 
From  Feeling's  breast  the  votive  sigh  ; 
Oh  !  let  my  song,  my  memory,  find 
A  shrine  within  the  tender  mind  ; 
And  I  will  scorn  the  critic's  chide, 
And  I  will  scorn  the  fume  of  pride 
Which  mantles  o'er  the  pedant  fool, 
Like  vapour  on  a  stagnant  pool ! 


TO  A  LADY, 

WITH  SO.MK  MAMISClUrT  POEMS 
ON  LEAVING  THE  COUNTRY. 

When,  casting  many  a  look  behind, 
I  leave  the  friends  I  cherish  here — 

Perchance  some  other  friends  to  find 
But  surely  finding  none  so  dear — 

Haply  the  little  simple  page. 
Which  votive  thus  I've  traced  for  thee, 


LriTLE'S  POExMS 


273 


May  now  and  then  a  look  engage, 
Ami  steal  a  moment's  thought  for  me. 

But,  oh  .  in  pity  let  not  those 

Whose  hearts  are  not  of  gentle  mould, 
I,et  not  the  eye,  that  seldom  flows 

With  feeling  tear,  my  song  behold. 

For,  trust  me,  they  who  never  melt 
With  pity,  never  melt  with  love ; 

And  they  will  frown  at  all  I've  felt, 
And  all  my  loving  lays  reprove. 

But  if,  perhaps,  some  gentler  mind. 
Which  rather  loves  to  praise  than  blame, 

Should  in  my  pnge  an  interest  find, 
And  linger  kindly  on  my  name  ; 

Tell  him, — or,  oh  I  if  gentler  still. 
By  female  lips  my  name  be  blest : 

Ah  !  where  do  all  aflections  thrill 
So  sweetly  as  in  woman's  breast  ? — 

Tell  her,  that  he  whose  loving  themes 
Iler  eye  indulgent  wanders  o'er, 

Could  sometimes  wake  from  idle  dreams, 
And  bolder  flights  of  fancy  soar; 

That  glory  oft  would  claim  the  lay. 
And  friendship  oft  his  numbers  move; 

But  whisper  then,  that,  "  sooth  to  say, 
His  sweetest  song  was  given  to  Love  !" 


TO  MRS. 


If,  in  the  dream  that  hovers 
Aroimd  my  sleeping  mind. 

Fancy  thy  fonn  discovers. 
And  paints  thee  melting  kind, 

If  joys  from  sleep  I  borrow. 
Sure  thou'lt  forgive  me  tliis; 

For  he  who  wakes  to  sorrow 
At  least  may  dream  of  bliss  ! 

Oh  !  if  thou  art,  in  seeming. 
All  that  I've  e'er  required : 

Oh  !  if  1  feel,  in  dreaming, 
All  that  I've  e'er  desired; 

Wilt  thou  forgive  my  taking 
A  kiss,  or  something  more  ? 

What  thou  deny'st  me  waking, 
Oh!  let  me  slumber  o'er! 


TO  THE  LARGE  AND   BEAUTIFUL 

MISS . 

,S  iLLHStON  TO  SOME  PARTNERSHIP  IN  A  LOTTERY  SIIARB 

IMPR03IPTU. 

— Ego  pars ^"■^• 

In  wedlock  a  species  of  lottery  lies, 
Where  in  blanks  and  in  prizes  we  deal; 

But  how  comes  it  that  you,  such  a  capital  prize. 
Should  so  long  have  remained  in  the  wheel  ? 

S 


If  ever,  by  Fortune's  indulgent  decree, 

To  me  such  a  tit  kct  should  roll, 
A  sixteenth,  Heaven  knows !  were  sufficient  for  mf 

For  what  could  I  do  with  the  vJwle  ? 


TO  JULIA. 
Well,  .Tulia,  if  to  love,  and  live 
'Mid  all  the  pleasures  love  can  give, 

Be  crimes  that  bring  damnation; 
You — you  and  I  have  given  such  scope 
To  loves  and  joys,  we  scarce  can  hope 

In  heaven  the  least  salvation  ! 

And  yet,  I  think,  did  Heaven  design 
That  blisses  dear,  like  yours  and  mine, 

Should  be  our  own  undoing; 
It  had  not  made  my  soul  so  warm. 
Nor  given  you  such  a  witching  form, 

To  bid  me  doat  on  ruin ! 

Then  wipe  away  that  timid  tear ; 
Sweet  truant !  you  have  nought  to  fear, 

Though  you  were  whelm'd  in  ssin ; 
Stand  but  at  heaven's  gate  awhile, 
And  you  xo  like  an  angel  smile, 

They  can't  but  let  you  in. 


INCONSTANCY. 
And  do  I  then  wonder  that  Julia  deceives  me, 

When  surely  there  's  nothing  in  nature  more  com- 
mon ? 
She  vows  to  be  true,  and  while  vowing  she  leaves 
me — 
But  could  I  expect  any  more  from  a  woman? 

Oh,  woman  !  your  heart  is  a  pitiful  treasure  ; 

And  Mahomet's  doctrine  was  not  too  severe, 
When  he  thought  you  were  only  materials  of  pleasure, 

And  reason  and  thinking  were  out  of  your  sphere 

By  your  heart,  when  the  fond  siL'liing  lover  can  win  it 
He  thinks  that  an  age  of  anxiety  's  paid  ; 

But,  oh  !  while  he  's  blest,  let  him  die  on  the  minute — 
If  he  live  but  a  day,  he'll  be  surely  betray'd. 


IMITATION  OF  CATULLUS.' 

TO  HIMSELF. 
Miser  Catiille,  dusiiias  uieptire,  etc 

Cease  the  sighing  fool  to  play ; 
Cease  to  trifle  life  away ; 
Nor  vainly  think  those  joys  thine  own. 
Which  all,  alas  I  have  falsely  flown  ! 
\VTiat  hours,  Catullus,  once  were  thine, 
How  fairly  secm'd  thy  day  to  shine. 


1  Few  poets  knew  better  than  Catullus,  what  a  French 
writer  calls 

la  ilSlicatesse 

D'un  voluptueux  seiiliment; 
I  but  his  passions  too  often  obscured  his  imagination  —F 


274 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


When  lightly  thou  didst  fly  to  meet 
The  girl,  who  smiled  so  rosy  sweet — 
The  girl  thou  lovedst  with  fonder  pain 
Than  e'er  thy  heart  can  feel  again  ! 
Vou  met — your  souls  seem'd  all  in  one — 
Sweet  little  sports  were  said  and  done — 
Thy  heart  was  warm  enough  for  both, 
And  hers  indeed  was  nothing  loth. 
Such  were  the  hours  that  once  were  thine ; 
But,  ah  !  those  hours  no  longer  shine  '. 
For  now  the  nymph  delights  no  more 
In  what  she  loved  so  dear  before; 
And  all  Catullus  now  can  do 
Is  to  be  proud  and  frigid  too ; 
Nor  follow  where  the  wanton  flies, 
Nor  sue  the  bliss  that  she  denies. 
False  maid  !  he  bids  farewell  to  thee. 
To  love,  and  all  love's  misery. 
The  hey-day  of  his  heart  is  o'er. 
Nor  will  he  court  one  favour  more; 
But  soon  he'll  see  thee  droop  thy  head, 
Doom'd  to  a  lone  and  loveless  bed, 
When  none  will  seek  the  happy  night. 
Or  come  to  traffic  in  delight  ! 
Fly,  perjured  girl ! — but  whither  fly  ? 
Who  now  will  praise  thy  cheek  and  eye  ? 
Who  now  will  drink  the  syren  tone, 
\Miich  tells  him  thou  art  all  his  own? 
Who  now  will  court  thy  wild  delights, 
Thy  honey  kiss,  and  turtle  bites  ? 
Oh!  none. — And  he  who  loved  before 
Can  never,  never  love  thee  more  ! 


EPIGRAM.' 

Your  mother  says,  my  little  Venus, 
There  's  aomHlimis  not  correct  between  us. 

And  you're  in  fault  as  much  as  I : 
Now,  on  my  soul,  my  little  Venus, 
E  think  "I  would  not  be  right  between  us, 

To  let  your  mother  tell  a  lie  ! 


TO  JITLTA 

Though  Fate,  my  girl,  may  bid  us  part. 
Our  souls  it  cannot,  shall  not,  sever; 

The  heart  will  seek  its  kindred  heart, 
And  cling -to  it  as  close  as  ever. 

But  in\ist  we,  must  we  part  indeed  ? 

Is  all  our  dream  of  rapture  over? 
And  docs  not  .lulia's  bosom  bleed 

To  leave  so  dear,  so  fond  a  lover  ? 

Does  ahe  too  mourn  ? — Perhaps  she  may  ; 

Perhaps  she  weeps  our  blisses  fleeting: 
I5ut  why  is  Julia's  eye  so  gay. 

If  Julia's  heart  like  mine  is  beating? 

I  ofl  have  loved  the  brilliant  glow 

Of  rapture  in  her  blue  eye  streaming — 

But  can  the  bosom  bleed  with  woe, 
Wliile  joy  is  m  the  glanc«s  beaming  ? 

'  I  bvlicve  this  cpigrairi  is  ((ii;.'iniilly  Frciicli. — E 


No,  no  ! — ^  et,  love,  I  will  not  chide, 

Although  your  heart  were  fond  of  roving  : 

Nor  that,  nor  all  the  world  beside 

Could  keep  your  faithful  boy  from  loving 

You  '11  soon  be  distant  from  his  eye, 

And,  with  you,  all  that 's  worth  possessing 

Oh  !  then  it  will  be  sweet  to  die, 
When  hfe  has  lost  its  only  blessing ! 


SONG. 


Sweet  seducer!  blandly  smiling; 
Charming  still,  and  still  beguiling' 
Oft  I  swore  to  love  thee  never. 
Yet  I  love  thee  more  than  ever ! 

Why  that  little  wanton  blushing. 
Glancing  eye,  and  bosom  flushing? 
Flushing  warm,  and  wily  glancing— 
All  is  lovely,  all  entrancing  ! 

Turn  away  those  lips  of  blisses — 
I  am  poison'd  by  thy  kisses  ! 
Yet,  again,  ah  I  turn  them  to  me : 
Ruin  's  sweet,  when  they  undo  me' 

Oh !  be  less,  be  less  enchanting  ; 
Let  some  little  grace  be  wanting , 
Let  my  eyes,  when  I'm  expiring, 
Gaze  awhile  without  admiring  ! 


NATURE'S  LABELS 

A    FRAGMENT. 

In  vain  we  fondly  strive  to  trace 
The  soul's  reflection  in  the  face ; 
In  vain  we  dwell  on  lines  and  crosses. 
Crooked  mouth,  or  short  proboscis ; 
Boobies  have  look'd  as  wise  and  bright 
As  Plato  or  the  Stagyrite  : 
And  many  a  sage  and  learned  skull 
Has  peep'd  through  windows  dark  and  du. 
Since  then,  though  art  do  all  it  can. 
We  ne'er  can  reach  the  inward  man. 
Nor  inward  woman,  from  without 
(Though,  ma'am,  yo\i  smile,  as  if  in  doubt,' 
I  think  't  were  well  if  Nature  could 
(And  Nature  could,  if  Nature  would) 
Some  pretty  short  descriptions  write, 
In  tablets  large,  in  black  and  white. 
Which  she  might  hang  about  our  throttlea, 
Like  labels  upon  physic-bottles. 
There  we  might  read  of  all — But  stay- 
As  learned  dialectics  say. 
The  argument  most  apt  and  ample 
For  common  use,  is  the  example. 
For  instance,  then,  if  Nature's  care 
Had  not  arranged  those  traits  so  fair, 
Which  speak  the  soul  of  Lucy  I^nd-n, 
This  is  the  label  she'd  have  pinn'd  on. 

LABEL   FIRST. 

Within  this  vase  there  lies  enshrined 
The  purest,  brightest  gem  of  mind  ' 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


Though  Feeling's  liand  may  sometimes  throw 
Upon  its  charms  the  shade  of  woe, 
riic  histre  rf  the  gem,  when  veil'd, 
Shall  be  but  moiiow'd,  not  conceard. 

Now.  sirs,  imagine,  if  you  're  able, 

Tliat  Nature  wrote  .»  second  label, 

Thoy  'ro  her  own  words — at  least  suppose  so- 

And  boldly  pin  it  on  Pomposo. 

LABEL    SECOND. 

\A'hen  I  composed  the  fustian  brain 
Of  this  redoubted  Capt;un  Vain, 
I  had  at  hand  but  few  ingredients. 
And  so  was  forced  to  use  expedients. 
I  put  therein  some  small  discerning, 
A  grain  of  sense,  a  grain  of  learning; 
And  when  I  saw  tlie  void  behind, 
I  lill'd  it  up  with — froth  and  wind  ! 


TO  MRS.  M- 


SwEET  lady  !  look  not  thus  again : 
Those  little  pouting  smiles  recal — 

A  maid  remember'd  now  with  pain, 
Who  was  my  love,  my  life,  my  all ! 

Oh  !  while  this  heart  delirious  took 
Sweet  poison  from  her  thrilling  eye, 

Thus  would  she  pout,  and  lisp,  and  look, 
And  I  would  hear,  and  gaze,  and  sigh  ! 

jfes,  I  did  love  her — madly  love — 
She  was  the  sweetest,  best  deceiver ! 

And  oft  she  swore  she'd  never  rove  ! 
And  I  was  destined  to  believe  her ! 

Then,  lady,  do  not  wear  the  smile 

Of  her  whose  smile  could  thus  betray: 

iis  !  I  think  the  lovely  wile 
Again  might  steal  my  heart  away. 

And  when  the  spell  that  stole  my  mind 
On  lips  so  pure  as  thine  I  see, 

I  fear  the  heart  which  she  resign'd 
Will  err  again,  and  fly  to  thee  ! 


SONG. 


Why,  the  world  are  all  thinking  about  it ; 

And,  as  for  myself,  I  can  swear. 
If  I  fancied  that  heaven  were  without  it, 

I  'd  scarce  feel  a  wish  to  go  there. 

If  Mahomet  would  but  receive  me. 
And  Paradtse  be  as  he  paints, 

I  'm  greatly  afraid,  God  forgive  me  ! 
I  'd  worship  the  eyes  of  his  saints. 

But  why  should  I  think  of  a  trip 
To  the  Prophet's  seraglio  above, 

\Vhen  Phillida  gives  me  her  lip. 
As  my  own  little  heaven  of  love? 

Oh,  Phillis  !  that  kiss  may  be  sweeter 
Than  ever  by  mortal  was  given  ; 


But  your  tip,  love !  is  only  St.  Petei, 
And  keeps  but  the  key  to  your  heaven ' 


TO  JULIA. 

Mock  me  no  more  with  love's  beguiling  dream, 

A  dream,  I  find,  illusory  as  sweet : 
One  smile  of  friendship,  nay  of  cold  esteem, 

Is  dearer  far  than  passion's  bland  deceit ! 

I  've  heard  you  oft  eternal  truth  declare  ; 

Your  heart  was  only  mine,  I  once  believed 
Ah  !  shall  I  say  that  all  your  vows  were  air? 

And  must  1  say,  my  hopes  were  all  deceived  f 

Vow,  then,  no  longer  that  our  souls  are  twinea. 

That  all  our  joys  are  felt  with  mutual  zeal: 
Julia  !  't  is  pity,  pity  makes  you  kind  ; 

You  know  I  love,  and  you  woi;ld  seem  to  feeL 

But  shall  I  still  go  revel  in  those  arms 
On  bliss  in  which  affection  takes  no  part? 

No,  no  !  l^irewell !  you  give  me  but  your  charms. 
When  I  had  fondly  thought  you  gave  your  heart. 


DIPROMPTU. 

Look  in  my  eyes,  my  blushing  fair! 

Thou  'It  see  thyself  reflected  there  ; 

And,  as  I  gaze  on  thine,  I  see 

Two  little  miniatures  of  me: 
Thus  in  our  looks  some  propagation  lies, 
For  we  make  babies  in  each  other's  ey     ! 


TO   ROSA. 

Does  the  harp  of  Rosa  slumber? 
Once  it  breathed  the  sweetest  number 
Never  does  a  wilder  song 
Steal  the  breezy  lyre  along. 
When  the  wind,  in  odours  dying, 
Woos  it  with  enamour'd  sighing. 

Does  the  harp  of  Rosa  cease  ? 
Once  it  told  a  tale  of  peace 
To  her  lover's  throbbing  breast — 
Then  he  was  divinely  blest .' 
Ah  '  but  Rosa  loves  no  more. 
Therefore  Rosa's  song  is  o'er ; 
And  her  harp  neglected  lies ; 
And  her  boy  forgotten  sighs. 
Silent  harp — forgotten  lover — 
Rosa's  love  and  song  are  over  * 


SYMPATHY 

TO    JUI.IA. 

— sine  me  sit  nulla  Venus. 

OijR  hearts,  mj  love,  were  doom'd 
The  genuine  twins  of  Sympathy  : 
They  live  with  one  sensation . 


►  be. 


276                                                             IMOORE'S 

WORKS. 

In  joy  or  grief,  but  most  in  love, 

But  then  't  is  the  creature  luxuriant  and  fresh 

Our  heart-strings  musically  move, 

That  my  passion  with  ecstacy  owns . 

And  thrill  with  like  vibration. 

For  indeed,  my  dear  madam,  though  fond  :J  the  Itesl 

I  never  was  partial  to  liones .' 

How  often  have  I  heard  thee  say, 

Thy  vital  pulse  shall  cease  to  play 



When  mine  no  more  is  moving ! 

Since,  now,  to  feel  a  joy  alone 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  LAD\ 

Were  worse  to  thee  than  feeling  none  : 

Sweet  spirit !  if  thy  airy  sleep 

Such  sympathy  in  loving  ! 

Nor  sees  my  tears,  nor  hears  my  sighs, 

And,  oh  !  how  often  in  those  eyes, 
Which  melting  beam'd  like  azure  skies 

Oh  !  I  will  weep,  in  luxury  weep. 

Till  the  last  heart's-drop  fills  mine  eyes 

In  dewy  vernal  weather — 

But  if  thy  sainted  soul  can  feel, 

How  often  have  I  raptured  read 

And  mingles  in  our  misery. 

The  burning  glance,  that  silent  said, 

Then,  then,  my  breaking  heart  I  '11  seal — 

"  Now,  love,  we  feel  together  ?" 

Thou  shalt  not  hear  one  sigh  from  me  . 

The  beam  of  morn  was  on  the  stream, 
But  sullen  clouds  the  day  deform  : 

TO  JULIA. 

Thou  wert,  indeed,  that  morning  beam, 

I  SAW  the  peasant's  hand  unkind 

And  death,  alas  !  that  sullen  storm. 

From  yonder  oak  the  ivy  sever; 

Thou  wert  not  form'd  for  living  here, 

They  seem'd  in  very  being  twined ; 

For  thou  wert  kindred  with  the  sky ; 

Yet  now  the  oak  is  fresh  as  ever. 

Yet,  yet  we  held  thee  all  so  dear, 

Not  so  the  widow'd  ivy  shines  : 

We  thought  thou  wert  not  form'd  to  die ' 

Torn  from  its  dear  and  only  stay, 
In  drooping  widowhood  it  pines, 

And  scatters  all  its  blooms  away  ! 

TO  JULIA. 

Thus,  Julia,  did  our  hearts  entwine. 

Sweet  is  the  dream,  divinely  sweet. 

Till  Fate  disturb'd  their  tender  ties ; 

When  absent  souls  in  fancy  meet ! — 

Th-Js  gay  indifference  blooms  in  thine, 

At  midnight,  love,  I  '11  think  of  thee  • 

While  mine,  deserted,  droops  and  dies  ! 

At  midnight,  love  1  oh  think  of  me  ! 

Think  that  thou  givest  thy  dearest  kiss. 

And  I  will  think  I  feel  the  bliss  : 
Then,  if  thou  blush,  that  blush  be  mlr.e ; 

TO  MRS 

And,  if  I  weep,  the  tear  be  thine ! 

amore 

In  canuti  peiisier  si  disconvene.           Guarini. 

TO 

Ves,  I  think  I  once  heard  of  an  amorous  youth 

Can  I  agam  that  form  caress. 

Who  was  caught  in  his  grandmother's  bed  ; 

Or  on  that  lip  in  rapture  twine  ? 

Bui  I  own  I  hiid  ne'er  such  a  liouorish  tooth 

No,  no  !  the  lip  that  all  may  press 

As  to  wish  to  be  there  in  his  stead. 

Shall  never  more  be  press'd  by  mine. 

'T  is  for  you,  my  dear  madam,  such  conquests  to 

Can  I  again  that  look  recall 

make : 

Which  once  could  make  me  die  for  tnee  ! 

Antiquarians  may  value  you  high  : 

No,  no  !  the  eye  that  burns  on  all 

But  I  swear  1  can't  love  for  antiquity's  sake. 

Shall  never  more  be  prized  by  me ! 

Such  a  poor  virtuoso  am  1. 
I  have  »een  many  ruins  all  gilded  with  care. 

But  the  cracks  were  st:ll  plain  to  the  eye  : 

WRITTEN  IN  THE  BLANK  LEAF  OF  A 

And  I  ne'er  felt  a  passion  to  venture  in  there, 

LADY'S  COMMON-PLACE  BOOK. 

But  lurn'd  up  my  nose,  and  pass'd  by  ! 

Here  is  one  leaf  reserved  for  me, 

1  perh.t()s  might  have  sigh'd  in  your  magical  chain 

From  all  thy  sweet  memorials  free ; 

When  yr)ur  lip  had  more  freshness  to  deck  it : 

And  here  my  simple  song  might  tell 

But  1  'd  hate  even  Dian  herself  in  the  wane, — 

The  feelings  thou  must  i^«^ss  so  well. 

She  might  then  go  to  hell  for  a  Hecate  ! 

But  could  1  thus,  within  thy  mind, 

One  little  vacant  corner  find. 

No,  no  !  when  my  heart 's  in  these  amorous  faints. 

Where  no  impression  yet  is  seen, 

Which  is  seldom,  thank  Heaven  !  the  case; — 

Where  no  memorial  yet  has  been. 

For,  by  reading  the  Fulliers,  and  Lives  of  the  Saints, 

Oh  !  it  should  be  my  sweetest  care 

I  keep  up  a  Btock  of  good  grace  • 

To  write  mil  mime  for  ever  there  ' 

LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


277 


SONG. 
Away  with  this  pouting  and  sadness  ! 

Sweet  girl !  will  you  never  give  o'er? 
1  love  yoLj,  by  Heaven !  to  madness, 

And  what  can  I  swear  to  you  more? 
Believe  not  the  old  woman's  fable, 

That  oaths  arc  as  short  as  a  kiss ; 
I  '11  love  you  as  'ong  as  1  'm  able. 

And  swear  for  no  longer  than  this. 

Then  waste  not  the  time  with  professions ; 

For  not  to  be  blest  when  we  can 
Is  one  of  tiie  darkest  transgressions 

That  happen  'tvvixt  woman  and  man. — 
Pretty  morahst !  why  thus  begiiming 

3Iy  innocent  warmtli  to  reprove  ? 
Heaven  knows  that  I  never  loved  sinning — 

Except  little  sinnings  in  love  ! 

If  swearing,  however,  will  do  it, 

Come,  bring  mo  the  calendar,  pray — 
I  vow  by  that  lip  I  'II  go  through  it, 

And  not  miss  a  saint  on  my  way. 
The  angels  shall  help  me  to  wheedle ; 

I  '11  swear  upon  every  one 
That  e'er  danced  on  the  point  of  a  needle,' 

Or  rode  on  a  beam  of  the  sun ! 

Oh  !  why  should  Platonic  control,  love, 

Enchain  an  emotion  so  free  ? 
Your  soul,  though  a  very  sweet  soul,  love, 

Will  ne'er  be  sufficient  for  me. 
If  you  think,  by  this  coolness  and  scorning. 

To  seem  more  angelic  and  bright, 
Be  an  angel,  my  love,  in  the  morning. 

But,  oh  !  be  a  woman  lo-niglu! 


TO  ROSA. 

Like  him  who  trusts  to  summer  skies, 

And  puts  his  little  bark  to  sea, 
Is  he  who,  lured  by  smiling  eyes. 

Consigns  his  simple  heart  to  thee: 
For  fickle  is  the  summer  wind. 

And  sadly  may  the  bark  be  toss'd  ; 
for  thou  art  sure  to  change  thy  mind, 

And  then  the  wretched  heart  is  lost ! 


TO  ROSA. 

Oh     why  should  the  girl  of  my  soul  be  in  tears 

A\  I  meeting  of  rapture  like  this. 
Who.   the  glooms  of  the  past,  and  the  sorrow  of  years. 

Hi.  a  boon  paid  by  a  moment  of  bliss  ? 

Are  they  shed  for  that  moment  of  blissful  delight 

Which  dwells  on  her  memory  yet  ? 
Do  the>  flow,  hke  the  dews  of  the  amorous  night, 

Froiti  the  warmth  of  the  sun  that  has  set  ? 


Oh  !  sweet  is  the  tear  on  that  /anguishing  smile, 

That  smile  which  is  loveliest  then  ; 
And  il'sucli  are  tiie  drops  that  delight  can  bcga-le, 

'i'liou  shalt  weep  them  again  and  agam  ! 


1  I  believe  Mr.  Little  alluded  hero  to  a  famous  question 
among  the  early  schoohnen:  "how  many  thousand  anffiils 
conkl  dance  upon  the  point  of  a  very  fine  needle,  wilhout 
joalling  one  another?"  If  he  chuM  have  been  thinking  of 
the  schools  while  he  was  writing  lliis  song,  we  cannot  say 
"cauit  indortvm." 


RONDEAU. 

"  Good  night !  good  night !" — and  is  it  so  7 

And  must  1  front  my  Rosa  go  ? 

Oh,  Rosa  !  say  "  (iood  night !"  once  more. 

And  I  '11  repeat  it  o'er  and  o'er. 

Till  the  first  glance  of  dawning  light 

Shall  find  us  saying  still,  "Good  night!" 

And  still  "Good  night!"  my  Rosa  say — 

But  whisper  still,  "  A  minute  stay;" 

And  I  will  stay,  and  every  ininute 

Shall  have  an  age  of  rapture  in  it. 

We  '11  kiss  and  kiss  in  quick  delight. 

And  murmur,  while  we  kiss,  "Good  night '  ' 

"Good  night  I"  you  '11  murmur  with  a  sigh. 

And  tell  me  it  is  time  to  fly  : 

And  I  will  vow  to  kiss  no  more. 

Yet  kiss  you  closer  than  before ; 

Till  slumber  seal  our  weary  sight — 

And  then,  my  love  !  my  soul !  "  Good  night !' 


AN  ARGU3IENT 
TO  ANY  PHILLIS  OR  CIILOE. 

I  'vE  of\  been  told  by  learned  friars, 
That  wishing  and  the  crime  are  one, 

And  Heaven  punishes  desires 

As  much  as  if  the  deed  were  done 

If  wishing  damns  us,  you  and  1 

Are  damn'd  to  all  our  heart's  content, 

Come  then,  at  least  we  may  enjoy 
Some  pleasure  for  our  punishment ! 


TO  ROSA. 

WRITTE.\  DURING  ILLNESS. 

The  wisest  soul,  by  anguish  torn. 
Will  soon  unlearn  the  lore  it  knew ; 

And  when  the  shrining  casket 's  worn. 
The  gem  within  will  tarnish  too. 

But  love  's  an  essence  of  the  soul, 
Which  sinks  not  with  this  chain  of  cl»« 

Wliich  throbs  beyond  the  chill  control 
Of  withering  pain  or  pale,  decay. 

And  surely  when  the  touch  of  death 
Dissolves  the  spirit's  mortal  ties. 

Love  still  attends  the  soaring  breath. 
And  makes  it  purer  for  the  skies  ! 

Oh,  Rosa  !  when,  to  seek  its  sphere. 
My  soul  shall  leave  this  orb  of  men  ' 

That  love  it  found  so  blissful  here 
Shall  be  its  best  of  blisses  ther, ! 

And,  as  in  fibled  dreams  of  old, 
Some  airy  {renius,  child  of  time! 


278                                                        MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Presided  o'er  each  star  that  roll'd, 

The  stain  that  on  thy  virtue  lies. 

And  track'd  it  through  its  path  subhmc  ; 

Wash'd  by  thy  tears  may  yet  decay, 
As  clouds  that  sully  morning  skies 

So  thou,  fair  planet,  not  unled, 

May  all  be  swept  in  showers  away. 

Shalt  through  thy  mortal  orbit  stray; 

Thy  lover's  shade,  divinely  wed. 

Go,  go — be  innocent,  and  live — 

Shall  linger  round  thy  wandering  way. 

The  tongues  of  men  may  wound  thee  sore 
But  Heaven  in  pity  can  forgive. 

Let  other  spirits  range  the  sky. 

And  bids  thee  "Go,  and  sin  no  more !" 

And  brighten  in  the  solar  gem  ; 
I  '11  bask  beneath  that  lucid  eye, 

Nor  envy  worlds  of  suns  to  them ! 

LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE. 

And  oh  !  if  airy  shapes  may  steal 

Eque  bievi  verbo  I'erre  pereniie  malum 

To  mingle  with  a  mortal  frame. 

.b'l  canUuj,  eleg  T& 

Then,  then,  my  love  ! — but  drop  the  veil ! 

Hide,  hide  from  Heaven  the  unholy  flame. 

Still  the  question  I  must  parry. 
Still  a  wayward  truant  prove  : 

Where  I  love,  I  must  not  marry. 
Where  I  marry,  cannot  love. 

No  I — when  that  heart  shall  cease  to  beat, 

And  when  that  breath  at  length  is  free ; 

Then,  Rosa,  soul  to  soul  we  '11  meet, 

And  mingle  to  eternity. 

Were  she  fairest  of  creation. 
With  the  least  presuming  mind  ; 

Learned  without  affectation; 
Not  deceitful,  yet  refined ; 

ANACREONTIQUE. 

Wise  enough,  but  never  rigid ; 

in  lacrijmas  verterat  omne  merum. 

Gay,  but  not  too  lightly  free , 

Tib.  lib.  i.  eleg.  5. 

Chaste  as  snow,  and  yet  not  frigid; 

Warm,  yet  satisfied  with  me  : 

Press  the  grape,  and  let  it  pour 

Were  she  all  this,  ten  times  over. 

Around  the  board  its  purple  shower ; 

All  that  Heaven  to  earth  allows, 

And  while  the  drops  my  goblet  steep, 

I  should  be  too  much  her  lover 

I  '11  think— in  woe  the  clusters  weep. 

Ever  to  become  her  spouse. 

Weep  on,  weep  on,  my  pouting  vine ! 

Love  will  never  bear  enslaving; 

Heaven  grant  no  tears  but  tears  of  wine. 

Summer  garments  suit  him  best: 

Weep  on  ;  and,  as  thy  sorrows  flow, 

Bliss  ifelf  is  not  worth  having. 

I  '11  taste  the  luxury  of  woe  I 

If  we're  by  compulsion  blest. 

ANACREONTIQUE. 

THE  KISS. 

Friend  of  my  soul !  this  goblet  sip. 

Ilia  nisi  ii.  lecto  nusquam  poluere  Hocer. 

'T  will  chase  that  pensive  tear ; 

Ovid.  lib.  ii.  tiXeg.  S. 

'Tis  not  so  sweet  as  woman's  lip. 



But,  oh  !  'tis  more  sincere. 

Give  me,  my  Ice,  that  billing  kiss 

Like  her  delusive  beam, 

I  taught  you  one  delicious  night, 

'T  will  steal  away  thy  mind ; 

When,  turning  epicures  lu  bliss. 

But,  like  affection's  dream. 

We  tried  inventions  of  delight. 

It  leaves  no  sting  behind  ! 

Come,  gently  steal  my  lips  along, 

Come,  twine  the  wreath,  thy  brows  to  shade ; 

And  let  your  lips  in  murmurs  movt, — 

These  flowers  were  cuU'd  at  noon ; — 

Ah,  no  ! — again — that  kiss  was  wrong, — 

Like  woman's  love  the  rose  will  fade, 

How  can  you  be  so  dull,  my  love  ? 

But  ah  !  not  half  so  soon  ! 

For,  tliough  the  flower  's  decay' d, 

"Cease,  cease  !"  the  blushing  girl  replied— 
And  in  her  milky  arms  she  caught  me — 

Its  I'ragrance  is  not  o'er; 
But  once  when  love  's  betray'd. 

"How  can  you  thus  your  pupil  chide; 

You  know  'I  was  in  the  dark  you  taught  me ! 

The  heart  can  bloom  no  more  ! 

TO  MI'-'S 

Neither  do  I  condemn  tlieo ;  go,  and  sin  no  moro  I" 

ON  HER  ASKING  THE  AUTHOR  WHY  SHE  HAD 

itt.  Jvlut,  cliap.  viii. 

SLEEPLESS  NIGHTS. 

On,  woman,  if  by  simple  wile 

I'll  ask  the  sylph  who  round  thee  flies. 

Thy  soul  has  stray'd  from  honour's  track. 

And  in  thy  breath  his  pinion  dips. 

Tis  mercy  only  can  beguile. 

Who  suns  him  in  thy  lucent  eyes, 

By  ecnilc  ways,  the  wanderer  back. 

And  faints  ujioii  tliy  sighing  lips: 

LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


279 


I'll  ask  liim  where 's  the  veil  of  sleep 
That  used  to  shade  thy  looks  of  light ; 

And  wliy  those  eyes  their  vigil  keep, 
When  other  suns  are  sunk  in  night. 

And  I  will  say — her  angel  breast 
Has  never  throbb'd  with  guilty  sting; 

Her  bosom  is  the  sweetest  nest 
Where  Slumber  could  repose  his  wing! 

And  I  will  say — her  cheeks  of  flame, 
Which  glow  like  roses  in  the  sun, 

Have  never  felt  a  blush  of  shame, 
Except  for  what  her  eyes  have  done  ! 

Then  tell  mo,  why,  thou  child  of  air  ! 

Does  Slumber  from  her  eyelids  rove'' 
What  is  her  heart's  impassioned  care  ? — 

Perhaps,  oh,  sylph  !  perhaps  't  is  love! 


NONSENSE. 

Good  reader!  if  you  e'er  have  seen. 

When  PhcEbus  hastens  to  his  pillow, 
The  mermaids,  with  tlieir  tresses  green, 

Dancing  upon  the  western  billow : 
If  you  have  seen,  at  twilight  dim. 
When  the  lone  spirit's  vesper  hymn 

Floats  wild  along  the  winding  shore  : 
If  you  have  seen,  through  mist  of  eve, 
The  fairy  train  their  ringlets  weave. 
Glancing  along  the  spangled  green  : — 

If  you  have  seen  all  this,  and  more, 
God  bless  me  !  what  a  deal  you  've  seen  ! 


TO  ROSA. 

A  far  conscrva,  e  cutijuo  d'  aiiiiinti  — Pott-  f^d. 

And  are  you  then  a  thing  of  art, 
Seducing  all  and  loving  none  ? 

And  have  I  strove  to  gain  a  heart 

Which  every  coxcomb  thinks  his  own  ? 

And  do  you,  like  the  dotard's  fire, 
Which  powerless  of  enjoying  any, 

Feeds  its  abortive  sick  desire. 
By  trifling  impotent  with  many  ? 

Do  you  thus  seek  to  flirt  a  number 
And  through  a  round  of  danglers  run, 

Because  your  heart's  insipid  slumber 
Could  never  wake  to  Jed  for  one. 

Tell  me  at  once  t''this  be  true, 

And  I  shall  calm  my  jealous  breast; 

Shall  learn  to  join  the  dangling  crew, 
And  share  your  simpers  with  the  rest. 

But  if  your  heart  be  not  so  free, — 
Oh  I  if  another  share  that  heart, 

Tell  not  the  damning  tale  to  me. 
But  mingle  mercy  with  your  art 

I'd  rather  think  you  black  as  hell, 
Than  find  you  to  be  all  divine. 

And  know  that  heart  could  love  so  wel., 
Yet  know^  that  heart  would  7iot  be  mine ! 


TO  JULIA. 

ON  HER  BIRTH-DAY. 

When  Time  vi'as  entwining  the  garland  of  years. 
Which  to  crown  my  beloved  was  given, 

Though  some  of  the  leaves  might  be  sullied  with  tears, 
Vet  the  flowers  were  all  gather'd  in  heaven  ! 

\nd  long  may  this  garland  be  sweet  to  the  eye, 

3Iay  its  verdure  for  ever  be  new ! 
Young  Love  shall  enrich  it  with  many  a  sigh, 

And  Pity  shall  nurse  it  with  dew  ! 


ELEGIAC  STANZAS.' 

How  sweetly  could  I  lay  my  head 
Within  the  cold  grave's  silent  breast; 

Where  Sorrow's  tears  no  more  are  shed, 
No  more  the  ills  of  life  molest. 

For,  ah  !  my  heart,  how  very  soon 

The  glittering  dreams  of  youth  are  past ! 

And,  long  before  it  reach  its  noon. 
The  sun  of  hfe  is  overcast. 


1  Tliis  pooin,  and  some  otiiers  of  the  same  pensive  cast, 
we  may  suppose,  were  the  result  of  the  /(  id  melancl'nly 
momenis  which  a  life  so  short  and  so  pleasant  as  ihatof  ihe 
author  could  have  allowed. — E 


LOVE  IN  A  STOILM 

Quam  juvat  iminites  veiuos  audire  cubaDtem, 

Et  duminam  lenero  coiitinuisse  sinu.  TibuUut. 

Loud  sung  the  wind  in  the  ruins  above. 

Which  murmur'd  the  warnings  of  time  o'er  otu 
head  ; 

While  fearless  we  offer'd  devotions  to  Love, 
The  rude  rock  our  pillow,  the  rushes  our  bed. 

Damp  was  the  chill  of  the  wintry  air, 

But  it  made  us  cling  closer,  and  warmly  unite 

Dread  was  the  lightning,  and  horrid  its  glare. 
But  it  show'd  me  my  Julia  in  languid  deligh. 

To  my  bosom  she  nestled,  and  felt  not  a  fear. 

Though  the  shower  did  beat,  and  the  tempest  (ha 
frown : 

Her  sighs  were  as  sweet,  and  her  murmurs  as  dear. 
As  if  she  lay  luU'd  on  a  pillow  of  down ! 


SONG. 
Jessy  on  a  bank  was  sleeping, 

A  flower  beneath  her  bosom  lay; 
Love,  upon  her  slumber  creeping, 

Stole  the  flower  and  flew  away  ! 

Pity,  then,  poor  Jessy's  ruin. 
Who,  becalm'd  by  Slumber's  wing. 

Never  felt  what  Love  was  doing — 
Never  dream'd  of  such  a  thiii<i. 


280 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE  SURPRISE. 

Thloris,  I  swear,  by  all  I  ever  swore, 
That  from  this  hour  1  shall  not  love  thee  more. — 
"What!  love  no  more?  Oh  I  why  this  alter'd  vow?' 
Recause  1  cannot  love  thee  more — than  now.' 


TO  A  SLEEPING  MAID. 

Wake,  my  life !  thy  lover's  arms 
Are  twined  around  thy  sleeping  charms: 
Wake,  my  love !  and  let  desire 
Kindle  those  opening  orbs  of  tire. 

Yet,  sweetest,  though  the  bliss  delight  thee, 
If  the  guilt,  the  shame  atFright  thee. 
Still  those  orbs  in  darkness  keep ; 
Sleep,  my  girl,  or  seem  to  sleep. 


TO  PHILLIS. 

Phillis,  you  little  rosy  rake, 

That  heart  of  yours  I  long  to  rifle  ; 

Come,  give  it  me,  ;iud  do  not  make 
So  much  ado  about  a  trij'le  ! 


SONG. 


When  the  heart's  feeling 

Burns  with  concealing, 
Glances  Will  tell  what  we  fear  to  confess 

Oh !  what  an  anguish 

Silent  to  laugaish. 
Could  we  not  look  all  we  wish  to  express  ! 

When  half-expiring. 

Restless,  desiring. 
Lovers  wish  something,  but  must  not  say  what. 

Looks  tell  the  wanting, 

Looks  tell  the  granting. 
Looks  betray  all  that  the  heart  would  be  at. 


THE  BALLAD." 

Thou  hast  sent  me  a  flowery  band. 

And  told  me  't  was  fresh  from  the  field ; 

That  the  leaves  were  untouch'd  by  the  hand, 
And  the  purest  of  odours  would  yield. 

And  indeed  it  was  fragrant  and  fair ; 

But,  if  it  were  handled  by  thee, 
It  would  bloom  with  a  livelier  air. 

And  would  surely  be  sweeter  to  me  ' 

Then  take  it,  and  let  it  entwine 
Thy  tresses,  so  flowing  and  bright ; 

And  each  Utile  flow' ret  will  shine 
More  rich  than  a  gem  to  my  sight. 

I  This  ballad  was  probably  suggrsled  by  the  followuij 
Eiiigia.ii  in  iMurtial: 

Intaclaa  ([Uiiro  inittis  milii,  I'olla,  coronas, 
A  te  voxalas  niulu  teiiuic  rusiis. 

Epig.  xc.  lib.  11. — E. 


Let  the  odorous  gale  of  thy  breath 
Embalm  it  with  many  a  sigh ; 

Nay,  let  it  be  wither'd  to  death 

Beneath  the  warm  noon  of  thine  eye. 

And  instead  of  the  dew  that  it  bears. 

The  dew  dropping  fresh  from  the  tree. 
On  Its  leaves  let  me  number  the  tears 

That  afiection  has  stolen  from  thee  ! 


TO  MRS. 


ON  HER  UEAUTIFL'L  TRAASLATION  OF 
VOnURE'S  KISS. 

Mon  ame  sur  ma  levre  eiait  lors  toute  entiere, 
Pour  savourer  le  miel  qui  sur  la  voire  6tait; 
Mais  c-n  me  retiiaiii,  «llo  rcsta  dcrriere, 
Taiit  de  ce  duux  plaisir  I'amorce  rarrutoil!         fott 

How  heavenly  was  the  poet's  doom. 
To  breath  his  spirit  through  a  kiss; 

And  lose  within  so  sweet  a  tomb 
The  trembling  messenger  of  bliss ! 

And,  ah !  his  soul  return'd  to  feel 
That  it  again  could  ravish'd  be ; 

For  in  the  kiss  that  thou  didst  steal, 
His  life  and  soul  have  fled  to  thee ! 


TO  A  LADY. 


ON   HER   SINGING. 


Thy  song  has  taught  my  heart  to  feel 
Those  soothing  thoughts  of  heavenly  love, 

Which  o'er  the  sainted  spirits  steal 
When  hst'ning  to  the  spheres  above ! 

When,  tired  of  life  and  misery, 
I  wish  to  sigh  my  latest  breath. 

Oh,  Emma !  I  will  tly  to  thee. 

And  thou  shall  sing  me  into  death ! 

And  if  along  thj'  lip  and  cheek 
That  smile  of  heavenly  softness  play, 

Which, — ah  !  forgive  a  mind  that 's  weak, — 
So  oft  has  stolen  my  mind  away ; 

Thou' It  seem  an  angel  of  the  sky, 
That  comes  to  charm  me  into  bliss  ^ 

I'll  gaze  and  die — who  would  not  die. 
If  death  were  half  so  sweet  as  this  ? 


A  DREAM. 

I  THOUGHT  this  heart  consuming  lay 
On  Cupid's  burning  shrine: 

I  thought  he  stole  thy  heart  away, 
And  placed  it  near  to  mine. 

I  saw  thy  heart  begin  to  melt. 

Like  ice  before  the  sun  ; 
Till  both  a  glow  congenial  felt, 

And  mingled  into  one  ' 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


2SJ 


WRITTEN  IN  A  COMMON-PLACE  BOOK, 

CALLED  "THE  BOOK  OF  FOLLIES;" 

In  luhich  every  one  that  opened  it  should  contribute 

somelldng. 


TO   THE    BOOK    OF    FOLLIES 

This  tribute  's  from  a  wretched  elf, 
Who  hails  thee  emblem  of  himself! 
The  book  of  life,  which  I  have  traced. 
Has  been,  like  thee,  a  motley  waste 
Of  follies  scribbled  o'er  and  o'er, 
One  folly  bringing  hundreds  more. 
Some  have  indeed  been  writ  so  neat. 
In  characters  so  fair,  so  sweet, 
That  those  who  judge  not  too  severely 
Have  said  they  loved  such  follies  dearly  ! 
Yet  still,  O  book  !  the  allusion  stands ; 
For  these  were  penn'd  by  fi'mule  hands; 
The  rest, — alas  !  I  own  the  truth, — 
Have  all  been  scribbled  so  uncouth, 
That  prudence,  with  a  withering  look, 
Disdainful  flings  away  the  book. 
Like  thine,  its  pages  here  and  there 
Have  oft  been  stain'd  with  blots  of  care  ; 
And  sometimes  hours  of  peace,  I  own. 
Upon  some  fairer  leaves  have  shone. 
White  as  the  snovvings  of  that  Heaven 
By  which  those  hours  of  peace  were  given 
But  now  no  longer — such,  oh !  such 
The  blast  of  Disappointment's  touch  ! 
No  longer  now  those  hours  appear; 
Each  It  af  is  sullied  by  a  tear  : 
Blank,  ttlank  is  every  page  with  care  ; 
Not  e'en  a  folly  brightens  there. 
Will  they  yet  brighten  ? — Never,  never ! 
Then  shut  the  book,  O  God !  for  ever ! 


WRITTEN  IN  THE  SAME. 
TO  THE  PRETTY  LITTLE  MRS. — 
IMPROMPTU. 


Magis  venustatem  an  brevilatem  mireris  incertum  est. 

Macrob.  Sat.  lib.  ii.  cap.  2. 

This  journal  of  folly  's  an  emblem  of  me ; 
But  what  book  shall  we  find  emblematic  of  thee  ? 
Oh !  shall  we  not  say  thou  art  Love's  duodecimo  7 
None  can  be  prettier,  few  can  be  less,  you  know. 
Such  a  volume  in  sheets  were  a  volume  of  charms; 
Or,  if  bound,  it  should  only  be  bound  in  our  arms  .' 


SONG. 
Df.ar  !  in  pity  do  not  speak ; 

In  your  eyes  I  read  it  all, 
in  the  Hushing  of  your  cheek, 

In  those  tears  that  fall. 
Yes,  yes,  my  soul !  I  see 

You  love,  you  live  for  only  me . 

Beam,  yet  beam  that  killing  eve. 
Bid  me  e.\pire  in  luscious  pain  ; 


But  kiss  me,  kiss  me  while  I  die. 

And,  oh  !  I  live  again  I 
Still,  my  love  !  with  looking  kill. 

And,  oh  !  revive  with  kisses  still : 


THE  TEAR. 
On  beds  of  sn  iw  the  moonbeam  slept. 

And  chilly  was  the  midnight  gloom, 
When  by  the  damp  grave  Kllcn  wept — 

Sweet  maid  !  it  was  her  Lindor's  tomb 

A  warm  tear  gush'd — the  wintry  air 
Congeal'd  it  as  it  (iow'd  away : 

All  night  it  lay  an  ice-drop  there, 
At  morn  it  glitter'd  in  the  ray  ! 

An  angel,  wandering  from  her  sphere, 
Who  saw  this  bright,  this  frozen  gem. 

To  dew-eye<l  Pity  brought  the  tear. 
And  hung  it  on  her  diadem  ! 


TO 


In  bona  cur  ((uisiiuam  tertius  ista  venit? — Ovid 

So !  Rosa  turns  her  back  on  me. 

Thou  walking  monument !  for  thee  ; 

Whose  visage,  like  a  grave-stone  scribbled. 

With  vanity  bedaub'd,  bcfribbled, 

Tells  only  to  the  reading  eye. 

That  underneath  corrupting  lie, 

W^ithin  thy  heart's  contagious  tomb 

(As  in  a  cemetery's  gloom,) 

Suspicion,  rankling  to  infection. 

And  all  the  worms  of  black  reflection ! 

And  thou  art  Rosa's  dear  elect. 

And  thou  hast  won  the  lovely  trifle ; 
And  I  must  bear  repulse,  neglect. 

And  I  must  all  my  anguish  stifle: 
While  thou  for  ever  linger'st  nigh. 

Scowling,  muttering,  gloating,  mumming 
Like  some  sharp,  busy,  fretful  Hy, 

About  a  twinkling  taper  humming 


TO  JULIA 

WEEPING. 

Oh  !  if  your  tears  are  given  to  care, 
If  real  woe  disturbs  your  peace, 

Come  to  my  bosom,  weeping  fair  ! 
And  I  will  bid  your  weeping  cease 

But  if  with  Fancy's  vision'd  fears. 

With  dreams  of  woe  your  bosom  ihrlB, 

You  look  so  lovely  in  your  tears. 
That  I  must  bid  you  drop  them  still ' 


SONG. 
Have  you  not  seen  the  timid  tear 
Steal  trembling  from  mine  eye 


282 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


Have  you  not  mark'd  the  flush  of  fea 
Or  caught  the  murmui'd  sigh  '^ 

And  can  you  think  my  love  is  chill, 
Nor  fix'd  on  you  alone  ? 

And  can  you  rend,  by  doubting  still, 
A  heart  so  much  your  own  ? 

To  you  my  soul's  affections  move 

Devoutly,  warmly  true ; 
My  life  has  been  a  task  of  love, 

One  long,  long  thought  of  you. 
If  all  your  lender  faith  is  o'er, 

If  still  my  truth  you'll  try ; 
Alas  !  I  know  but  one  proof  more, — 

I'll  bless  your  name,  and  die  ! 


THE  SHIELD.' 
Oh  !  did  you  not  hear  a  voice  of  death  ? 

And  did  you  not  mark  the  paly  form 
Which  rode  on  the  silver  mist  of  the  heath, 

And  sung  a  ghostly  dirge  in  the  storm  ? 

Was  it  a  wailing  bird  of  the  gloom, 
Wliich  shrieks  on  the  house  of  woe  all  night  ? 

Or  a  shivering  fiend  that  flew  to  a  tomb, 
To  howl  and  to  feed  till  tlie  glance  of  light  ? 

'T  was  not  the  death-bird's  cry  from  the  wood. 
Nor  shivering  fiend  that  hung  in  the  blast ; 

'T  was  the  shade  of  Helderic — man  of  blood — 
It  screams  for  the  guilt  of  days  that  are  past ! 

See  how  the  red,  red  lightning  strays, 

And  scares  the  gliding  ghosts  of  the  heath ! 

Now  on  the  leafless  yew  it  plays. 
Where  hangs  tne  shield  of  this  son  of  death ! 

That  shield  is  blushing  with  murderous  stains ; 

Long  has  it  hung  from  the  cold  yew's  spray ; 
It  is  blown  by  storms  and  wash'd  by  rains. 

But  neither  can  take  the  blood  away ! 

Oft.  by  that  yew,  on  the  blasted  field. 
Demons  dance  to  the  red  moon's  light ; 

While   the   damp   boughs  creak,  and  the  swhiging 
shield 
Sings  to  the  raving  spirit  of  night ! 


TO  MRS. 


Yes,  Heaven  can  witness  how  I  strove 
To  love  thee  with  a  spirit's  love; 
To  make  thy  purer  wish  my  own, 
And  mingle  with  thy  mind  alone. 
Oh !  I  appeal  to  those  pure  dreams 
In  which  my  soul  has  hung  on  thee, 
And  I've  forgot  thy  witching  form, 
And  I've  forgot  the  liquid  beams 
That  eye  effuses,  thrilling  warm — 
Yes,  yes,  forgot  each  sensual  charm, 
Each  madd'ning  spell  of  luxury. 
That  could  seduce  my  soul's  desires, 
And  bid  it  throb  with  guiltier  fires. — 


Such  was  my  love,  and  many  a  time. 
When  sleep  has  given  thee  to  my  breast. 
And  thou  hast  seem'd  to  share  the  crime 
Which  made  thy  lover  wildly  blest; 
E'en  then,  in  all  that  rich  delusion, 
When,  by  voluptuous  visions  fired. 
My  soul,  in  rapture's  warm  confusion 
Has  on  a  phantom's  lip  expired  ! 
E'en  then  some  purer  thoughts  would 
Amid  my  senses'  warm  excess; 
And  at  the  moment — oh  !  e'en  then 
I've  started  from  thy  melting  press. 
And  blush'd  for  all  I've  dared  to  feel. 
Yet  sigh'd  to  feel  it  all  again  ! — 
Such  uas  my  love,  and  still,  O  still 
I  might  have  calm'd  the  unholy  thrill  • 
My  heart  might  be  a  taintless  shrine, 
And  thou  its  votive  saint  should  be  : 
There,  there  I'd  make  thee  all  divine. 
Myself  divine  in  honouring  thee. 
But,  oh  !  that  night !  that  fatal  night ! 
When  both  bewilder'd,  both  betray'd. 
We  sank  beneath  the  flow  of  soul. 
Which  for  a  moment  mock'd  control; 
And  on  the  dangerous  kiss  delay'd, 
And  almost  yielded  to  delight ! 
God  !  how  I  wish'd,  in  that  wild  hour, 
That  lips  alone,  thus  stamp'd  with  heaJ 
Had  for  a  moment  all  the  power 
To  make  our  souls  eff'using  meet ! 
That  we  might  mingle  by  the  breath 
In  all  of  love's  delicious  death  ; 
And  in  a  kiss  at  once  be  blest, 
As,  oh  !  we  trembled  at  the  rest ! 
Pity  me,  love  !  I  '11  pity  thee, 
If  thou  indeed  hast  felt  like  me. 
All,  all  my  bosom's  peace  is  o'er ! 
At  night,  wliich  was  my  hour  of  calm, 
When  from  the  page  of  classic  lore. 
From  the  pure  fount  of  ancient  Jay, 
My  soul  had  drawn  the  placid  balm 
Which  charm'd  its  little  griefs  away  ; 
Ah  !  there  I  find  that  balm  no  more. 
Those  spells,  which  make  us  oft  forget 
The  fleeting  troubles  of  the  day. 
In  deeper  sorrows  only  whet 
The  stings  they  cannot  tear  away. 
When  to  my  pillow  rack'd  I  fly. 
With  wearied  sense  and  wakeful  eye, 
While  my  brain  maddens,  where,  O  where 
Is  that  serene  consoling  prayer, 
Wliich  once  has  harbinger'd  my  rest. 
When  the  still  soothing  voice  of  Heaven 
Has  seem'd  to  whisper  in  my  breast, 
"  Sleep  on,  thy  errors  are  forgiven  !"' 
No,  though  I  still  in  semblance  pray. 
My  thoughts  are  wandering  far  away, 
And  e'en  the  name  of  Deity 
Is  murmur'd  out  in  sighs  for  thee !' 


1  Tliis  poem  in  pprfiictly  in  the  lafitc  of  llie  present  day- 
hi8  nam  plubuculu  gaudut." — li. 


Tliis  irregular  recurrence  of  the  rhymes  is  adopted  fion; 
Lilt;  light  i)0(:try  of  the  French,  and  is,  I  think,  particularly 
suited  to  express  the  vurieiiesof  feeling.  In  gentler  emo- 
tions, the  verses  may  tiow  [lerioilic  and  reenlar;  and  in  ilia 
transition  to  violent  passion,  can  assume  all  the  animatt-d 
abruptness  of  blank  verse.     Busirles,  by  dispensing  w'h  'i<r 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


283 


ELEGIAC  STANZAS, 

«liFPOSED     TO     BE    WRITTEN     BV     JULIA     ON 
DEATH    OF    HER    BIIOTIIER. 

Though  soirow  long  has  worn  my  heart ; 

Though  every  day  I  've  counted  o'er 
Has  broug'it  a  new  and  quickening  smart 

To  wounds  that  rankled  fresh  before ; 

Though  m  my  earliest  life  bereft 

Of  many  a  link  by  nature  tied  ; 
Though  hope  deceived,  and  pleasure  left  ; 

Though  friends  betray'd,  and  foes  belied ; 

{  still  had  hopes — for  hope  will  stay 

After  the  sunset  of  delight ; 
So  like  the  star  which  ushers  day. 

We  scarce  can  think  it  heralds  night! 

I  hoped  that,  after  all  its  strife, 

My  weary  heart  at  length  should  rest, 

And,  fair.ting  from  the  waves  of  life, 
Find  harbour  in  a  brother's  breast. 

That  brother's  breast  was  warm  with  truth, 
Was  bright  with  honour's  purest  ray  ; 

He  was  the  dearest,  gentlest  youth — 
Oh  !  why  then  was  he  torn  away  ? 

He  should  have  stay'd,  have  linger'd  here, 
To  calm  his  Julia's  every  woe  ; 

He  should  have  chased  each  bitter  tear, 
And  not  have  caused  those  tears  to  flow. 

We  saw  his  youthful  soul  expand 
In  blooms  of  genius,  nursed  by  taste  ; 

While  Science,  with  a  fostering  hand. 
Upon  his  brow  her  chaplet  placed. 

We  saw  his  gradual  opening  mind 
Liirich'd  by  all  the  graces  dear ; 

Enlighten'd,  social,  and  refined. 
In  friendship  firm,  in  love  sincere 

Such  was  the  youth  we  loved  so  well ; 

Such  were  the  hopes  that  fate  denied — 
We  loved,  but,  ah  !  we  could  not  tell 

How  deep,  how  dearly,  till  he  died ! 

Close  as  the  fondest  links  could  strain. 
Twined  with  my  very  heart  he  grew  ; 

And  by  that  fate  which  breaks  the  chain, 
The  heart  is  almost  broken  too  ! 


FANNY  OF  TIMMOL. 

A    MAIL-COACH    ADVENTURE. 
Q,uaiirigis  petimus  bene  vivere.  Horace. 

Sweet  Fanny  of  Timmol !  when  first  you  came  in 
To  the  close  little  carriage  in  which  I  was  hurl'd, 

1  thought  to  myself,  if  it  were  not  a  sin, 

I  could  teach  you  the  prettiest  tricks  in  the  world. 


liniits  of  distich  and  st-inza,  it  allows  an  interesting  suspen- 
eum  of  the  sentiment. — E. 


For  your  dear  little  lips,  to  their  destiny  true, 
Secrn'd  to  know  they  were  born  for  the  use  of  aa 
other ; 

iVnd,  to  put  me  in  mind  of  what  I  ought  to  do, 
Were  eternally  biting  and  kissing  each  other. 

And  then  you  were  darting  from  eyelids  so  sly, — 
Half  open,  half  shutting, — such  tremulous  light: 

Let  them  say  what  they  will,  I  could  r<'ad  in  your  eye 
More  comical  things  than  1  ever  shall  write. 

And  oft,  as  we  mingled  our  legs  and  our  feet, 
I  fell  a  pulsation,  and  cannot  tell  whether 

In  yours  or  in  mine — but  I  know  it  was  sweet. 
And  I  think  we  both  felt  it  and  trembled  together. 

At  length  when  arrived,  at  our  supper  we  sat, 
I  heard  with  a  sigh,  which  had  something  of  pain. 

That  perhaps  our  last  moment  of  meeting  was  ih.au 
And  Fanny  should  go  back  to  Timmol  again. 

Yet  I  swore  not  that  I  was  in  love  with  you  Fanny, 
Oh,  no  !  for  I  felt  it  could  never  be  true  ; 

I  but  said — what  I  've  said  very  often  to  many — 
There  's  few  I  would  rather  be  kissing  than  you. 

Then  first  did  I  Icarn  that  you  once  had  believed 
Some  lover,  the  dearest  and  falsest  of  men  , 

And  so  gently  you  spoke  of  the  youth  who  deceive 
That  I  thought  you    perhaps    miglit  be   templed 
again. 

But  you  told  me  that  passion  a  moment  amused. 
Was  follow'd  too  oft  by  an  age  of  repenting; 

And  check'd  me  so  softly  that,  while  you  refused. 
Forgive  me,  dear  girl,  if  I  thought 't  was  consenting ! 

And  still  I  entreated,  and  still  you  denied, 

Till  I  almost  was  made  to  believe  you  sincere; 
Though  I  found  that,  in  bidding  me  leave  you,  you 
sigh'd. 
And  when  you  repulsed  me,  't  was  done  with  a 
tear. 

In  vain  did  I  whisper,  "  There  's  nobody  nigh ;" 
In  vain  with  the  tremors  of  passion  implore  ; 

Your  excuse  was  a  kiss,  and  a  tear  your  reply-^ 
I  acknowledged   them  both,   and  I  ask'd  for  no 
more. 

Was  I  right  ? — oh  !   1  cannot  believe  I  was  wrong. 

Poor  Fanny  is  pone  back  to  Timmol  again  ; 
And  may  Providence  guide  her  uninjured  along, 

Nor  scatter  her  path  with  repentance  and  pain  ! 

By  Heaven !  I  would  rather  for  ever  forswear 
The  Elysium  that  dwells  on  a  beautiful  breast. 

Than  alarm  for  a  moment  the  peace  that  is  there, 
Or  banish  the  dove  from  so  hallow'd  a  nest ! 


A  NIGHT  THOUGHT. 
How  oft  a  cloud  with  envious  veil. 

Obscures  your  bashful  light, 
Which  seems  so  modestly  to  steal 

Along  the  waste  of  night' 


284 


MOORE  S  WORKS, 


"T  is  thus  the  worM's  obtrusive  wrongs 

Oliseure  with  mahce  keen 
Some  timid  heart,  wliich  only  longs 

To  hve  and  die  unseen  ! 


ELEGIAC    STANZAS. 

Sicjuvat  perire. 

Whkn  weaned  wretches  sink  to  sleep, 
How  heavenly  soft  their  slumbers  lie  ! 

How  sweet  is  death  to  those  who  weep, 
To  those  who  weep  and  long  to  die  ! 

Saw  you  the  soft  and  grassy  bed, 

V\liere  flow' rets  deck  the  green  earth's  breast  ? 
T  is  there  I  wish  to  lay  my  head, 

'T  is  there  I  wish  to  sleep  at  rest ! 

Oh  !  let  not  tears  embalm  my  tomb, 
None  but  the  dews  by  twilight  given ! 

Oh  I  let  not  sighs  disturb  the  gloom. 
None  but  the  whispering  winds  of  Heaven ! 


THE  KISS. 

Grow  to  my  lip,  thou  sacred  kiss, 

On  which  my  soul's  beloved  swore 
That  there  should  come  a  time  of  bliss 

When  she  would  mock  my  hopes  no  more ; 
And  fancy  shall  thy  glow  renew. 

In  sighs  at  morn,  and  dreams  at  night, 
And  none  shall  steal  thy  holy  dew 

Till  thou  'rt  absolved  by  rapture's  rite. 
Sweet  hours  that  are  to  make  me  blest, 

Oh !  Hy,  like  breezes,  to  the  goal, 
And  let  my  love,  my  more  than  soul, 

Come  panting  to  this  fever'd  breast , 
And  wiiile  in  every  glance  I  drink 

The  rich  o'erflowings  of  her  mind, 
Oh  !  let  her  all  impassion'd  sink. 

In  sweet  abandonment  resign'd. 
Blushing  for  all  our  struggles  past, 
And  murmuring,  "  I  am  thine  at  last !" 


TO 


With  all  my  soul,  then,  let  us  part, 
Since  both  are  anxious  *o  be  free  ; 

And  I  will  send  you  home  your  heart, 
If  you  will  send  back  mine  to  me. 

We  've  had  some  happy  hours  together, 
But  joy  must  often  change  its  wing  ; 

And  spring  would  be  but  gloomy  weather, 
If  we  had  nothing  else  but  spring. 

'T  is  not  that  I  expect  to  find 

A  more  devoted,  fond,  and  true  one, 

With  rosier  cheek  or  sweeter  mind — 
Enough  for  me  thai  she's  a  new  one. 

Thus  let  us  leave  the  bower  of  love, 
Where  we  have  loiter'd  long  in  bliss  ; 


And  you  may  down  tliat  path-way  rove. 
While  I  shall  take  my  way  through  this 

Our  hearts  have  sufter'd  little  harm 

In  this  short  fever  of  desire  ; 
You  have  not  lost  a  single  charm, 

Nor  1  one  spark  of  feeling  fire. 

My  kisses  have  not  stain'd  the  rose 
Which  Nature  hung  upon  your  lip; 

And  still  your  sigh  with  nectar  flows 
For  many  a  raptured  soul  to  sip. 

Farewell !  and  when  some  other  fair 
Shall  call  your  wanderer  to  her  arras, 

'T  will  be  my  luxury  to  compare 

Her  spells  with  your  remember'd  charms 

"  This  cheek,"  I  'II  say,  "  is  not  so  bright 
As  one  that  used  to  meet  my  kiss ; 

This  eye  has  not  such  liquid  light 
As  one  that  used  to  talk  of  bliss  !" 

Farewell !  and  when  some  future  lover 
Shall  claim  the  heart  v^hich  I  resign. 

And  in  exulting  joys  discover 

All  the  charms  that  once  were  mine ; 

I  think  I  should  be  sweetly  blest, 

If,  in  a  soft  imperfect  sigh, 
You  'd  say,  while  to  his  bosom  prest, 

He  loves  not  half  so  well  as  I ! 


A  REFLECTION  AT  SEA 

See  how,  beneath  the  moonbeam's  smile, 
Yon  little  billow  heaves  its  breast, 

And  foams  and  sparkles  for  a  while, 
And  murmuring  then  subsides  to  rest. 

Thus  man,  the  sport  of  bliss  and  care, 
Rises  on  Time's  eventful  sea; 

And,  having  swell'd  a  moment  there. 
Thus  melts  into  eternity  ! 


AN  INVITATION  TO  SUPPER 

TO  MRS. . 

Myself,  dear  Julia  !  and  the  Sun, 
Have  now  two  years  of  rambling  run ; 
And  he  before  his  wheels  has  driven 
The  grand  menagerie  of  heaven. 
While  I  have  met  on  earth,  I  swear. 
As  many  brutes  as  he  has  there. 
The  only  dilference  I  can  see 
Betwixt  the  flaming  god  and  me. 
Is,  that  his  ways  are  periodic, 
And  mine,  I  fear,  are  simply  oddic. 
But,  dearest  girl !  't  is  now  a  lapse 
Of  two  short  years,  or  less,  perhaps. 
Since  you  to  me,  and  I  to  you, 
Vow'd  to  be  ever  fondly  true! — 
Ah,  .Iiilia  !  those  were  pleasant  times  ! 
You  loved  me  for  my  amorous  rhymes  ■ 
And  I  loved  you,  because  1  thought 
'T  was  so  delicious  to  be  taught 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


285 


By  such  a  charming  guide  as  you, 

With  eyes  of  fire  and  lips  of  dew, 

All  I  had  ollon  fancied  o'tr, 

But  never,  never  t'elt  before  : 

The  day  Hew  by,  and  night  was  short 

For  half  our  blisses,  hal*"  our  sport ! 

I  know  not  how  we  chang'd,  or  why, 

Or  if  the  first  was  you  or  I ; 

Vet  so  't  is  now,  we  meet  each  other, 

And  1  'm  no  more  than  Julia's  brother; 

While  she  's  so  like  my  prudent  sister, 

There  's  few  would  think  hov.'  clcsc  I  've  kiss'd 

But,  Julia,  let  those  matters  puss ! 

If  you  will  brim  a  sparklinj;  glass 

To  vanish'd  hours  of  true  d.^'light. 

Come  to  me  after  dusk  to-night. 

I  '11  have  no  other  guest  to  meet  you, 

Hut  here  alone  I  '11  tete-a-tete  yo  j. 

Over  a  little  attic  feast, 

As  full  of  cordial  soul  at  least, 

As  those  where  Delia  met  Ti'oullus, 

Or  Lesbia  wanton'd  with  Catullus.' 

1  'II  sing  you  many  a  roguish  sonnet 

About  it,  at  it,  and  upon  it: 

\nd  songs  address'd,  as  if  I  loved, 

To  all  the  girls  with  whom  I  've  roved. 

Come,  pr'ythee  come,  you  "11  find  me  here, 

Like  Horace,  waiting  for  his  dear.'-' 

There  shall  not  be  to-night,  on  earth, 

Two  souls  more  elegant  in  mirth ; 

i^nd  though  our  hey-day  passion  's  fled. 

The  spirit  of  the  love  that 's  dead 

Shall  hover  wanton  o'er  our  head  ; 

Liko  souls  that  round  the  grave  will  fly, 

In  which  their  late  possessors  lie : 

And  who,  my  pretty  Julia,  knows. 

But  when  our  warm  remembrance  glows, 

The  ghost  of  Love  may  act  anew, 

What  Love  when  living  used  to  dc  . 


her. 


AN  ODE  UPON  MORNING. 

Turn  to  me,  love  I  the  morning  rays 
Are  glowing  o'er  thy  languid  charms  ; 

Take  one  luxurious  parting  gaze. 
While  yet  I  linger  in  thine  arms. 

'Twas  long  before  the  noon  of  night 

I  stole  into  thy  bosom,  dear ! 
And  now  the  glance  of  dawning  light 

Has  found  me  still  in  dalliance  here. 

Turn  to  me,  love  !  the  trembling  gleams 
Of  morn  along  thy  white  neck  stray  ; 

Away,  away,  you  envious  beams, 
I  '11  chase  you  with  my  lips  away ! 

Oh  !  is  it  not  divine  to  think, — 

W^hile  all  around  were  lull'd  in  night 

1  Cccnam,  non  sine  Candida  luiidla. 

Cat.  C'arm.  xiii. 

2  purllam 

Ad  medium  nocti'm  expecto. 

Hor.  lA-  i.  sat.  5. 


While  even  the  planets  seem'd  to  wink,- 
We  kept  our  vigils  of  delight  ? 

The  heart,  that  little  world  of  ours, 
Unlike  tlie  drowsy  world  of  care. 

Then,  then  awaked  its  sweetest  powers, 
And  all  was  animation  there  ! 

Kiss  me  once  more,  and  then  I  fly, 
Our  parting  would  to  noon-day  last ; 

There,  close  that  languid  trembling  eye. 
And  sweetly  dream  of  all  the  past ! 

As  soon  as  Night  shall  fix  her  seal 
Upon  the  eyes  and  lips  of  men, 

Oh,  dearest  I  I  will  panting  steal 
To  nestle  in  thine  arms  again ! 

Our  joys  shall  take  their  stolen  flight, 
Secret  as  those  celestial  spheres 

Which  make  sweet  music  all  the  night. 
Unheard  by  drowsy  mortal  ears ! 


SONG.' 

On  !  nothing  in  life  can  sadden  us, 

While  we  have  wine  and  good  humour  in  store 
With  thii^,  and  a  little  of  love  to  madden  us. 

Show  me  the  fool  that  can  labour  for  more  ! 
Come,  then,  bid  (Janymcde  fill  every  bowl  for  you, 

Fill  them  up  brimmers,  and  drink  as  I  call : 
I'm  going  to  toast  every  nymph  of  my  soul  for  you, 

Ay,  on  my  soul,  I  'm  in  love  with  tliem  all ! 

Dear  creatures  !  we  can't  live  without  them. 
They  're  all  that  is  sweet  and  seducing  to  man  ! 

Looking,  sighing  about  and  about  them. 
We  dote  on  them,  die  for  them,  all  that  we  can. 

Here  's  Phillis  ! — whose  innocent  bosom 

Is  always  agog  for  some  novel  desires  ; 
To-day  to  gel  lovers,  to-morrow  to  lose  'em, 

Is  a''  that  the  innocent  Pliillis  requires. — 
Here  's  to  the  gay  little  Jessy  ! — who  simpers 

So  vastly  good  humour'd,  whatever  is  done ; 
She'll  kiss  you, and  that  without  whining  or  whimpers 

And  do  what  you  please  with  you — all  out  of  fun  ' 
Dear  creatures,  etc. 

A  bumper  to  Fanny  I — I  know  you  will  scorn  her, 

Because  she  's  a  prude,  and  her  nose  is  so  curfd ; 
But  if  ever  you  chatted  with  Fan  in  a  corner. 

You  'd  say  she  's  the  best  little  girl  in  the  world  ' — 
Another  to  Lyddy  ! — still  struggling  with  duty. 

And  asking  her  conjtience   still,   "  whether  shf 
should  ;" 
While  her  eyes,  in  the  silent  confession  of  beauty 

Say,  "  Only  for  somMing  I  certainly  would  ." 
Dear  creatures,  etc 

Fill  for  Chloe  I — bewitchingly  simple, 

Who  angles  the  heart  without  knowing  her  lure- 
Still  wounding  around  with  a  blush  or  a  dimple. 

Nor  seeming  to  feel  that  she  a4so  could  cure  ' 


1  Tlicro  are  many  spurious  copies  of  ihis  song  in  circuia 
lion  ;  and  it  is  univi^rsallv  .Ttirihuted  to  a  gentleman  who  hsu 
no  more  riglit  than  the  Editor  of  these  Poems  to  any  snar* 
whatever  in  the  "omposition. — E. 


286 


MOORE'S  WOltKS 


Here  's  pious  Susan  ! — trie  saint,  who  alone,  sir, 
Coi'ld  ever  have  made  me  religious  outright : 

For  had  I  auch  a  dear  little  saint  of  my  own,  sir, 
I  'd  pray  on  my  knees  to  her  half  the  long  night ! 
Dear  creatures,  etc. 


Come  tell  me  where  the  maid  is  found 
Whose  heart  can  love  without  deceit. 

And  I  will  range  the  world  around. 
To  sigh  one  moment  at  her  feet. 

Oh  !  tell  me  where  's  her  sainted  home. 
What  air  receives  her  blessed  sigh  ; 

A  pilgrimage  of  years  I  '11  roam 
To  catch  one  sparkle  of  her  eye  ! 

And,  if  her  cheek  be  rosy  bright. 
While  truth  within  her  bosom  lies, 

I'll  gaze  upon  her,  morn  and  night. 
Till  my  heart  leave  me  through  my  eyes  ! 

Show  me  on  earth  a  thing  so  rare, 

I  '11  own  all  miracles  are  true  ; 
To  make  one  maid  sincere  and  fair. 

Oh  !  't  is  the  utmost  Heaven  can  do  ! 


SONG. 


Sweetest  love  !  I  '11  not  forget  thee ; 

Time  shall  only  teach  my  heart. 
Fonder,  warmer,  to  regret  thee. 

Lovely,  gentle  as  thou  art ! — 
Farewell,  Bessy ! 

Yet,  oh  !  yet  again  we  'U  meet,  love, 
Ar.i  repose  our  hearts  at  last : 

Oh!  sure  't  will  then  be  sweet,  love, 
Calm  to  think  on  sorrows  past. — 
Farewell,  Bessy ! 

Yes,  my  girl,  the  distant  blessing 
May  n't  be  always  sought  in  vain ; 

And  the  moment  of  possessing — 
Will 't  not,  love,  repay  our  pain  ? — 
Farewell,  Bessy ! 

Still  I  feel  my  heart  is  breaking. 
When  I  think  I  stray  from  thee, 

Round  the  world  that  quiet  seeking, 
Which  I  fear  is  not  for  me  ! — 
Farewell,  Bessy! 

Calm  to  peace  thy  lover's  bosom  — 
Can  it,  dearest !  must  it  he  ? 

Thou  within  an  hour  shall  lose  him, 
He  for  ever  loses  thoe  ! 
Farewell,  Bessy  ! 


SONG. 


If  I  swear  by  that  eye,  you  '11  allow 
Its  look  is  so  shifting  and  new, 


1  All  tlirHe  songs  woio  ndapled  to  nirs  whicli  Mr.  Littlp 
;om|)i)S((l,  unci  Bonictirnes  sang,  for  liis  fnentls:  this  mav 
»':i-(iiii"  'iif  'he  puculiurity  of  mutre  observable  in  many  of 
■Urw—E 


That  the  oath  I  might  take  on  it  now 
The  very  next  glance  would  undo  I 

Those  babies  that  nestle  so  sly 

Such  different  arrows  have  got. 
That  an  oath,  on  the  glance  of  an  eye 

Such  as  yours,  may  be  off  in  a  shot ! 

Should  I  swear  by  the  dew  on  your  lip. 
Though  each  moment  the  treasure  renews. 

If  my  constancy  wishes  to  trip, 

I  may  kiss  off  the  oath  when  I  choose ! 

Or  a  sigh  may  disperse  from  that  flower 
The  dew  and  the  oath  that  are  there ! 

And  I  'd  make  a  new  vow  every  hour, 
To  lose  them  so  sweetly  in  air ! 

But  clear  up  that  heaven  of  your  brow 
Nor  fancy  my  faith  is  a  feather ; 

On  my  heart  I  will  pledge  you  my  vow, 
And  they  both  must  be  broken  together ' 


JULIA'S  KISS. 

When  infant  Bliss  in  roses  slept, 
Cupid  upon  his  slumber  crept ; 
And,  while  a  balmy  sigh  he  stole, 
Exhaling  from  the  infant's  soul, 
He  smiling  said,  "  With  this,  with  this 
I'll  scent  my  Julia's  burning  kiss !" 

Nay,  more  ;  he  stole  to  Venus'  bed, 
Ere  yet  the  sanguine  flush  had  fled. 
Which  Love's  divinest,  dearest  flame 
Had  kindled  through  her  panting  frame. 
Her  soul  still  dwelt  on  memory's  themes, 
Still  floated  in  voluptuous  dreams; 
And  every  joy  she  felt  before 
In  slumber  now  was  acting  o'er. 
From  her  ripe  lips,  which  seem'd  to  thrill 
As  in  the  war  of  kisses  still. 
And  amorous  to  each  other  clung, 
He  stole  the  dew  that  trembling  hung, 
And  smiling  said,  "With  this,  with  this 
I'll  bathe  my  Julia's  burning  kiss!'* 


TO 


Remember  him  thou  leavest  behind. 
Whose  heart  is  warmly  bound  to  thee. 

Close  as  the  tcnderest  links  can  bind 
A  heart  as  warm  as  heart  can  be. 

Oh  !  I  had  long  in  freedom  roved. 
Though  many  seem'd  my  soul  to  share 

'T  was  passion  when  I  thought  1  loved, 
'T  was  fiincy  when  1  thought  them  fair. 

E'en  she,  my  Muse's  early  theme. 
Beguiled  me  only  while  she  warm'd ; 

'T  was  young  dosiie  that  fed  the  dream. 
And  reason  broke  what  passion  form  d 

But  thou — ah  !  better  had  it  been 
If  I  had  still  in  freedom  roved. 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


287 


If  I  had  ne'er  thy  beauties  seen, 

For  then  I  never  should  have  loved  ! 

Then  all  the  pain  which  lovers  feel 
Had  never  to  my  heart  been  known  ; 

But,  ah  !  the  joy?  which  lovers  steal, 
Sliould  they  have  ever  been  my  own  ? 

Oh !  trust  me,  when  I  swear  thee  this. 
Dearest !  the  pain  of  loving  thee, 

The  very  pain,  is  sweeter  bliss 
Than  passion's  wildest  ecstasy  ! 

That  little  cage  I  would  not  part. 
In  wliich  my  soul  is  prison'd  now, 

For  the  most  light  and  winged  heart 
That  wantons  on  the  passing  vow. 

Still,  my  beloved !  still  keep  in  mind, 
However  far  removed  froir.  mo, 

That  there  is  one  thou  leavest  behind 
Whose  heart  respires  for  only  thee  ! 

And,  though  ungenial  ties  have  bound 

Thy  fate  unto  another's  care. 
That  arm,  which  clasps  thy  bosom  round. 

Cannot  confine  the  heart  that 's  there. 

Vo,  no!  that  heart  is  only  mine, 

Ry  ties  all  other  tics  above. 
For  1  have  wed  it  at  a  shrine 

Where  we  have  had  no  priest  but  Love  ! 


SONG 
Fly  from  the  world,  O  Bessy !  to  me, 

Thou'lt  never  find  any  sincerer  ; 
I'll  give  up  the  world,  O  Bessy !  for  thee, 

I  can  never  meet  any  that 's  dearer! 
Then  tell  me  no  more,  with  a  tear  and  a  sigh. 

That  our  loves  will  be  censured  by  many  ; 
All,  all  have  their  follies,  and  who  will  deny 

That  ours  is  the  sweetest  of  any? 

Wlien  your  lip  has  met  mine,  in  abandonment  sweet, 

Have  we  felt  as  if  virtue  forbid  it  '?—■ 
Have  we  felt  as  if  Heaven  denied  them  to  meet  ? — 

No,  rather  't  was  Heaven  that  did  it ! 
So  innocent,  love  !  is  the  pleasure  we  sip. 

So  little  of  guilt  is  there  in  it, 
That  I  wish  all  my  errors  were  lodged  on  your  lip, 

And  I'd  kiss  them  away  in  a  minute ! 

Then  come  to  your  lo%'er,  oh  !  fly  to  his  shed. 

From  a  world  which  I  know  thou  despisest ; 
And  slumber  will  hover  as  light  on  our  bed, 

As  e'er  on  the  i  ouch  of  the  wisest  I 
And  when  o'er  our  pillovv  the  tempest  is  driven. 

And  thou,  prettj  innocent  I  fearest, 
I'll  tell  thee,  it  is  not  the  chiding  of  Heaven, 

'Tis  only  our  lullaby,  dearest  ! 

And,  oh  !  when  we  lie  on  our  death-bed,  my  love  ! 

Looking  back  on  the  scene  of  our  errors, 
A  sigh  from  my  Bessy  shall  plead  then  above. 

And  Death  be  disarm'd  of  his  terrors! 
\nd  each  to  the  other  embracing  will  say, 

"  Farewell  I  let  us  hope  we're  forgiven  !" 


Thy  last  fading  glance  will  illumine  the  way, 
And  a  kiss  be  our  passport  to  heaven ! 


SONG. 


Tiir.Nic  on  that  look  of  him  id  ray, 
Which  for  a  moment  mix'd  with  mine. 

And  for  that  moment  secm'd  •.!)  say, 
"  I  dare  not,  or  I  would  be  thine  !" 

Think,  think  on  every  smile  and  glance, 
On  all  thou  ha.'t  to  charm  and  move; 

And  then  forgive  my  l)osom  s  trance. 
And  tell  me  't  is  not  sin  to  love  ! 

Oh  !  not  to  love  thee  were  the  sin ; 

For  sure,  if  Heaven's  decrees  be  done, 
Thou,  thou  art  destined  still  to  win, 

As  I  was  destined  to  be  won ! 


SONG 

A  CAPTivK  thus  to  thee,  my  girl. 
How  sweetly  shall  I  pass  my  age, 

Contented,  like  the  playful  squirrel, 
To  wanton  up  and  down  my  cage. 

When  Death  shall  envy  joy  like  this. 
And  come  to  shade  o.;r  sunny  weather, 

Be  our  last  sigh  the  sigh  of  bliss. 
And  both  our  souls  exhale  together! 


THE  CATALOGUE. 

"  Come,  tell  me,"  says  Rosa,  as,  kissing  and  kiss'd 

One  day  she  reclined  on  my  breast; 
"  Come,  tell  me  the  number,  repeat  mo  the  list 

Of  the  njTnphs  you  have  loved  and  caress'd.''— 
Oh,  Rosa  I  't  was  only  my  fancy  that  roved, 

IVIy  heart  at  the  moment  was  free ; 
But  I'll  tell  thee,  my  girl,  how  many  I've  loved. 

And  the  number  shall  finish  with  thee  ! 

My  tutor  was  Kitty ;  in  infancy  wild 

She  taught  me  the  way  to  be  blest ; 
She  taught  me  to  love  her,  I  loved  like  a  chilo, 

But  Kitty  could  flincy  the  rest. 
This  le-son  of  dear  and  enrapturing  lore 

I  have  never  forgot,  I  allow ; 
I  have  had  it  ht/  role  very  often  befoie, 

But  never  hy  heart  until  now  ! 

Pretty  Martha  was  next,  and  my  soul  was  all  flame. 

But  my  head  was  so  full  <)r  romance, 
Tliat  I  fancied  her  into  some  chivalry  dame. 

And  I  was  her  knight  of  the  lance  I 
But  ]\Iartha  was  not  of  this  laiiciful  school, 

And  she  laugh'd  at  her  poor  little  knight; 
While  1  thought  her  a  goddess,  she  thougnt  me  a  fooj 

And  I'll  swear  she  was  most  in  the  right. 

My  soul  was  now  calm,  till,  by  Cloris's  looks, 

Again  I  was  tempted  to  rove; 
But  Cloris,  I  found,  was  so  learned  in  books. 

That  she  gave  me  more  logic  than  love ' 


288 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


So  I  left  this  young  Srippho,  and  hasten'd  to  fly 

To  those  sweeter  logicians  in  bliss, 
vVho  argue  the  point  with  a  soul-telling  eye. 

And  convince  us  at  once  with  a  kiss  ! 

Oh  !  Susan  was  then  all  the  world  unto  mc, 

l?ut  Susan  was  piously  given; 
And  the  worst  of  it  was,  we  could  never  agree 

On  the  road  that  was  shortest  to  heaven  ! 
■  Oh,  Susan !"  I've  said,  in  the  moments  of  mirth, 

"  What 's  devotion  to  thee  or  to  me  ? 
devoutly  believe  there's  a  heaven  on  earth, 

And  believe  that  Ihat  heaven  's  in  thee!'' 


A  FRAGMENT. 
TO . 

'T  is  night,  the  spectred  hour  is  nigh ! 

Pensive  I  hear  the  moaning  blast 

Passing,  with  sad  sepulchral  sigh, 

My  lyre  that  hangs  neglected  by. 

And  seems  to  mourn  for  pleasures  past ! 

That  lyre  was  once  attuned  for  thee 

To  many  a  lay  of  fond  delight. 

When  all  thy  days  were  given  to  me, 

And  mine  was  every  blissful  night. 

How  oft  I've  languish'd  by  thy  side, 

And  while  my  heart's  luxuriant  tide 

Ran  in  wild  riot  through  my  veins, 

I've  walf^d  such  sweetly-maddening  strains. 

As  tf  by  inspiration's  lire 

My  soul  was  blended  with  my  lyre! 

Oh  !  while  in  every  fainting  note 

We  heard  the  soul  of  passion  float 

While  in  thy  blue  dissolving  glance, 

I've  raptured  read  thy  bosom's  trance, 

I've  sung  and  trembled,  kiss'd  and  sung; 

Till,  as  we  mingle  breath  with  breath, 

Thy  burning  kisses  parch  my  tongue. 

My  hands  drop  listless  on  the  lyre. 

And,  murmuring  like  a  swan  in  death. 

Upon  thy  bosom  I  expire  ! 

Yes,  I  indeed  remember  well 

Those  hours  of  pleasure  past  and  o  er 

WTiy  have  1  lived  their  sweets  to  tell  ? 

To  tell,  out  never  feel  them  more  ! 

I  should  have  died,  have  sweetly  died, 

In  one  of  those  impassion'd  dreams. 

When  languid,  silent  on  thy  breast. 

Drinking  thine  eyes'  delicious  beams, 

My  soul  has  flutter'd  from  its  nest. 

And  on  thy  lip  just  parting  sigh'd  ! 

Oh  I  dying  thus  a  death  of  love. 

To  heaven  how  dearly  should  I  go ! 

He  well  might  hope  for  joys  above, 

Who  had  begun  them  here  below  ! 


SONG. 

Where  is  the  nymph,  whose  azure  eye 
<;an  shine  through  riipture's  tear? 

The  sun  has  sunk,  the  moon  is  high, 
Ann  "ct  she  comes  not  here ! 


Was  that  her  footstep  on  the  hill — 
Her  voice  upon  the  gale  ? — 

No ;  t'  was  the  wind,  and  all  is  still : 
Oh,  maid  of  Mai  livale  ! 

Come  to  me,  love,  I've  wander'd  far, 
'T  is  past  the  proinised  hour  : 

Come  to  me,  love,  the  tviilight  star 
Shall  guide  thee  to  my  bower. 


SONG. 


When  Time,  who  steals  our  years  away, 

Shall  steal  our  pleasures  too. 
The  memory  of  the  past  will  stay, 

And  half  our  joys  renew. 

Then,  Chloe,  when  thy  beauty's  flowei 

Shall  feel  the  wintry  air. 
Remembrance  will  recall  the  hour 

When  thou  alone  wert  fair  ! 

Then  talk  no  more  of  future  gloom ; 

Our  joys  shall  always  last; 
For  hope  shall  brighten  days  to  como, 

And  memory  gild  the  past. 

Come,  Chloe,  fill  the  genial  bowl. 

I  drink  to  love  and  thee : 
Thou  never  canst  decay  in  soul, 

Thou' It  still  be  young  for  me. 

And,  as  thy  lips  the  tear-drop  chase 
Which  on  my  cheek  they  find, 

So  hope  shall  steal  away  the  trace 
Which  sorrow  leaves  behind  ! 

Then  fill  the  bowl— away  with  gloom  , 

Our  joys  shall  always  last; 
For  hope  shall  brighten  days  to  come, 

And  memory  gild  the  past  ! 

But  mark,  at  thought  of  future  years 

When  love  shall  lose  its  soul, 
My  Chloe  drops  her  timid  tears. 

They  mingle  with  my  bowl ! 

How  like  this  bowl  of  wine,  my  fair, 

Our  loving  life  shall  fleet ; 
Though  tears  may  sometimes  mingle  thers. 

The  draught  will  still  be  sweet ! 

Then  fill  the  bowl — away  with  gloom . 

Our  joys  shall  always  last; 
For  hope  will  brighten  days  to  come, 

And  memory  gild  the  past ! 


THE  SHRINE. 

TO  . 

Mv  fates  had  destined  me  to  love 
A  long,  long  pilgrimage  of  love? 
And  many  an  altar  on  my  way 
Has  lured  my  pious  steps  to  stay; 
For,  if  the  saint  was  young  and  fair, 
I  turn'd  and  sung  my  vespers  there. 


LI'ITLE'S  POEMS. 


289 


This,  from  a  youthful  pilgrim's  fire, 
Is  whiU  your  pretty  saints  require  : 
To  pass,  no-r  tell  a  single  bead, 
With  them  would  hz  profane  indeed! 
But,  tr:ist  ire,  all  this  young  devotion, 
Was  but  to  Keep  my  zeal  in  motion ; 
And,  every  humhler  altar  past, 
1  now  liave  reach'd  -^he  shri.ne  at  last ! 


REUBEN  AND  ROSE. 

A  TALE  OF  ROMANCE. 

The  darkness  which  hung  upon  Willumberg's  walls 
Has  long  been  rcmcmber'd  with  awe  and  dismay! 

For  years  not  a  sunbeam  had  play'd  in  its  halls, 
And  it  seem'd  as  shut  out  from  the  regions  of  day  : 

Though  the  valleys  were  brighten'd  by  many  a  beam. 
Vet  none  could  the  woods  of  the  castle  illume; 

And  the  lightning  which  flash'd  on  the  neighbouring 
stream 
Fiiiw  back,  as  if  fearing  to  enter  the  gloom! 

"  Oh  !  when  shall  this  horrible  darkness  disperse  ?" 
Said  Willumberg's  lord  to  the  seer  of  the  cave; — 

"It  can  never  dispel,"  said  the  wizard  of  verse, 
"Till  the  bright  star  of  chivalry's  sunk  in  the  wave !" 

And  who  was  the  bright  star  of  chivalry  then  ? 

Who  could  be  but  Reuben,  the  flower  of  the  age  ? 
For  Reuben  was  first  in  the  combat  of  men, 

Though  Youth  had  scarce  written  his  name  on  her 
p;ige. 
For  Willumberg's  daughter  his  bosom  had  beat. 

For  Rose,  who  was  bright  as  the  spirit  of  dawn. 
When  with  wand  dropping  diamonds,  and  silvery  feet, 

li  walks  o'er  the  flowers  of  the  mountain  and  lawn  ! 

Must  Rose,  then,  from  Reuben  so  fatally  sever? 

Sad,  sad  were  the  words  of  the  man  in  the  cave. 
That  darkness  should  cover  the  castle  for  ever, 

Or  Reuben  be  sunk  in  the  merciless  wave  ! 

She  flew  to  the  wizard — "  And  tell  me,  oh  tell  I 
Shall   my   Reuben   no  more   be   restored   to   my 
eyes  ?" — 

"  Ves,  yes — when  a  spirit  shall  toll  the  great  bnll 
Of  the  mouldering  abbey,  your  Reuben  shall  rise!" 

Twice,  thrice  he  repeated,  "  Your  Reuben  shall  rise  !" 
And  Rose  felt  a  moment's  release  from  her  pain; 

She  wiped,  while  she  listen'd,lhe  tears  from  her  eyes. 
And  she  hoped  she  might  yel  see  her  hero  again  ! 

Her  hero  could  smile  at  the  terrors  of  death. 
When  he  felt  that  tie  died  for  the  sire  of  his  Rose  ! 

To  the  Oder  he  llew,  and  there  plunging  beneath, 
In  the  lapse  of  the  billows  soon  found  his  repose. — 

How  strangely  the  order  of  destiny  falls! 

Not  long  in  the  waters  the  warrior  lay. 
When  a  sunbeam  was  seen  to  glance  over  the  walls, 

And  the  castle  of  WiUumberg  bask'd  in  the  ray ! 

Ail,  all  but  the  soul  of  the  maid  was  in  light. 
There  sorrow  and  terror  lay  gloomy  and  blank. 

Two  days  did  she  wander,  and  all  the  long  night. 
In  quest  of  her  love  on  'he  wide  rver's  bank 
T 


Oft,  oft  did  she  pause  foi  the  toll  of  the  bell. 

And  she  heard  but  the  breathings  of  night  in  the 
air; 

Long,  long  did  she  gaze  on  the  watery  swell. 

And  she  saw  but  the  foam  of  the  white  billow  there 

And  often  as  midnight  its  veil  would  undraw. 

As  she  look'dat  the  light  of  the  moon  in  the  stream, 

She  thought  't  was  his  helmet  of  silver  she  saw, 
As  the  curl  of  the  surge  glitier'd  high  in  the  beam. 

And  now  the  third  night  was  begemming  the  sky, 
Poor  Rose  on  the  cold  dewy  margent  reclined, 

There  wept  uU  the  tear  almost  froze  in  her  eye. 
When, — hark  ! — 't  was  the  bell  that  came  deep  in 
the  wind  ! 

She  startled,  and  saw,  through  the  glimmering  shade, 
A  form  o'er  the  waters  in  majesty  glide ; 

She  knew  't  was  her  love,  though  his  cheek  v/aa 
decay'd. 
And  his  helmet  of  silver  was  wash'd  by  the  tide. 

Was  this  what  the  seer  of  the  cave  had  foretold  '! — 
Dim,  dim  through  the  phantom  the  moon  shot  I 
gleam  ; 

'T  was  Reuben,  but  ah  I  he  was  deathly  and  cold, 
And  flitted  away  like  the  spell  of  a  dream! 

Twice,  thrice  did  he  rise,  and  as  often  she  thought 
From  the  bank  to  embrace  him,  but  never,  ah . 
never  ! 

Then  springing  beneath,  at  a  billow  she  caught. 
And  sunk  to  repose  on  its  bosom  for  ever! 


THE  RING.' 

A  TALE. 
Annulua  ille  viri. — Oniil.  Jlmur.  lib.  ii.  cleg.  15 

The  happy  day  at  length  arrived 

When  Rupert  was  to  wed 
The  fairest  maid  in  Saxony, 

And  take  her  to  his  bed. 

As  soon  as  morn  was  in  the  sky, 

The  feast  and  sports  began  ; 
The  men  admircvl  the  hajjpy  maid, 

The  maids  the  happy  man. 

In  many  a  sweet  device  of  mirth 

The  day  was  pass'd  along; 
And  some  the  foatly  dance  amused, 

.\nd  some  the  dulcet  song. 


1  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  that  my  frienil  tiaa  any  seri- 
ous inteiuioiis  of  rrighleiiiiijj  the  nursery  by  this  siory:  1 
rather  ho|)e — though  the  miiiiner  of  it  leads  me  to  doubt — 
ihal  his  design  was  to  ridicule  that  dislempen'd  laste  which 
|ire!'ors  those  monsters  of  the  fancy  to  the  "speciosa  ni^ra- 
ciila"  of  true  poetic  imagination. 

I  find,  by  a  note  in  the  manu,-crl;)t,  tnat  he  mel  wuh  this 
tory  in  a  German  author,  Frommas  npoyi  FnsciK'itio" 
bcKik  iii  part.  vi.  chap.  1.^.  On  cmsulling  .he  work,  I  per 
reive  tlinl  Frotiiman  quotes  it  from  Bcluacensis,  among 
many  other  stories  equ.dly  diaoolicpJ  and  interesting.-  -E. 


290 


iUOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  younger  maids  with  Isabel 

Disported  through  the  bowers, 
And  decli'd  lier  robe,  and  crown'd  her  head 

With  motley  bridal  flowers. 

The  matrons  all  in  rich  attire, 

Within  the  castle  walls. 
Sat  listeiiino;  to  tiie  choral  strains 

That  echo'd  through  the  halls. 

Young  Rupert  and  his  friends  repair'd 

Unto  a  spacious  court, 
To  strike  the  bounding  tennis-ball 

In  feat  and  manly  sport. 

The  bridegroom  on  his  finger  had 

The  wedding-ring  so  bright. 
Which  was  to  grace  the  lily  hand 

Of  Isabel  that  night. 

And  fearing  he  might  break  the  gem, 

Or  lose  it  in  the  play, 
He  look'd  around  the  court,  to  see 

Where  he  the  ring  might  lay. 

Now  in  the  court  a  statue  stood. 
Which  there  full  long  had  been  ; 

It  was  a  heathen  goddess,  or 
Perhaps  a  heathen  queen. 

Upon  'ts  marble  finger  then 

He  tried  the  ring  to  fit ; 
And,  thinking  it  was  safest  there, 

Thereon  he  fasten'd  it. 

And  now  the  tennis  sports  -.vent  on, 

Till  they  were  wearied  all, 
And  messengers  announced  to  them 

Tlieir  dinner  in  the  hall. 

Young  Rupert  for  his  wedding-ring 

Unto  the  statue  went ; 
But,  oh  !  how  was  he  shock'd  to  find 

The  marble  finger  bent ! 

The  hand  was  closed  upon  the  ring 

With  firm  and  iniglity  clasp  ; 
In  vain  he  tried,  and  tried,  and  tried, 

He  could  not  loose  the  grasp ! 

How  sore  surprised  was  Rupert's  mind, — 

As  well  his  mind  might  be; 
Til  come,"  quoth  he,  "at  night  again, 

When  none  are  here  to  see.". 

He  went  unto  the  feast,  and  much 

He  thougiit  upon  his  ring; 
And  much  he  wondcr'd  what  could  mean 

So  very  strange  a  thing  ! 

The  feast  was  o'er,  and  to  the  court 

He  went  w-ithout  delay. 
Resolved  to  break  the  marble  hand, 

And  force  the  ring  away  ! 

But  mark  a  stranger  wonder  still — 

The  ring  was  there  no  more; 
Vet  was  the  marble  hand  ungrasp'd. 

And  open  as  before  I 


He  search'd  the  base,  and  all  the  court, 

And  nothing  could  he  find, 
But  to  the  castle  did  return 
With  sore  bewildcr'd  mind. 

Within  he  found  them  all  in  mirth,     ' 

The  night  in  dancing  flew  ; 
The  youth  another  ring  procured, 

And  none  the  adventure  knew. 

And  now  the  priest  has  join'd  their  handa. 

The  hours  of  love  advance  I 
Rupert  almost  forgets  to  think 

Upon  the  morn's  mischance. 

Within  the  bed  fair  Isabel 

In  blushing  sweetness  lay. 
Like  flowers  half-open'd  by  the  dawn, 

And  waiting  for  the  day. 

And  Rupert,  by  her  lovely  side, 

In  youthful  beauty  glows, 
Like  Phoebus,  when  he  bends  to  cast 

His  beams  upon  a  rose  ! 

And  here  my  song  should  leave  them  both, 

Nor  let  tlic  rest  be  told. 
But  for  the  horrid,  horrid  tale 
It  yet  has  to  unfold  ! 

Soon  Rupert  'twixt  his  bride  and  him, 

A  death-cold  carcase  found ; 
He  saw  it  not,  but  thought  he  felt 

Its  arms  embrace  him  round. 

He  started  up,  and  then  return'd, 

But  found  the  phantom  still; 
In  vain  he  shrunk,  it  clipp'd  him  roimd. 

With  damp  and  deadly  chill ! 

And  when  he  bent,  the  earthy  lips 
A  kiss  of  horror  gave  ; 
'T  was  like  the  smell  from  enamel  vaults, 
Or  from  the  mouldering  grave  ! 

ni-fated  Rupert !  wild  and  loud 

Thou  criedst  to  thy  wife, 
"  Oh  !  save  me  from  this  horrid  fiend, 

My  Isabel !  my  life  !" 

But  Isabel  had  nothing  seen. 

She  look'd  around  in  vain  ; 
And  much  she  mourn'o  the  mad  conceit 

That  rack'd  her  Rupert's  brain. 

At  length  from  this  invisible 
These  words  to  Rupert  came ; 

(Oh  God  !  while  he  did  hear  the  words. 
What  terrors  shook  his  frame  !) 

"  Husband  !  husband  !  I  've  the  ring 

Thou  gavesl  to-day  to  me  ; 
And  thou  'rt  to  me  fi)r  ever  wed. 
As  1  am  wed  to  thee!" 

And  all  the  night  the  demon  lay 

Cold-chilling  by  his  side. 
And  strain'd  him  with  such  deadly  grasp 

He  thought  he  should  have  died  ' 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


291 


Rut  when  the  dawn  of  day  was  near, 

Tlie  liorrid  phantom  fled, 
And  lelt  I  he  allVijrhted  youth  to  weep 

By  Isabel  in  W-.d. 

All,  all  that  day  a  gloomy  cloud 
Was  seen  on  Rupert's  brows; 

Fair  Isabel  was  likewise  sad. 
But  strove  to  cheer  her  spouse. 

(Vnd,  as  the  day  advanced,  he  thoughv 
Of  coining  night  with  fear: 

\'n  !  that  he  must  with  terror  view 
The  bed  that  should  be  dear! 

At  length  the  second  night  arrived, 
Again  their  couch  they  press'd  ; 

f'oor  Rupert  hoped  that  all  was  o'er, 
And  look'd  for  love  and  rest. 

But  oh  !  when  midnight  came,  afain 

The  fiend  was  at  his  side. 
And,  as  it  strain'd  him  in  its  grasp, 

With  howl  exulting  cried, — 

"  Husband  !  husband  !  I  've  the  ring. 
The  ring  thou  gavost  to  me; 

And  thou  'rt  to  me  for  ever  wed. 
As  I  am  wed  to  thee  !" 

In  agony  of  wild  despair. 

He  started  from  the  bed ; 
And  thus  to  his  bewilder'd  wife 

The  trembling  Rupert  said  : 

"  Oh  Isabel !  dost  thou  not  see 

A  shape  of  horrors  here. 
That  strains  me  to  the  deadly  kiss, 

And  keeps  me  from  my  dear  ?" 

"  No,  no,  my  love  !  my  Rupert,  I 

No  shape  of  horror  see  ; 
And  much  I  mourn-  the  phantasy 

That  keeps  my  dear  from  me  !" 

This  night,  just  like  the  night  before. 

In  terrors  pass'd  away. 
Nor  did  the  demon  vanish  thence 

Before  the  dawn  of  day. 

Says  Rupert  then,  "  My  Isabel, 

Dear  partner  of  my  woe. 
To  Father  Austin's  holy  cave 

This  instant  will  I  go." 

Now  Austin  was  a  reverend  man, 
W'ho  acted  wondrous  maint. 

Whom  all  the  country  round  believed 
A  devil  or  a  saint ! 

To  Father  Austin's  holy  cave 
Then  Rupert  went  full  straight. 

And  told  him  all,  and  ask'd  him  how 
To  remedy  his  fate. 

The  father  heard  the  youth,  and  then 

Retired  awhile  to  pray  ; 
And   having  pray'd  for  half  an  hour, 

Return'd,  and  thus  did  say  : 


"  There  is  a  place  where  four  roads  meet. 

Which  I  will  tell  to  thee ; 
Be  there  this  eve,  at  fall  of  night, 

And  list  what  thou  shall  see. 

Thou  'It  see  a  group  of  figtires  pass 

In  strange  disorder'd  crowd, 
Trav'ling  by  torch-light  through  the  roada. 

With  noises  strange  and  loud. 

And  one  that 's  high  above  the  rest. 

Terrific  towering  o'er. 
Will  make  thee  know  him  at  a  glance, 

So  I  need  say  no  more. 

To  him  from  me  these  tablets  give, 

They  '11  soon  be  understood  ; 
Thou  need'st  not  fear,  but  give  them  straight, 

1  've  scrawl'd  them  with  my  blood !" 

The  night-fall  came,  and  Rupert  all 

In  pale  amazement  went 
To  where  the  cross-roads  met,  and  he 

Was  by  the  father  sent. 

And  lo !  a  group  of  figures  came 

In  strange  disorder'd  crowd, 
Trav'hng  by  torch-light  through  the  roada, 

With  noises  strange  and  loud. 

And  as  the  gloomy  train  advanced, 

Rupert  beheld  from  fiir 
A  female  form  of  wanton  mien 

Seated  upon  a  car. 

And  Rupert,  as  he  gazed  upon 

The  loosely-vested  dame. 
Thought  of  the  marble  statue's  look, 

For  hers  was  just  the  same. 

Behind  herwalk'd  a  hideous  form. 

With  eye-balls  flashing  death  ; 
Whene'er  he  breath'd,  a  sulphur'd  smoke 

Came  burning  in  his  breath  ! 

He  seem'd  the  first  of  all  the  crowd 

Terrific  towering  o'er; 
"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Rupert,  "  this  is  he, 

And  1  need  ask  no  more." 

Then  slow  lie  went,  and  to  this  fiend 

Tlie  tablets  trembling  gave. 
Who  look'd  and  read  them  with  a  ye.. 

That  would  disturb  the  grave. 

And  when  he  saw  the  blood-scrawl'd  namn, 

His  eyes  with  fury  shine  ; 
"  I  thought,"  cries  he,  "  his  time  was  out, 

But  he  must  soon  be  mine  !" 

Then  darting  at  the  youth  a  look. 

Which  rent  his  soul  with  fear. 
He  went  unto  the  female  fiend. 

And  whisper'd  in  her  ear. 

The  female  fiend  no  sooner  heard 

Than,  with  reluctant  look. 
The  very  ring  tliat  Rupert  lost 

She  from  her  finger  tooW  • 


292 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And,  giving  ii  unto  the  youth, 
With  eyes  that  bieath'd  of  hell, 

She  said  in  that  tremendous  voice 
Which  he  remember'd  well : 

"  In  Austin's  name  take  back  the  ring, 
The  ring  thou  gavest  to  me ; 

And  thou  'rt  to  me  no  longer  wed, 
Nor  longer  I  to  thee." 

He  took  the  ring,  the  rabble  pass'd, 

He  home  retuiii'd  again  ; 
His  wife  was  then  the  happiest  fair, 

The  happiest  he  of  men. 


SONG. 
ON  THE  BFSTH  DAY  OF  MRS. 


WRITTEN  IN  IRELAND. 

Of  all  my  happiest  hours  of  joy. 
And  even  I  have  had  my  measure, 

When  hearts  were  full  and  every  eye 
Has  kindled  with  the  beams  of  pleasure  ! 

Such  hours  as  this  I  ne'er  was  given. 
So  dear  to  friendship,  so  dear  to  blisses  ; 

Young  Love  himself  looks  down  from  heaven. 
To  smile  on  such  a  day  as  this  is ! 

Then,  oh  !  my  friends,  this  hour  improve, 
Let 's  feel  as  if  we  ne'er  could  sever  ! 

And  may  the  birth  of  her  wc  love 
Be  thus  with  joy  remember'd  ever ! 

Oh !  banish  every  thought  to-night, 

Which  could  disturb  our  souls'  communion  ' 
Abandoii'd  thus  to  dear  dehght. 

We'll  e'en  for  once  forget  the  Union! 

On  that  let  statesmen  try  their  powers, 

And  tremble  o'er  the  rights  they  'd  die  for; 

The  union  of  the  soul  be  ours. 
And  every  union  else  we  sigh  for ! 

Then,  oh  !  my  friends,  this  hour  improve. 
Let 's  feel  as  if  wc  ne'er  could  sever; 

And  may  the  birth  of  her  wc  love 
He  thus  with  joy  remember'd  ever ! 

In  every  eye  around  I  mark 

The  feelings  of  the  heart  o'erflowing, 
From  every  soul  I  catch  the  spnrk 

Of  sympathy  in  friendship  glowing! 

Oh  !  coiild  such  moments  ever  fly  : 

Oh  !  that  we  nf '<^'  were  doom'd  to  lose  'em ; 
And  all  as  brigru  as  Charlotte's  eye, 

And  all  as  pure  as  Charlotte's  bosom. 

But  oh  !  my  friends,  this  hour  improve, 
iX't  s  leel  as  if  we  ne'er  could  sever ; 

And  may  the  birth  of  her  we  love 
Be  thus  with  joy  romemljer'd  ever  ! 

For  me,  whate'er  my  span  of  years. 
Whatever  sun  may  light  ray  roving; 


Whether  I  waste  my  life  in  tears. 

Or  live,  as  now,  for  mirth  and  loving  ! 

This  day  shall  come  with  aspect  kind, 
Wherever  Fatf  may  cast  your  rover ; 

He  'II  think  of  those  he  left  behind. 

And  drink  a  health  to  bliss  that 's  over  ! 

Then,  oh  !  my  friends,  this  hour  improve, 
Let 's  feel  as  if  we  ne'er  could  sevei 

And  may  the  birth  of  her  we  love 
Be  thus  with  joy  remember'd  ever  '. 


TO  A  BOY,  WITH  A  WATCH. 

WRITTEN  FOR  A  FRIEND. 

Is  it  not  sweet,  beloved  youth. 

To  rove  through  erudition's  bowers, 

And  cull  the  golden  fruits  of  truth. 
And  gather  fancy's  brilliant  flowers? 

And  is  it  not  more  sweet  ihan  this 
To  feel  thy  parents'  hearts  approving, 

And  pay  thein  hack  in  sums  of  bliss 
The  dear,  the  endless  debt  of  loving? 

It  must  be  so  to  thee,  my  youth ; 

With  this  idea  toil  is  lighter; 
This  sweetens  all  the  fruits  of  truth. 

And  makes  the  flowers  of  fancy  brighter! 

The  little  gift  we  send  thee,  boy, 

3Iay  sometimes  teach  thy  soul  to  ponder 

If  indolence  or  syren  joy 

Should  ever  tempt  that  soul  to  wander. 

'T  will  tell  thee  that  the  winged  day 
Can  ne'er  be  chain'd  by  man's  endeavour ; 

That  life  and  time  shall  fade  away. 

While  heaven  and  virtue  bloom  for  ever ! 


FRAGMENTS  OF  COLLEGE  EXERCISES 

Nobilitas  sola  est  atiine  iinica  virtus.  Jul-. 

Mark  those  proud  boasters  of  a  splendid  line, 
Like  gililed  ruins,  moukk^ring  while  they  shine, 
How  heavy  sils  that  weight  of  alien  show, 
Like  martial  helm  upon  an  infant's  brow  ; 
Those  borrow'd  splendours,  whose  contrasting  light 
Throws  back  the  native  shades  in  deeper  night. 

Ask  the  proud  train  who  glory's  shade  pursue, 
Where  are  the  arts  by  which  that  glory  grew  ? 
The  genuine  virtues  that  with  eaglr  gaze 
Souglil  young  Renown  in  all  her  orient  blaze? 
Where  is  the  heart  by  chymic  truth  refined. 
The  exploring  soul,  whose  eye  had  read  mankind  ( 
Where  are  the  links  that  twined  with  heavenly  art. 
flis  country's  interest  round  the  patriot's  heart  ? 
Where  is  the  tongue  that  scatter'd  words  of  lire? 
The  spirit  brcathiiig  througli  the  poet's  lyre? 
Do  these  descend  with  all  that  tide  of  fame 
Which  vainly  vvalers  an  iinl'ruitful  name  ? 


Justum  bclluin  quibus  nuci'ssariuin,  et  piu  armn  (|iiiIiub 
tiillu  11181  in  uriiii^  rulin(|uitur  s{>es.  I.icij. 


Is  iliere  no  call,  no  consecrating  cause, 
Approved  by  Heaven,  ordain'd  by  Nature's  laws, 
VVIioro  justice  Hies  the  herald  of  our  way, 
And  truth's  pure  beams  upon  the  banners  play  ? 

\'fs,  there's  a  call,  sweet  as  an  angel's  breath 
To  slumbering  babes,  or  innocence  in  death ; 
And  urgent  as  the  tongue  of  heaven  within, 
When  the  mind's  balance  trembles  upon  sin. 

Dh  I  't  is  our  country's  voice,  whose  claims  should 

meet 
An  echo  in  the  soul's  most  deep  retreat ; 
Along  the  heart's  responding  string  should  run, 
Nor  lot  a  tone  there  vibrate — but  the  one  ! 


SONG.' 


Mary,  I  believed  thee  true, 

And  I  was  blest  in  thus  believing; 

But  now  I  mourn  that  e'er  I  knew 
A  girl  so  fair  and  so  deceiving  ! 

Few  have  ever  loved  like  me, — 
Oh  !  I  have  loved  thee  too  sincerely  ! 

And  few  have  e'er  deceived  like  thee, — 
Alas  !  deceived  me  too  severely  ! 

Fare  thee  well !  yet  think  awhile 

On  one  whose  bosom  bleeds  to  doubt  thee ; 
Who  now  would  rather  trust  that  smile, 

And  die  with  thee,  than  live  without  thee ! 

Fare  thee  well  !  I'll  think  of  thee. 
Thou  leavest  me  many  a  bitter  token  ; 

For  see,  distracting  woman  !  see. 

My  peace  is  gone,  my  heart  is  broken  ! 
Fare  thee  well ! 


SONG. 

Why  does  azure  deck  the  sky  ? 

'T  is  to  be  like  thy  eyes  of  blue  ; 
Why  is  rpd  the  rose's  dye  ? 

Because  it  is  thy  blush's  hue. 
All  that's  fair,  by  Love's  decree. 
Has  been  made  resembling  thee  ! 

Why  is  faUing  snow  so  white. 

But  to  be  like  thy  bosom  fair  ? 
Why  are  solar  beams  so  bright  ? 

That  they  may  seem  thy  golden  hair ! 
All  that 's  bright,  by  Love's  decree, 
Has  been  made  resembling  thee  ! 

Why  are  Nature's  beauties  felt  ? 

Oh  !  't  is  thine  in  her  we  see  ! 
Why  has  music  power  to  melt  ? 

Oh  !  because  it  speaks  like  thee. 
All  that 's  sweet,  by  Love's  decree, 
Has  been  made  resembling  thee ! 

1   I  believe  these  uo'ds  were  ailanted  by  Mr.  Lillle  to  llie 
pathetic  Scotch  air  "  Galla  Water." — E. 


MORALITY. 
A  FAMILIAR  KIMSTLH. 

AhDIlK.SijKI)    TO    J.  AT — .NS — N,  ESQ.  M.  R.  I.  A 

Tiiouyii  long  at  school  and  college,  dozing 
On  books  of  rhyme  and  books  of  prosing, 
And  copying  from  thmr  moral  pages 
Fine  rccipo.i  for  forming  sages  ; 
Though  long  with  those  divines  at  school, 
Who  think  to  make  us  good  by  rule; 
Who,  in  methodic  forms  advancing. 
Teaching  morality  like  dancing, 
Tell  us,  for  Heaven  or  money's  sake. 
What  sU'px  we  are  through  litia  to  take  : 
Though  thus,  my  friiMid,  .-.o  long  emploj'd 
And  so  much  midnight  oil  dcstroy'd, 
I  must  confess,  my  searches  past, 
I  only  learn'd  to  dould  at  last. 

I  find  the  doctors  and  the  sages 

Have  differ'd  in  all  climes  and  ages, 

And  two  in  til'ty  scarce  agree 

On  wliat  is  pure  morality  ! 

'T  is  like  the  rainbow's  shifting  zone, 

And  every  vision  makes  its  own. 

The  doctors  of  the  Porch  advise, 
As  modes  of  being  groat  and  wise, 
That  we  should  cease  to  own  or  know 
The  luxuries  that  from  feeling  flow 

"  Reason  alone  must  claim  direction 
And  Apathy's  the  soul's  perfection. 
Like  a  dull  lake  the  heart  must  lie ; 
Nor  passion's  gale  nor  pleasure's  sigh. 
Though  heaven  the  breeze,  the  breath  supplied 
I\Iust  curl  the  wave  or  swell  the  tide  !" 

Such  was  the  rigid  Zeno's  plan 

To  fonn  his  philosophic  man  ; 

Such  were  the  modes  he  taught  mankind 

To  weed  the  garden  oi  the  mind  ; 

They  tore  away  some  weeds,  't  is  true. 

But  all  the  flowers  were  ravish'd  too ! 

Now  listen  to  the  wily  strains. 

Which,  on  Gyrene's  sandy  plains. 

When  Pleasure,  nymph  with  loosen'd  zone, 

Usurp'd  the  philosophic  throne  ; 

Hear  what  the  courtly  sage's  tongue* 

To  his  surrounding  pupils  sung : 

"  Pleasure's  the  only  noble  end 
To  which  all  human  powers  should  tend 
And  Virtue  gives  her  heavenly  lore, 
But  to  make  Pleasure  please  us  more  • 
Wisdom  and  she  were  both  design'd 
To  make  the  senses  more  refined. 
That  man  might  revel,  free  from  cloying, 
Then  most  a  sage,  when  most  enjoying  '" 


1  The  gentleman  to  whom  this  poem  is  addressed,  is  the 
author  of  sonic  esteemed  works,  and  was  Mr.  Liltle  s  mo« 
parlicnlar  Iriciid.  I  have  heard  .Mr.  Little  very  fre(]upml} 
speali  of  him  as  one  in  whom  "  the  elements  were  so  iinx 
ed,"  that  neither  in  his  head  nor  heart  had  nature  l^fl  ar' 
deficiency. — E. 

2  Aristippus. 


Is  this  morality  ? — Oh,  no  ! 
E'en  I  a  wiser  path  could  show. 
The  flower  within  this  vase  confined, 
The  pure,  the  unfading  flower  of  mind, 
3Iust  not  throw  all  its  sweets  away 
Upon  a  mortal  mould  of  clay  i 
No,  no  !  its  richest  breath  should  rise 
In  virtue's  incense  to  the  skies  ! 

But  thus  it  is,  all  sects,  we  see, 

Have  watch-words  of  morality  : 

Some  cry  out  Venus,  others  Jove ; 

Here't  is  religion,  there  't  is  love  ! 

But  while  they  thus  so  widely  wander, 

While  mystics  dream  and  doctors  ponder, 

And  some,  in  dialectics  fimi, 

Seek  virtue  in  a  middle  term; 

While  thus  they  strive,  in  Heaven's  defiance, 

To  chain  morality  with  science  ; 

This  plain  good  man,  whose  actions  teach 

More  virtue  than  a  sect  can  preach, 

Pursues  his  course,  unsagely  blest. 

His  tutor  whispering  in  his  breast: 

Nor  co\ild  he  act  a  purer  part. 

Though  he  had  Tully  all  by  heart ; 

And  when  he  drops  the  tear  on  woe, 

He  little  knows  or  cares  to  know 

That  Et)ic.tetus  blamed  that  tear. 

By  Htu.en  approved,  to  virtue  dear! 

Oh  !  when  I  've  seen  the  morning  beam 
Floatmg  within  the  dimpled  stream. 
While  Nature,  wakening  from  the  night. 
Has  just  put  on  her  robes  of  light. 
Have  I,  with  cold  optician's  gaze. 
Explored  the  durtrine  of  those  rays? 
No,  pedants,  I  have  left  to  you 
Nicely  to  separate  hue  from  hue ; 
Go,  give  that  moment  up  to  art. 
When  Heaven  and  Nature  claim  the  heart; 
And  dull  to  a.i  their  best  attraction. 
Go  —measure  angles  of  refraction  ! 


While  I,  in  feeling's  sweet  romance, 
Look  on  each  day-beam  as  a  glance 
From  the  great  eye  of  Him  above. 
Wakening  his  world  with  looks  of  love! 


THE  NATAL  GENIUS. 

A  DREAM. 
,    THE    MORNING    OF    HER.    BIRTH-DAI 


In  witching  slumbers  of  the  night, 
I  dream'd  I  was  the  airy  sprite 

That  on  thy  natal  moment  smiled  ; 
And  thought  I  wafted  on  my  wing 
Those  flowers  which  in  Elysium  spring, 

To  crown  my  lovely  mortal  child. 

With  olive-branch  I  bound  thy  head, 
Heart's-ease  along  thy  path  I  shed, 

Which  was  to  bloom  through  all  thy  veara 
Nor  yet  did  I  forget  to  bind 
Love's  roses,  with  his  myrtle  twined, 

And  dew'd  by  sympathetic  tears. 

Such  was  the  wild  but  precious  booQ, 
Which  Fancy,  at  her  magic  noon. 

Bade  me  to  Nona's  image  pay — 
Oh  !  were  I,  love,  thus  doom'd  to  be 
Thy  little  guardian  deity. 

How  blest  around  thy  steps  I  'd  play  ! 

Thy  life  should  softly  steal  along. 
Calm  as  some  lonely  shepherd's  song 

That 's  heard  at  distance  in  the  grove  ; 
No  cloud  should  ever  shade  thy  sky, 
No  thorns  along  thy  pathway  lie,  ^ 

But  all  be  sunshine,  peace,  and  love 

The  wing  of  Time  should  never  brush 
Thy  dewy  lip's  luxuriant  flush. 

To  bid  its  roses  withering  die  ; 
Nor  age  itself,  though  dim  and  dark, 
Should  ever  quench  a  single  spark 

That  flashes  from  my  Nona's  eje  ! 


THE  L.OVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


PREFACE. 

This  Poein,  somewhat  different  in  form,  and  much 
more  hmited  in  extent,  was  originally  designed  as  an 
tjiisode  for  a  work  about  which  1  have  been,  at  inter- 
vals, employed  during  the  last  two  years.  Some 
months  sint-e,  however,  I  found  tliat  my  friend  Lord 
Byron  had,  by  an  accidental  coincidence,  chosen  the 

"no  subject  for  a  drama  ;  and  as  I  could  not  but  feel 
the  disadvantage  of  coming  aflejj  so  formidable  a 
rival,  I  thought  it  best  to  publish  my  humble  sketch 
immediately,  with  such  alterations  and  additions  as  I 
had  time  to  make,  and  thus,  by  an  earlier  appearance 
in  the  literary  horizon,  give  myself  the  chance  of  what 
astronomers  call  an  Hcliuail  rising,  before  the  lumi- 
nary, in  whose  light  I  was  to  be  lost,  should  appear. 

As  objections  may  be  made,  by  persons  whose 
opinions  I  respect,  to  the  selection  of  a  subject  of 
this  nature  from  the  Scripture,  I  think  it  right  to  re- 
mark that,  in  point  of  fact,  the  subject  is  not.  scrip- 
tural— the  notion  upon  which  it  is  founded  (that  of 
the  love  of  angels  for  women;  having  originated  in 
an  erroneous  translation  by  the  LXX,  of  that  verse 
in  the  sixth  chapter  of  Genesis,  upon  which  the  sole 
authority  for  the  fable  rests.'  The  foundation  of  my 
story,  therefore,  has  as  little  to  do  with  Holy  Writ  as 
have  the  dreams  of  the  later  I'latonists,  or  the  reve- 
ries of  the  Jewish  divines  ;  and,  in  appropriating  the 
notion  thus  to  the  uses  of  poetry,  I  have  done  no 
more  tlian  establish  it  in  tliat  region  of  fiction,  to 
whicti  the  opinions  of  the  most  rational  Fathers,  and 
of  all  other  Christian  theologians,  have-long  ago  con- 
signed it 

In  addition  to  the  fitness  of  the  subject  for  poetry. 
It  struck  me  also  as  capable  of  affording  an  allegori- 
cal medium,  through  which  might  be  shadowed  out 
(as  I  have  endeavoured  to  do  in  the  following  stories,) 
the  fall  of  the  soul  from  its  original  purity — the  loss 
of  ligilt  and  happiness  which  it  suffers,  in  the  pursuit 
of  this  world's  perishable  pleasures — and  the  punish- 
ments, both  from  conscience  and  divine  justice,  with 
xWnch  impurity,  pride,  and  presumptuous  inquiry  into 
the  awful  secrets  of  (iod,  are  sure  to  be  visited.  The 
t)cautiful  story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche  owes  its  chief 
cnarm  to  this  sort  of  "veiled  meaning,"  and  it  has 
been  my  wish  (however  I  may  have  failed  in  the  at- 
leinpt)  to  communicate  the  same  moral  interest  to 
the  following  pages. 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 

TwAS  when  the  world  was  in  its  prime, 
When  tlie  fresh  stars  had  just  begun 

fheir  race  of  glory,  ami  young  Time 
Told  his  first  birth-days  by  the  sun ; 


1  See  Note. 


'When,  in  the  light  of  Nature  s  dawn 

Rejoicing,  men  and  angels  met 
On  the  high  hill  and  sunny  lawn, — 
Ere  Sorrow  came,  or  Sin  had  drawn 

'Twixt  man  and  Heaven  her  curtain  yet! 
When  earth  lay  nearer  to  the  skies 

Than  in  these  days  of  crime  and  woe. 
And  mortals  saw,  without  surprise, 
In  the  mid  air,  angelic  eyes 

Gazing  upon  this  world  below. 
Alas,  that  passion  should  profane, 

Even  then,  that  morning  of  the  earth  ! 
That,  sadder  still,  the  fital  stain 

Should  fall  on  hearts  of  heavenly  birtb- 
And  oh,  that  stain  so  dark  should  fall 
From  woman's  love,  most  sad  of  all! 

One  evening,  in  that  time  of  bloom. 

On  a  hill's  side,  where  hung  the  ray 
Of  sunset,  sleeping  in  perfume. 

Three  noble  youths  conversing  lay; 
And  as  thev  look'd,  from  time  to  time, 

To  the  far  sky,  where  Uay-light  furl'd 
His  radiant  wing,  their  brows  sublime 

Bespoke  them  of  that  distant  world — 
Creatures  of  light,  such  as  still  play, 

Like  motes  in  sunshine,  round  the  Lord, 
And  through  their  infinite  array 
Transmit  each  moment,  night  and  day, 

The  echo  of  his  luminous  word  ! 

Of  heavon  they  spoke,  and,  still  more  ofl, 

Of  the  bright  eyes  that  charm'd  them  thenc* 
Till,  yielding  gradual  to  the  soft 

And  balmy  evening's  influence — 
The  silent  breathing  of  the  flowers — 

The  melting  light  that  beam'd  above, 
As  on  their  first  fond  erring  hours, 

Each  told  the  story  of  his  love, 
The  history  of  that  hour  unblest. 
When,  like  a  bird,  from  its  high  nest 
Won  down  by  fascinating  eyes, 
For  woman's  smile  he  lost  the  skies. 

The  First  who  spoke  was  one,  with  look 

The  least  celestial  of  the  three — 
A  Spirit  of  light  mould,  that  took 

The  prints  of  earth  most  yieldingly ; 
Who,  even  in  heaven,  was  not  of  those 

Nearest  the  throne,  but  held  a  place 
Far  off,  among  those  shining  rows 

That  circle  out  through  endless  space. 
And  o'er  whose  wings  the  light  from  IV.m 

In  the  great  centre  falls  most  dim. 

Still  fair  and  glorious,  he  but  shone 
Among  those  youths  the  unheavenliest  one- 
A  creature  to  whom  li<rht  rcmain'd 
From  Eden  still,  but  alter'd,  slain'd. 

295 


296 


MOORE'S  WORftS 


And  o'er  whose  brow  not  I.ove  alone 
A  blight  had,  in  his  transit,  sent. 

But  othfM-,  earthlier  joys  had  gone, 
And  left  their  foot-prints  as  they  went. 

Sighing,  as  through  tlie  shadowy  Past, 
Like  a  tomb-searcher,  Memory  ran. 

Lifting  each  shroud  that  time  had  cast 
O'er  buried  hopes,  he  thus  began  :— 

FIRST  ANGEL'S  STORY 


T  was  in  a  land,  that  fir  away 

Into  the  golden  orient  lies, 
Where  Nature  knows  not  Night's  delay. 
But  springs  lo  meet  her  bridegroom,  Day, 

Upon  the  threshold  of  the  skies 
One  morn,  on  earthly  mission  sent, 

And  midway  choosing  where  to  light, 
I  saw  from  the  blue  element — 

Oh  beautiful,  but  fatal  sight  !— 
One  of  earth's  fairest  womankind. 
Half  veil'd  from  view,  or  rather  shriped 
In  the  clear  crystal  of  a  brook; 

Which,  while  it  hid  no  single  gleam 
Of  her  young  beauties,  made  them  look 

More  spirit-like,  as  they  might  seem 

Through  the  dim  shadowing  of  a  dream 

Pausing  in  wonder  I  look'd  on. 

While,  playfully  around  her  breaking 
The  waters,  that  like  diamonds  shone. 

She  mov'd  in  light  of  her  own  making. 
At  length,  as  slowly  I  descended 
To  view  more  near  a  sight  so  splendid, 
The  tremble  of  my  wings  all  o'er 

(For  through  each  plume  I  felt  the  thrill) 
Startled  her,  a."  she  reach'd  the  shore 

Of  that  small  lake — her  mirror  still — 
Above  whose  brink  slie  stood,  like  snow 
When  rosy  vvith  a  sunset  glow. 
Never  shall  I  forget  those  eyes  ! — 
The  shatne,  the  innocent  surprise 
Of  that  bright  face,  when  in  the  ail 
Tplooking,  she  beheld  me  there. 
It  scem'd  as  if  each  thought  and  look. 

And  motion  were  that  minute  chain'd 
Fast  to  the  spot,  such  root  she  took, 
And— like  a  sunflower  by  a  brook. 

With  face  upturn'd — so  still  remain'd! 

In  pity  to  the  wondering  maid, 

Though  loth  from  such  a  vision  turning. 
Downward  1  bent,  beneath  the  shade 

Of  my  spread  wings,  to  hide  the  burning 
Of  glances  which — 1  well  could  feel — 

For  me,  for  her,  too  warmly  shone; 
But  ere  I  could  again  unseal 
My  restless  eyes,  or  even  steal 

One  side-long  look,  the  maid  was  gone — 
Hid  from  me  in  the  forest  leav<!s. 

Sudden  as  when,  in  all  iicr  charms 
Of  fiill-hlowM  light,  some  cloud  receives 

Tlie  nunn  into  liis  dusky  arms 


'T  is  not  in  words  to  tell  the  power, 
The  despotism,  that,  from  that  hour, 
Passion  held  o'er  me — day  and  night 

I  sought  around  each  neighbouring  spot. 
And,  in  the  chase  of  this  sweet  light, 

I\Iy  task,  and  Heaven,  and  all  forgot— 
All  but  the  one,  sole,  haunting  dream 
Of  her  I  saw  in  that  bright  stream. 

Nor  was  it  long,  ere  by  her  side 

I  found  myself  whole  happy  days, 
Listening  to  words,  whose  music  vied 

With  our  own  Eden's  seraph  lays. 
When  seraph  lays  are  vvarm'd  by  love. 
But  wanting  that,  far,  far  above  ! — 
And  looking  into  eyes  where,  blue 
And  beautiful,  like  skies  seen  through 
The  sleeping  wave,  for  me  there  shone 
A  heaven  more  worsliipp'd  than  my  ovin 
Oh  what,  while  I  could  hear  and  see 
Such  words  and  looks,  was  heaven  to  me  ? 
Though  gross  the  air  on  earth  I  drew, 
'T  was  blessed,  while  she  breathed  it  too  ; 
Though  dark  the  flowers,  though  dim  the  skj. 
Love  lent  thein  light,  while  she  was  nigh. 
Throughout  creation  I  but  knew 
Two  separate  worlds — the  one,  that  small, 

Beloved,  and  consecrated  spot 
Where  Lea  was — tlie  other,  all 

The  dull  wide  waste,  where  she  was  not .' 

But  vain  my  suit,  my  madness  vain ; 
Though  gladly,  from  her  eyes  to  gain 
One  earthly  look,  one  stray  desire, 

I  would  have  torn  the  v\'ings  that  hung 
Furl'd  at  my  back,  and  o'er  that  Fire 

Unnamed  in  heaven  their  fragments  flung :- 
'T  was  hopeless  all — pure  and  unmoved 

She  stood,  as  lilies  in  tlie  light 

Of  the  hot  noon  but  look  more  white ; — 
And  though  she  loved  me,  deeply  loved, 
'T  was  not  as  man,  as  mortal — no. 
Nothing  of  earth  was  in  tliat  glow — 
She  loved  me  but  as  one,  of  race 
Angelic,  from  that  radiant  place 
She  saw  so  oft  in  dreams — that  heaven. 

To  which  her  prayers  at  morn  were  sent, 
And  on  whose  light  she  gazed  at  even, 
Wishing  for  wings,  that  she  miglit  go 
Out  of  this  shadowy  world  below, 

To  that  free  glorious  element ! 

Well  I  remember  ny  her  side, 

Sitting  at  rosy  eventide;, 

Wluui,  tuniiijg  to  the  star,  whose  head 

Lo(ik'd  out,  as  from  a  bridal  bed. 

At  that  mute  blushing  hour, — she  said, 

"  Oh  !  that  it  wore  my  doom  to  be 

The  Spirit  of  yon  bciutcous  star, 
Dwelling  up  there  in  purity. 

Alone,  as  all  such  bright  things  are; — 
IMy  s()l(!  employ  lo  pray  and  shine, 

To  light  my  ccusct  at  the  sun. 
And  fling  its  tire  towards  the  shrine 

Of  Him  in  Heaven,  the  Eternal  One  "' 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


297 


So  innocent  the  maid — so  free 

From  mortal  taint  in  soul  and  frame, 

Whom  'f  was  my  crime — tny  destiny — 
To  love,  ay,  Imrn  for,  with  a  flame, 
To  which  earth's  wildest  fires  are  tame. 

[lad  you  but  seen  her  look,  when  first 

From  my  mad  lips  the  avowal  burst ; 

Not  angry — no — the  feeling  had 

No  touch  of  anger,  but  most  sad — 

li  was  a  sorrow,  calm  as  deep, 

A  mournfulncss  that  could  not  weep, 

So  fill'd  the  ht^art  was  to  the  brink. 

So  fix'd  and  frozen  there — to  think 

That  angel  natures — even  1, 

Whose  love  she  clung  to,  as  the  tie 

Between  her  spirit  and  the  sky — 

Should  fall  thus  headlong  from  the  height 
Of  such  pure  glory  into  sin — 

The  sin,  of  all,  most  sure  to  blight, — 

The  sin,  of  all,  that  the  soul's  light 
Is  soonest  lost,  exlinguish'd  in  ! 

That,  though  but  frail  and  human,  she 

Should,  like  the  half-bird  of  the  sea, 

Try  with  her  wing  subhmcr  air. 

While  I,  a  creature  born  up  there. 

Should  meet  her,  in  my  fall  from  light, 

From  heaven  and  peace,  and  turn  her  flight 

Downward  again,  with  me  to  drink 

Of  the  salt  tide  of  sin,  and  sink  ! 

That  very  night — my  heart  had  grown 

Impatient  of  its  inward  burning; 
The  term,  too,  of  my  stay  was  down. 
And  the  bright  Watchers'  near  the  throne 
Already,  if  a  meteor  shone 
Between  them  and  this  nether  zone. 
Thought  't  was  their  herald's  wing  returning: — 
Of\  did  the  potent  spoli-word,  given 

To  envoys  hither  from  the  skies. 
To  be  pronounced,  when  back  to  heaven 

h  is  their  hour  or  wish  to  rise. 
Come  to  my  lips  that  fatal  day ; 

And  once,  too,  was  so  nearly  spoken. 
That  my  spread  plumage  in  the  ray 
And  breeze  of  heaven  began  to  play — 

When  my  heart  fail'd — the  spell  was  broken — 
The  word  unfinished  died  away. 
And  my  check'd  plumes,  ready  to  soar, 
Fell  slack  and  lifeless  as  before. 

How  could  I  leave  a  world  which  she, 
Or  lost  or  won,  made  all  to  me. 
Beyond  home — glory — every  thing? 

How  fly,  while  yet  there  was  a  chance, 
A  hope — ay,  even  of  perishing 

I'tterly  by  that  fatal  glance  ? 
No  matter  where  my  wanderings  were. 

So  there  she  look'd,  moved,  breathed  about — 
Woe,  nun,  death,  more  sweet  with  her. 

Than  all  heaven's  proudest  joys  without ! 

Hut,  to  return — that  very  day 

A  feast  was  held,  where,  full  of  mirth. 
Came,  crowding  thick  as  flowers  that  play 


1  Sco  Note. 


In  summer  winds,  the  young  and  gay 

And  beautiful  of  this  bright  earth. 
And  she  was  there,  and  'mid  the  young 

And  beautiliil  stood  first,  alone; 
Though  on  her  gentle  brow  still  hung 

The  shadow  1  that  morn  had  thrown — 
The  first  that  ever  shame  or  woe 
Had  cast  upon  its  vernal  snow. 
My  heart  was  madden'd — in  the  flush 

Of  the  wild  revel  1  gave  way 
To  all  that  frantic  mirth — that  rush 

Of  desperate  gaiety,  which  they 
Who  never  felt  how  pain's  excess 
Can  break  out  thus,  think  happiness — 
Sad  mimicry  of  mirth  and  life. 
Whose  (lashes  come  but  from  the  strife 
Of  inward  passions — like  the  light 
Struck  out  by  clashing  swords  in  fight. 

Then,  too,  that  juice  of  earth,  the  bane 
And  blessing  of  man's  heart  and  brain — 
That  draught  of  sorcery,  which  brings 
Phantoms  of  fair,  forbidden  things — 
Whose  drops,  like  those  of  rainbows,  smile 

Upon  the  mists  that  circle  man. 
Brightening  not  only  earth,  the  while. 

But  grasping  heaven,  too,  in  their  span  !— 
Then  first  the  fatal  wine-cup  rain'd 

Its  dews  of  darkness  through  my  Ups, 
Casting  whate'er  of  light  remain'd 

To  my  lost  soul  into  eclipse. 
And  filling  it  with  such  wild  dreams, 

Such  fantasies  and  wrong  desires. 
As  in  the  absence  of  heaven's  beams. 

Haunt  us  for  ever — like  wild  (ires 

That  walk  this  earth,  when  day  retires 

Now  hear  the  rest — our  banquet  done, 

I  sought  her  in  the  accustom'd  bowej 
Where  late  we  oft,  when  day  was  gone 
And  the  world  hush'd,  had  rnet  alone, 

At  the  same  silent  inoonlight  hour. 
I  found  her — oh,  so  beautiful ! 

Why,  why  have  hapless  angels  eyes  ' 
Or  why  are  there  not  flowers  to  cull, 

As  fair  as  woman,  in  yon  skies  ? 
Still  did  her  brow,  as  usual,  turn 
To  her  loved  star,  which  seem'd  to  burn 

Purer  than  ever  on  that  night ; 

Wliile  she,  in  looking  grew  more  bright, 
As  though  that  planet  were  an  urn 

From  which  her  eyes  drank  liquid  light. 

There  was  a  virtue  in  that  scone, 

A  spell  of  holiness  around, 
Which  would  have — had  mj'  brain  not  l)ei;n 

Thus  poison'd,  madden'd — held  ine  bound. 

As  though  I  stood  on  fJod's  own  ground. 
Even  as  it  was,  with  soul  all  flame. 

And  lips  that  burn'd  in  their  own  sighs, 
I  stood  to  gaze,  with  awe  and  shame — 
The  memory  of  Eden  came 

Full  o'er  me  when  1  saw  those  eyes. 
And  though  too  well  each  glance  of  mine 

To  the  pale  shrinking  maiden  proved 
How  far,  alas,  from  aught  divini;. 


298 


MOOKE'S  WORKS. 


Aught  worthy  of  so  pure  a  shrine, 

VVas  the  wild  love  with  which  I  loved, 
Yet  must  she,  too,  have  seen — oh  yes, 

'T  is  soothing  but  to  think  she  saw  - 
The  deep,  true,  soul-i'ek  tenderness, 

The  homage  of  an  angel's  -we 
To  her,  a  mortal,  who"!  pure  love 
Then  plnrvd  above  him — far  above — 
And  ail  that  struggle  to  repress 
A.  sinful  spirit's  mad  excess. 
Which  work'd  within  me  at  that  hour, 

Wlien — with  a  voice,  where  Passion  shed 
All  '.he  deep  sadness  of  her  power. 

Her  melancholy  power — I  said, 
"  Then  be  it  so — if  back  to  heaven 

1  must  unloved,  unpitied  fly. 
Without  one  blest  memorial  given 

To  sooth  me  in  that  lonely  sky — 
One  look  like  those  the  young  and  fond 

Give  when  they're  parting — which  would  be, 
Even  in  remembrance,  far  beyond 

All  heaven  hath  left  of  bliss  for  me  ! 

"  Oh,  but  to  see  that  head  recline 

A  minute  on  this  trembling  arm. 
And  those  mild  eyes  look  up  to  mine 

Without  a  dread,  a  thought  of  harm  ! 
To  meet  but  once  the  thrilling  touch 

Of  lips  that  are  too  fond  to  fear  me — 
Or,  if  thnt  boon  be  all  too  much, 

Even  thus  to  bring  their  fragrance  near  me  ! 
Nay,  shrink  not  so — a  look — a  word — 
■     Give  them  but  kindly  and  I  fly  ; 
Already,  see,  my  plumes  have  stirr'd, 

And  tremble  for  their  home  on  high. 
Thus  bo  our  parting — cheek  to  cheek — 

One  minutu's  lapse  will  be  forgiven. 
And  thou,  the  next,  shalt  hear  me  speak 

The  spell  that  plumes  my  wing  for  heaven !" 

While  thus  I  spoke,  the  fearful  maid, 
Of  me  and  of  herself  afriyd. 
Had  shrinking  stood,  like  flowers  beneath 
The  scorching  of  the  south  wind's  breath; 
But  when  I  named — alas,  too  well 

I  now  recal,  though  wilder'd  then, — 
Instantly,  when  1  named  the  spell, 

Her  brow,  her  eyes  uprose  again. 
And,  with  an  eagerness  that  spoke 
The  sudden  light  ihat  o'er  her  broke, 
"  The  spell,  the  spell ! — oh,  speak  it  now. 

And  I  will  bless  thee  !"  she  exclaim'd — 

Unknowing  what  I  did,  inflamed. 
And  lost  already,  on  her  brow 

1  stamp'd  one  burning  kiss,  and  named 
The  mystic  word,  till  then  ne'er  told 
To  living  creature  of  earth's  mould  ! 
Scarce  was  it  said,  when,  quick  as  thought. 
Her  lips  from  mine,  like  echo,  ca:ight 
The  holy  sound — her  hands  and  eyes 
Were  instant  lifted  to  the  skies, 
\nd  thrice  to  heaven  slic  spoke  it  out, 

Willi  that  triumphant  look  Faith  wears 
When  nol  a  cloii/1  of  ieiir  or  doubt, 

A  vapour  from  this  vale  of  tears 

Boiwecn  her  and  lier  God  appears  ! 


That  very  moment  her  whole  frame 
All  bright  and  glorified  became. 
And  at  her  back  I  saw  unclose 
Two  wings  magnificent  as  those 

That  sparkle  round  the  eternal  throne. 
Whose  plumes,  as  buoyantly  she  rose 

Above  me,  in  the  moon-beam  shone 
With  a  pure  light,  which — from  its  hue, 
Unknown  upon  this  earth — 1  knew 
Was  light  from  Eden,  glistening  through 
Most  holy  vision  !  ne'er  before 

Did  aught  so  radiant — since  the  day 
When  Lucifer,  in  falling,  bore 

The  third  of  the  bright  stars  away — ' 
Rise,  in  earth's  beauiy,  to  repair 
That  loss  of  liglit  and  glory  there  I 

But  did  I  tamely  view  her  flight  ? 

Did  not  /,  too,  proclaim  out  thrice 

The  powerful  words  that  were,  that  nighty— 
Oh  even  for  Heaven  too  much  delight! — 

Again  to  bring  us  eyes  to  eyes. 

And  soul  to  soul  in  Paradise  ? 
I  did — I  spoke  it  o'er  and  o'er — 

I  pray'd,  I  wept,  but  all  in  vain ; 
For  me  the  spell  had  power  no  more, 

There  seem'd  around  me  some  dark  chain, 
Which  still,  as  I  essay'd  to  soar, 

Baflled,  alas  !  each  wild  endeavour  : 
Dead  lay  my  wings,  as  they  have  lain 
Since  that  sad  hour,  and  will  remain — 

So  wills  the  ofl'ended  Gou — for  ever  I 

It  was  to  yonder  star  1  traced 
Her  journey  up  the  illumined  waste — 
That  isle  in  the  blue  firmament. 
To  which  so  oft  her  fancy  went 

In  wishes  and  in  dreams  before. 
And  which  was  now — such.  Purity, 
Thy  blest  reward — ordain'd  to  be 

Her  home  of  light  for  evermore  ! 

Once — or  did  I  but  fancy  so  ? — 

Even  in  her  flight  to  that  fair  sphere, 

'Mid  all  her  spirit's  new-felt  glow, 

A  pitying  look  she  turn'd  below 

On  him  who  stood  in  darkness  here; 

Him  whom,  perhaps,  if  vain  regret 

Can  dwell  in  heaven,  she  pities  yet; 

And  oft,  when  looking  to  this  dim 

And  distant  world  remembers  him. 

But  soon  that  passing  dream  was  gone ; 
Farther  and  farther  ofl'she  shone. 
Till  lessen'd  to  a  point  as  small 

As  are  those  specks  that  yonder  burn— 
Those  vivid  drops  of  light,  that  fall 

The  last  from  day's  exhausted  urn. 
And  when  at  length  she  merged,  afar, 
Into  her  own  innnortal  star. 
And  when  at  length  my  straining  sight 

Had  ca\ight  her  wing's  last  fading  ray, 
That  minute  from  my  soul  the  light 

Of  heaven  and  love  both  pass'd  away; 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


299 


Ajid  I  forgot  my  home,  my  birth, 
Profaned  my  spirit,  sunk  my  brow, 

And  revcll'd  in  gross  joys  of  eartli, 
Till  1  became — what  i  am  now ! 

The  Spirit  bow'd  his  head  in  shame  ; 

A  shame  that  of  itself  would  tell— 
Were  there  not  oven  those  breaks  of  flame, 
Celestial,  tiiroiigh  his  clouded  frame — 

How  grand  the  height  from  which  he  fell! 
That  hoij  Shame  which  ne'er  forgets 

What  clear  renown  it  used  to  wear; 
Whose  blush  rem;uns,  when  Virtue  sets. 

To  show  iier  sunshine  /las  been  there. 
Once  only,  while  the  tale  he  told. 
Were  his  eyes  lifted  to  behold 
That  happy  stainless  star,  where  she 
Dwelt  in  her  bower  of  purity  ! 
One  minute  did  ho  look,  and  then— 

As  though  he  felt  some  deadly  pain 

From  its  sweet  light  through  heart  and  brain- 
Shrunk  back,  and  never  look'd  again. 


WTio  was  the  Second  Spirit  ? — he 

WHth  the  proud  front  and  piercing  glance — 

W'ho  seom'd,  when  viewing  heaven's  expanse, 
As  though  his  far-sent  eye  could  see 
On,  on  into  the  Immensity 
Behind  the  veils  of  that  blue  sky, 
Where  God's  sublimest  secrets  lie? — 
His  wings  the  while,  though  day  was  gone. 

Flashing  with  many  a  various  hue 
Of  light  they  from  themselves  alone 

Instinct  with  Eden's  brightness,  drew — 
A  breathing  forth  of  beams  at  will, 

Of  living  beams,  which,  though  no  more 
They  kept  their  early  lustre,  still 

Were  such,  when  glittering  out  all  o'er. 

As  mortal  eyelids  wink'd  before. 

T  was  Rubi — once  among  the  prime 

And  llower  of  those  bright  creatures,  named 
Spirits  of  Knowledge,'  who  o'er  Time 

And  Space  and  Thought  an  empire  claim'd, 
Second  alone  to  Him,  whose  light — 
Was,  even  to  theirs,  as  day  to  night — 
'Twixt  whom  and  them  was  distance  far 

And  wide,  as  would  the  journey  be 
To  reach  from  any  island  star 

The  vague  shores  of  intinity  ! 
'T  was  Rubi,  in  whose  mournful  eye 
Slept  the  dim  light  of  days  gone  by  ; 
Whose  voice,  though  sweet,  fell  on  the  ear 

Like  echoes  in  some  silent  place, 
When  first  awaked  for  many  a  year: 

And  when  he  smiled — if  o'er  his  face 

Smile  ever  shone — 't  was  like  the  grace 
Of  moonlight  rainbows,  fair,  but  wan. 
The  sunny  life,  the  glory  gone. 
Even  o'er  his  priue,  though  still  the  same, 
A  softening  shade  from  sorrow  came ; 
And  though  at  times  his  spirit  knew 


1  The  Cherubim. — S-ie  Note. 


The  kindlings  of  disdain  and  ire, 
Short  was  the  lilful  glare  they  threw — 
Like  the  last  flashes,  licnce  but  few. 

Seen  through  some  noble  pile  on  fire ! 

Such  was  the  Angel  who  now  broke 

The  silence  that  had  come  o'er  all. 
When  he,  the  Spirit  that  last  spoke, 

Closed  the  sad  history  of  his  fall  ; 
And,  while  a  sacred  lustre,  llown 

For  many  a  day,  rehim'd  his  cheek, 
And  not  those  sky-tuned  lips  alone. 
But  his  eyes,  brows,  and  tresses,  roll'd 

Like  sunset  waves,  all  seem'd  to  speak- 
Thus  his  eventful  story  told  : 

SECOND  ANGEL'S  STORY. 

You  both  remember  well  the  day 

When  unto  Eden's  new-made  bowers, 
He,  whom  all  living  things  obey, 

Summon'd  his  chief  angelic  powers, 
To  witness  the  one  wonder  yet, 

Beyond  man,  angel,  star,  or  sun, 
He  must  achieve,  ere  he  could  set 

His  seal  upon  the  world  as  done — 
To  see  that  last  perfection  rise, 

That  crowning  of  creation's  births 
WHicn,  'mid  the  worship  and  surprise 
Of  circling  angels,  Woman's  eyes 

First  open'd  upon  heaven  and  earth  ; 
And  from  their  lids  a  thrill  was  sent. 
That  through  each  living  spirit  went. 
Like  first  light  through  the  firmament . 

Can  you  forget  how  gradual  stole 
The  fresh  awaken'd  breath  of  soul 
Throughout  her  perfect  form — which  seem  d 
To  grow  transparent,  as  there  beam'd 
That  dawn  of  mind  within,  and  caught 
New  loveliness  from  each  new  thought  7 
Slow  as  o'er  summer  seas  we  trace 

The  progress  of  the  noon-tide  air, 
Dimpling  its  bright  and  silent  face 
Each  minute  into  some  new  grace. 

And  varying  heaven's  reflections  there — 
Or,  like  the  light  of  evening,  stealing 

O'er  some  fair  temple,  which  all  day 
Hath  slept  in  shadow,  slow  revealing 

Its  several  beauties,  ray  by  ray. 
Till  it  shines  out,  a  thing  to  bless. 
All  full  of  light  and  loveliness. 

Can  you  forget  her  blush,  when  round 
Through  Eden's  lone  enchanted  ground 
She  look'd — and  at  the  sea — the  skies — 

And  heard  the  rush  of  many  a  wing, 

By  God's  command  then  vanishing. 
And  saw  the  last  few  angel  eyes, 
Still  lingering — mine  among  the  rest,— 
Reluctant  leaving  scene  so  blest  ? 
From  that  miraculous  hour,  the  fate 

Of  this  new  glorious  Being  dwelt 
For  ever,  witii  a  spell-like  weight. 
Upon  my  spirit-  -early,  late, 

Whate'er  1  did,  or  dream'd,  or  felt 


The  thought  of  what  might  yet  befall 
That  splendid  creature  mix'd  with  all. — 
Nor  she  alone,  but  her  whole  race 

Through  ages  yet  to  come — whate'er 

Of  feminine,  and  fond,  and  fair, 
Should  spring  from  that  pure  mind  and  face, 

All  waked  my  soul's  intensest  care  : 
Their  forms,  souls,  feelings,  still  to  me 
(iod's  most  disturbing  mystery  ! 

It  was  my  doom — even  from  the  first, 
When  summon'd  with  my  cherub  peers. 

To  witness  the  young  vernal  burst 

Of  nature  through  those  blooming  spheres, 

Those  flowers  of  light,  that  sprung  beneath 

The  first  touch  of  the  Eternal's  breath — 

It  was  my  doom  still  to  be  haunted 
By  some  new  wonder,  some  sublime 
And  matchless  work,  that,  for  the  time, 

Held  all  my  soul  enchain'd,  enchanted, 

And  left  me  not  a  thought,  a  dream, 

A  word,  but  on  that  only  theme  ! 

The  wish  to  know — that  endless  thirst. 

Which  even  by  quenching,  is  awaked, 
And  which  becomes  or  bless'd  or  cursed, 

As  is  the  fount  whereat  't  is  slaked — 
Still  urged  me  onward,  with  desire 
Insatiate,  to  explore,  inquire — 
Whate'er  the  wondrous  things  might  be, 
That  waked  each  new  idolatry — 

Their  cause,   aim,   source   from   whence  they 
sprung, 
Their  inmost  powers,  as  though  for  me 

Existence  on  that  knowledge  hung. 

Oh  what  a  vision  were  the  stars. 

When  first  I  saw  them  burn  on  high, 

Roiling  along  like  living  cars 
Of  light,  for  gods  to  journey  by  ! 

They  were  my  heart's  first  passion— days 

And  nights,  unwearied,  in  their  rays 

Have  1  hung  floating,  till  each  sense 

Seem'd  full  of  their  bright  influence 

Innocent  joy  !  alas,  how  much 
Of  misery  had  I  shunn'd  below, 

Could  I  have  still  lived  blest  with  such  , 
Nor,  proud  and  restless,  burn'd  to  know 
The  knowledge  that  brings  guilt  and  woe  ! 

Oflen — so  much  I  loved  to  trace 
The  secrets  of  this  starry  race — 
Have  I  at  morn  and  evening  run 
Along  the  lines  '..'  railiance  spun, 
'jike  wohs,  between  them  and  the  sun, 
'Jp«-wisting  all  the  tangled  ties 
Of  lisht  into  th(!ir  dilTerenl  dyes — 
Then  fleetly  wing'il  1  olf,  in  quest 
Oi"  those,  the  farthest,  loneliest. 
That  watch,  like  winking  sentinels. 
The  void,  beyond  which  Chaos  dwells. 
And  there,  with  noiseless  plume,  pursued 
Their  track  through  that  grand  solitude, 
^^king  intently  all  and  each 

What  soul  within  their  radiance  dwelt, 
ind  wishing  their  sweet  light  were  speech. 

That  thev  might  tell  me  all  they  felt. 


Nay,  oft  so  passionate  my  chase 
Of  these  resplendent  heirs  of  space, 
Oft  did  1  follow — lest  a  ray 

Should  'scape  me  in  the  farthest  night- 
Some  pilgrim  Comet,  on  his  way 

To  visit  distant  shrines  of  light, 
And  well  remember  how  I  sung 

Exulting  out,  when  on  my  sight 
New  worlds  of  stars,  all  fresh  and  young, 
As  if  just  born  of  darkness,  sprung ! 

Such  was  my  pure  ambition  then. 

My  sinless  transport,  night  and  morn; 
Ere  this  still  newer  world  of  men, 

And  that  mo^t  fair  of  stars  was  bom, 
Which  I,  in  fatal  hour,  saw  rise 
Among  the  flowers  of  Paradise  ! 
Thenceforth  my  nature  all  was  changed, 

My  heart,  soul,  senses  turn'd  below ; 
And  he,  who  but  so  lately  ranged 

Yon  wonderful  expanse,  where  glow 
Worlds  upon  worlds,  yet  found  his  mind 
Even  in  that  luminous  range  confined, 
Now  blest  the  humblest,  meanest  sod 
Of  the  dark  earth  where  Woman  trod  ! 
In  vain  my  former  idols  glisten'd 

From  their  far  thrones  ;  in  vain  these  ears 
To  the  once  thrilling  music  listen'd, 

Tliat  hymn'd  around  my  favourite  spheres— 
To  earth,  to  earth  each  thought  was  given, 

That  in  this  half-lost  soul  had  birth ; 
Like  some  high  mount,  whose  head  's  in  heaven 

While  its  whole  shadow  rests  on  earth ! 

Nor  was  it  Love,  even  yet,  that  thrall'd 

My  spirit  in  his  burning  ties  ; 
And  less,  still  less  could  it  be  call'd 

That  grosser  flame,  round  which  Love  flies 

Nearer  and  nearer,  till  he  dies — 
No,  it  was  wonder,  such  as  thrill'd 

At  all  God's  works  my  dazzled  sense ; 
The  same  rapt  wonder,  only  fill'd 

With  passion,  more  profound,  intense,— 
A  vehement,  but  wandering  fire. 
Which,  though  nor  love,  nor  yet  desire. 
Though  through  all  womankind  it  took 

Its  range,  as  vague  as  lightnings  run. 
Yet  wanted  but  a  touch,  a  look. 

To  fix  it  burning  upon  One. 

Then,  too,  the  ever-restless  zeal. 

The  insatiate  curiosity 
To  know  what  shapes,  so  fair,  must  feel- 
To  look,  but  once,  beneath  the  seal 

Of  so  much  loveliness,  and  see 
WHiat  souls  belong'd  to  those  bright  eyes — 

Whether,  as  sun-beams  find  their  way 
Into  the  gem  that  hidden  lies. 

Those  looks  could  inward  turn  their  ray. 

To  make  the  soul  as  bright  as  they! 
All  this  impf-H'd  my  anxious  chase. 

And  still  the  more  I  i^aw  and  knew 
Of  Woman's  fond,  weak,  conquering  race, 

The  intenser  still  my  wonder  grew. 

I  had  beheld  their  First,  their  EvE, 
Horn  in  that  splendid  Paradise, 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  AXGELS. 


301 


Which  (iod  made  solely  to  receive 
The  first  hgiit  of  her  vvak;ng  eyes. 

!  hod  seen  purest  angels  lean 
In  worship  o'er  her  from  above  ; 

And  man — oh  yes,  had  envying  seen 
Proud  man  possess'd  of  all  lier  love. 

I  saw  their  iiappiness,  so  brief, 

So  exquisite — her  error,  too, 
That  easy  trust,  that  prompt  belief 

In  what  the  warm  heart  wishes  true; 
That  faith  in  words,  wlicn  iundly  said, 
By  which  the  whole  fond  sex  is  led — 
Mingled  with  (what  I  durst  not  blame, 

For  't  is  my  own)  that  wish  to  know. 

Sad,  fatal  zeal,  so  sure  of  woe  ; 
Which,  though  from  Heaven  all  pure  it  came, 
Yet  stain'd,  misused,  brought  sin  and  shame 

On  her,  on  me,  en  all  below  ! 
I  had  seen  this  ;  had  seen  3Ian — arm'd 

As  his  soul  is  with  strength  and  sense — 
By  her  first  words  to  ruin  chami'd  ; 

His  vaunted  reason's  cold  defence, 
Like  an  ice-barrier  in  the  ray 
Of  melting  summer,  smiled  away  ! 
Nay — stranger  yet — spite  of  all  this — 

Though  by  her  counsels  taught  to  err, 

Though  driven  from  Paradise  for  her 
(And  m/i'i  her — tlicif,  at  least,  was  bliss,) 
Had  I  not  heard  him,  en;  he  cross'd 

The  threshold  of  that  earthly  heaven, 
Which  by  her  wildering  smile  he  lost — 

So  quickly  was  the  wrong  forgiven — 
Had  I  not  heard  him,  as  he  press'd 
The  frail  fond  trembler,  to  a  breast 
Which  she  had  doom'd  to  sin  and  strife. 
Call  her — tliink  what — his  Life!  his  Life!' 
Yes — such  the  love-tauijlii  name — the  first 

That  ruin'd  Man  to  Woman  gave. 
Even  in  his  out-east  hour,  when  curst. 
By  her  fond  witchery,  with  that  worst 

And  earliest  boon  of  love — the  grave! 
She,  who  brought  death  into  the  world, 

There  stood  before  him,  with  the  light 

Of  their  lost  Paradise  still  bright 
Upon  those  sunny  locks,  that  curl'd 
Down  her  white  shoulders  to  her  feet — 
So  beautiful  in  form,  so  sweet 
In  heart  and  voice,  as  to  redeem 

The  loss,  the  death  of  all  things  dear, 
Except  herself — and  make  it  seem 

Life,  endless  life,  while  she  was  near! 

Coidd  I  help  wondering  at  a  creature, 
Enchanted  round  with  spells  so  strong — 

One,  to  whose  every  thought,  word,  feature, 
In  joy  and  woe,  through  right  and  wrong. 

Such  sweet  omnipotence  Heaven  gave, 

To  Ijjess  or  ruin,  curse  or  save? 

Nor  did  the  marvel  cease  with  her — 
New  Eves  in  all  her  daughters  came, 


I  Chavali,  thp  imme  by  which  Adam  culled  the  womai 
(•tier  thpir  transgr(.'^siii  i,  iiunins  "  Lift!." — See  Nole. 


As  strong  to  charm,  as  weak  to  err, 
As  sure  of  man  through  praise  and  blame, 
Whate'er  they  brought  him,  pride  or  bham& 

Their  still  unreasoning  worshipper — 
And,  wheresoe'er  they  smiled,  the  same 
Enchantresses  of  soul  and  frame, 

Iniij  '."-hose  hands,  from  first  to  last, 
This  world,  with  all  its  destinies, 

Devotedly  by  Heaven  seems  cast, 
'}'<)  save  or  damn  it  as  they  please ! 

Oh,  'tis  not  to  be  told  how  long. 

How  restlessly  I  sigh'd  to  find 
Some  one,  from  out  that  shining  throng, 

Some  abstract  of  the  form  and  mind 
Of  the  whole  matchless  sex,  from  which. 

In  my  own  .  rms  beheld,  possess'd, 
I  might  learn  all  the  powers  to  witch. 

To  warm,  and  (if  my  fate  unbless'd 

Would  have  it)  ruin,  of  the  rest ! 
Into  whose  inward  soul  and  sense 

I  might  descend,  as  doth  the  bee 
Into  the  flower's  deep  heart,  and  thence 

Ride,  in  all  its  purity. 
The  prime,  the  quintessence,  the  whole 
Of  wondrous  Woman's  frame  and  soul ! 

At  length,  my  burning  wish,  my  prayer,— 
(For  siK'h — oh  what  will  tongues  not  dare, 
^\^len  hearts  go  wrong? — this  lip  preferr'd)- 
At  length  my  ominous  prayer  was  heard — 
But  whether  heard  in  heaven  or  hell, 
Listen — and  you  will  know  too  well. 

There  was  a  maid,  of  all  who  move 

Like  visions  o'er  this  orb,  most  fit 
To  be  a  bright  young  angel's  love. 

Herself  so  bright,  so  exquisite  ! 
The  pride,  too,  of  her  step,  as  light 

Along  the  unconscious  earth  she  went, 
Seem'd  that  of  one,  born  with  a  right 

To  walk  some  heavenlier  element, 
And  tread  in  places  where  her  feet 
A  star  at  every  step  should  meet. 
'T  was  not  alone  that  loveliness 

By  which  the  wilder'd  sense  is  caught — 
Of  lips,  whose  very  breath  could  bless — 

Of  playful  blushes,  that  seem'd  nought 

But  luminous  escapes  of  thought — 
Of  eyes  that,  when  by  anger  stirr'd, 
Were  fire  itself,  but,  at  a  word 

Of  tenderness,  all  soft  became 
As  though  they  could,  like  the  sun's  bird, 

Dissolve  away  in  their  own  flame — 
Of  form,  as  pliant  as  the  shoots 

Of  a  young  tree,  in  vernal  flower, 
Yet  round  and  silowing  as  the  fruits 

That  drop  from  it  in  summer's  hour- 
'T  was  not  alone  this  loveliness 

That  falls  to  loveliest  woman's  share, 

Though,  even  here,  her  form  could  spare 
From  its  own  beauty's  rich  excess 

Enough  to  make  all  others  fair — 
But  't  was  the  iMind,  sparkling  about 
Through  her  whole  frame — the  soul,  broiighi  out 


302 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  light  each  charm,  yet  independent 

Of  vvhnt  it  lighted,  as  the  sun, 
That  shines  on  Howeis,  would  be  resplendent 

Were  there  no  flowers  to  shine  upon — 
T  was  this,  all  this,  in  one  combined. 

The  unnnmber'd  looks  and  arts  that  form 
The  glory  of  youiig  woman-kind 

Taken  in  their  tirst  fusion,  warm, 

Ere  time  had  ehill'd  a  single  charm, 
And  stamp'd  with  such  a  seal  of  Mind, 

As  gave  to  beauties,  that  might  be 
Too  sensual  else,  too  unrefined, 

The  impress  of  divinity  ! 
'Twas  this — a  union,  which  the  hand 

Of  Nature  kept  for  her  alone. 
Of  every  thing  most  playful,  bland, 
Voluptuous,  spiritual,  grand, 

In  angel-natures  and  her  own — 
Oh  this  it  was  that  drew  me  nigh 
One,  who  seem'd  kin  to  Heaven  as  I, 
My  bright  twin  sister  of  the  sky — 
One,  in  whose  love,  I  felt,  were  given 

The  mixed  delights  of  either  sphere, 
Ail  that  the  spirit  seeks  in  heaven. 

And  all  the  senses  burn  for  here  ! 

Had  we — but  hold — hear  every  part 

Of  our  sad  tale — spite  of  the  pain 
Remembrance  gives,  when  the  fixed  dart 

Is  stirr'd  thus  in  the  wound  again — 
Hear  every  step,  so  full  of  bliss, 

And  yet  so  ruinous,  that  led 
Down  to  the  last  dark  precipice, 

Where  perish'd  both — the  fall'n,  the  dead  ! 

From  the  first  hour  she  caught  my  sight, 
I  never  left  her — day  and  night 
Hovering  unseen  around  her  way, 

And  'mid  her  loneliest  musings  near, 
I  soon  could  track  each  tliought  that  lay. 

Gleaming  within  her  heart,  as  clear 

As  pebbles  within  brooks  appear ; 
And  there,  among  the  countless  things 

That  keep  young  hearts  for  ever  glowing, 
\^ague  wishes,  fond  imaginings. 

Love-dreams,  as  yet  no  object  knowing — 
Light,  winged  hopes,  that  come  when  bid, 

And  rainbow  joys  that  end  in  weeping. 
And  passions,  among  pure  thoughts  hid, 

Like  serpents  under  flow'rcts  sleeping^ 
'31(>ng  all  these  feelings — felt  where'er 
Voung  hearts  are  beating — I  saw  there 
Proud  thoughts,  aspirings  high — beyond 
Whaie'er  yet  dwcilt  in  soul  so  fond — 
Glimpses  of  glory,  far  away 

Into  the  bright  vague  future  given. 
And  fancies,  free  and  grand,  whose  play 

[yike  that  of  eaglets,  is  near  heaven! 
tVith  this,  too — what  a  soul  and  heart 
To  tall  benealh  the  tempter's  art ! — 
A  zeal  ff)r  Knowledge,  such  as  ne'er 
Enshrin(!(l  itself  in  form  so  fair. 
Since  that  first  fatal  hour,  when  EvE, 

With  every  fruit  of  Eden  bless'd, 
Save  only  i/nr,  rather  than  leave 

Th  'I  one  i/nkni)v*  n,  lost  all  the  rest 


It  was  in  dreams  that  first  1  stole 

With  gentle  mastery  o'er  her  mind — 
In  that  rich  twilight  of  the  soul. 

When  Reason's  beam,  half  hid  behind 
The  clouds  of  sense,  obscurely  gilds 
Each  shadowy  shape  that  Fancy  builds — 
'T  was  then,  by  that  soft  light,  I  brought 

Vague,  glimmering  visions  to  her  view — 
Catches  of  radiance,  lost  when  caught. 
Bright  labyriiitlis,  that  led  to  nought. 

And  vistas  with  a  void  seen  through — 
Dwellings  of  bliss,  that  opening  shone. 

Then  closed,  dissolved,  and  left  no  trace- 
All  that,  in  short,  could  tempt  Hope  on. 

But  give  her  wing  no  restmg-place  ; 
Myself  the  while,  with  brow,  as  yet. 
Pure  as  the  young  moon's  coronet. 
Through  every  dream  still  in  her  sight. 

The  enchanter  of  each  mocking  scene. 
Who  gave  the  hope,  then  brought  the  blight, 
Who  said  "  Behold  yon  world  of  light," 

Then  sudden  dropp'd  a  veil  between  ! 

At  length,  when  I  perceived  each  thought, 
Waking  or  sleeping,  fix'd  on  nought 

But  these  illusive  scenes,  and  me. 
The  phantom,  who  thus  came  and  went, 
In  half  revealinents,  only  meant 

To  madden  curiosity — 
When  by  such  various  arts  I  found 
Her  fancy  to  its  utmost  wound. 
One  night — t'  was  in  a  holy  spot. 
Which  she  for  prayer  had  chosen — a  grot 
Of  purest  marble,  built  below 
Her  garden  beds,  through  which  a  glow 
From  lamps  invisible  then  stole. 

Brightly  pervading  all  the  place — 
Like  that  mysterious  light,  the  soul. 

Itself  unseen,  sheds  through  the  face^ 
There,  at  her  altar  while  she  knelt. 
And  all  that  woman  ever  felt, 

When  God  and  man  both  claim'd  her  sighs 
Every  warm  tliought  that  ever  dwelt. 

Like  summer  clouds,   twixt  earth  and  skiei 

Too  pure  to  fall,  too  gross  to  rise, 

Spoke  in  her  gestures,  tones,  and  eyes, 
Thus,  by  the  tender  light,  which  lay 
Dissolving  round,  as  if  its  ray 
Was  breathed  frotn  her,  1  heard  her  say  >— 

"  Oh,  idol  of  niy  dreams  !   whate'er 

Thy  nature  be — liuinan,  divine. 
Or  but  half  heavenly — still  too  iair. 

Too  heavenly  to  be  ever  mine  ! 

"Wonderful  Spirit,  who  dost  make 

Slumber  so  loverly  that  it  seems 
No  longer  life  to  live  awake. 

Since  heaven  itself  descends  in  dreams. 

"Why  do  I  ever  lose  thee? — why — 
When  on  thy  realms  and  thee  I  gaze—' 

Still  drops  that  veil,  which  I  could  die. 
Oh  gladly,  but  one  hour  to  raise  ? 

"Long  ere  such  miracles  as  thou 

Ar.,1  thine  came  o'er  my  thougtits,  a  thmf 


THE  LOVES  01- 

THE  ANGELS.                                               303 

For  liglil  w;is  in  this  soul,  which  now 

And  whose  soul  lost,  in  that  one  hour, 

Tliy  looks  have  into  passion  nursed. 

For  her  and  for  her  love — oli  more 

Of  Heaven's  light  than  even  tnu:  power 

"  There  's  nothing  bright  above,  below, 

Of  Heaven  itself  could  now  restore  I 

In  sky — eiirtii — ocoati,  that  this  breast 

Doth  not  iiittfiiscly  burn  to  know, 

And  yet  the  hour  ! 

And  thee,  thee,  tliec,  o'er  all  the  rest ! 

The  Spirit  here 

"Then  come,  oh  Spirit,  from  behind 

Stopped  in  his  utterance,  as  if  words 

The  curtains  ot'tliy  radiant  home, 

Gave  way  beneath  the  wild  career 

Whether  thou  wouldst  as  God  be  shrined. 

Of  his  then  rushing  thoughts — hke  chorda. 

Or  loved  and  clasp'd  as  mortal,  come  1 

Midway  in  some  enthusiast's  song, 

"  Bring  all  thy  da/.zling  wonders  here, 

Breaking  beneath  a  touch  too  strong-  - 

That  I  may  waking  know  and  see — 

While  the  clencli'd  hand  upon  the  brow 

Or  waft  me  hence  to  thy  own  sphere, 

Tokl  how  remembrance  throbb'd  there  now! 

Thy  heaven  or — ay,  even  Ikat  with  thee ! 

But  soon  't  was  o'er — that  casual  blaze 

From  the  sunk  fire  of  other  days. 

"  Demon  or  God,  who  hold'st  the  book 

That  relic  of  the  flame,  whose  burning 

Of  knowledge  spread  beneath  ihine  eye, 

Had  been  too  fierce  to  be  relumed. 

Give  me,  witli  thee,  but  one  bright  look 

Soon  pass'd  away,  and  the  youth,  turning 

/nto  its  leaves,  and  let  me  die  ! 

To  his  bright  listeners,  thus  resumed  : — 

"  By  those  ethereal  wings,  whose  way 

Days,  months  elapsed,  and,  though  what  most 

Lies  througli  an  element,  so  fraught 

On  earth  I  sigh'd  for  was  mine,  all, — 

With  floating  Mind,  that,  as  they  play, 

Yet — was  I  happy  ?  God,  thou  know'st 

Their  every  movement  is  a  thought ! 

Howe'cr  they  smile,  and  feign,  and  boast. 

What  happiness  is  theirs,  who  fall ! 

"  By  that  most  precious  hair,  between 

'T  was  bitterest  anguish — made  more  keen 

Whose  golden  clusters  tlie  sweet  wind 

Even  by  the  love,  the  bliss,  between 

Of  Paradise  so  late  hath  been. 

Whose  throbs  it  came,  like  gleams  of  hell 

And  left  its  fragrant  soul  behind  ! 

In  agonizing  cross-light  given 

"  By  those  impassion'd  eyes,  that  melt 

Athwart  the  glimpses  they  who  dwell 
In  purgatory  catch  of  heaven  ! 

Their  light  into  the  inmost  heart. 

Like  sunset  in  the  waters,  felt 

The  only  feeling  that  to  me 

As  molten  fire  through  every  part, — 

Seem'd  joy,  or  rather  my  sole  rest 
From  aching  misery,  was  to  see 

"  I  do  implore  thee,  oh  most  bright 

My  young,  proud,  blooming  Lii.is  bless'd 

And  worshipp'd  Spirit,  sliine  but  o'er 

She,  the  fair  fountain  of  all  ill 

My  waking  wondering  eyes  this  night. 

To  my  lost  soul — whom  yet  its  thirst 

This' one  bless'd  night — I  ask  no  more  !' 

Fervidly  panted  allcr  still. 

And  found  the  charm  fresh  as  at  first ! — 

Exhausted,  breathless,  as  she  said 

To  see  her  happy — to  reflect 

These  burning  words,  her  languid  head 

Whatever  beams  still  round  me  play'd 

Upon  the  altar's  steps  she  cast. 

Of  former  pride,  of  glory  wreck'd. 

As  if  that  brain-throb  were  its  last — 

On  her,  my  Moon,  whose  light  I  made. 

Till,  startled  by  the  breatliing,  nigh. 

And  whose  soul  worshipp'd  even  my  shad» 

Of  lips,  that  echoed  back  her  sigh, 

This  was,  I  own,  enjoyment — this 

Sudden  her  brow  again  she  raised, 

My  sole,  last  lingering  glimpse  of  bliss. 

And  there,  just  lighted  on  the  shrine. 

And  proud  she  was,  bright  creature  ! — proud, 

Beheld  me — not  as  1  had  blazed 

Beyond  what  even  most  queenly  stirs 

Around  her,  full  of  light  divine, 

In  woman's  hear!,  nor  would  have  bow'd 

In  her  late  dreams,  but  sofien'd  down 

That  beautiful  young  brow  of  hers 

Into  more  mortal  grace — my  crown 

To  aught  beneath  the  First  above. 

Of  flowers,  too  radiant  for  this  world, 

So  high  she  deem'd  her  Cherub's  love  • 

Left  hanging  on  yon  starry  steep ; 

My  wings  shut  up,  like  banners  furl'd, 

Then,  too,  that  passion,  hourly  growing 

When  Ptiace  hath  put  their  pomp  to  sleep, 

Stronger  and  stronger — to  which  even 

Or  like  autumnal  clouds,  that  keep 

Her  love,  at  times,  gave  way — of  knowing 

Their  liglitnings  sheathed,  rather  than  mar 

Every  thing  strange  in  earth  and  heaven; 

The  dawiuug  hour  of  some  young  star — 

Not  only  what  God  loves  to  show. 

And  nothing  left  but  what  beseem'd 

But  all  that  He  hath  seal'd  below 

The  accessible,  though  glorious  mate 

In  darkness  for  man  iiol  to  know — 

Of  mortal  woman — whose  eyes  beam'd 

Even  this  desire,  alas,  ill-starr'd 

Back  upon  her's,  as  passionate  : 

And  fatal  as  it  was,  I  sought 

Whose  ready  heart  brought  flame  for  flame, 

To  feed  each  minute,  and  unbarr'd 

Whose  sin,  vhosc  madness  was  the  same. 

Such  realms  of  wonder  on  her  thcj^it. 

304 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


As  ne'er  till  then,  li;Ki  let  their  light 

Escape  on  any  niort^il's  sight ! 

In  the  deep  earth — beneath  the  sea — 

Throngh  caves  of  tire  —through  wilds  of  air — 
Wherever  sleeping  Mystery 

Had  spread  her  curtain,  we  were  there — 
Love  still  beside  us,  as  we  went, 
At  home  in  each  new  element. 

And  sure  of  worship  every  where  ! 

Then  first  was  Nature  taught  to  lay 

The  wealth  of  all  her  kingdoms  down 
At  woman's  worshipp'd  feet,  and  say, 

"  Bright  creature,  this  is  all  thine  own  !" 
Then  first  were  diamonds  caught — like  eyes 
Shining  in  darkness — by  surprise. 
And  made  to  light  the  conquering  way 
Of  proud  young  Beauty  with  their  ray. 
Then,  too,  liie  pearl  from  out  its  shell, 

Unsightly  in  the  sunless  sea 
(As  't  were  a  spirit  forced  to  dwell 

In  form  unlovely,)  was  set  free. 
And  round  the  neck  of  woman  threw 
A  light  it  lent  and  borrow'd  too. 
For  never  did  this  maid — whate'er 

The  ambition  of  the  hour — forget 
Her  sex's  pride  in  being  fair, 
Nor  that  adornment,  tasteful,  rare, 

Which  makes  the  mighty  magnet,  set 

In  Woman's  form,  more  mighty  yet. 
Nor  was  there  aught  within  the  range 

Of  my  swift  wing  in  sea  or  air. 
Of  beautiful,  or  grand,  or  strange, 
That,  quickly  as  her  wish  could  change, 

I  did  not  seek  with  such  fond  care. 
That  when  I've  seen  her  look  above 

At  some  bright  star  admiringly, 
I've  said,  "  nay,  look  not  there,  my  love, 

Alas,  I  cannot  give  it  thee  !" 

But  not  alone  the  wonders  found 

Through  Nature's  realm — the  unveil'd,  material. 
Visible  glories  that  hang  round, 
Like  lights,  through  her  enchanted  ground — 

But  whatsoe'er  unseen,  ethereal. 
Dwells  far  away  from  human  sense, 
Wrapo'd  in  its  own  intelligence — 
The  mystery  of  that  Fountain-head, 

From  which  all  vital  spirit  rims. 
All  breath  of  life  where'er  't  is  shed, 

Through  men  or  angels,  flowers  or  suns — 
The  workings  of  the  Almighty  3Iind, 
When  first  o'er  Chaos  he  dcsign'd 
The  outlines  of  this  world;  and  through 

That  spread  of  darkness — like  the  bow, 
Call'd  out  of  rain-clouds,  hue  by  hue — 

Saw  the  grand  gradual  picture  grow  ! — 
The  covenant  wiih  human  kind 

Which  (Jod  has  made — the  chains  of  Fate 
He  round  himself  and  them  hath  twined, 

Till  his  high  task  he  consummale — 

Till  good  from  evil,  love  from  hute. 
Shall  be  work'd  out  through  sin  and  pain, 
And  Fnte  shall  loose  her  iron  chain, 
\)i(l  all  '"■  i'rnv,  be  bright  again  ! 


Such  were  the  deep-drawn  mysteries, 

And  some,  perhaps,  even  more  profound. 
More  wildering  to  the  mind  than  these. 

Which — far  as  woman's  tliought  could  sound 
Or  a  fallen  outlaw'd  spirit  reach — 
She  dared  to  learn,  and  I  to  teach. 
Till — fill'd  with  such  unearthly  lore. 

And  mingling  tlie  pure  light  it  brings 
With  much  that  Fancy  had,  before. 

Shed  in  false  tinted  glimmerings — 
The  enthusiast  girl  spoke  out,  as  one, 

Inspired,  among  her  own  dark  race. 
Who  from  their  altars,  in  the  sun 
Left  standing  half  adorn'd,  would  run 

To  gaze  upon  her  holier  face. 
And,  though  but  wild  the  things  she  spoke, 
Yet  'mid  that  play  of  error's  smoke 

Into  fair  shapes  by  fiincy  curl'd, 
Some  gleams  of  pure  religion  broke — 
Glimpses  that  have  not  yet  awoke. 

But  startled  the  still  dreaming  world! 
Oh  !  many  a  truth,  remote,  sublime, 

Which  God  would  from  the  minds  of  men 
Have  kept  conceal'd,  till  his  own  time, 

Stole  out  in  these  revealments  then — 
Revealments  dim,  that  have  fore-run, 
By  ages,  the  bright,  Saving  One !' 
Like  that  imperfect  dawn,  or  light 

Escaping  from  the  Zodiac's  signs. 
Which  makes  the  doubtful  East  half  bright 

Before  the  real  morning  shines  ! 

Thus  did  some  moons  of  bliss  go  by — 

Of  bliss  to  her,  who  saw  but  love 
And  knowledge  throughout  earth  and  sky; 
To  whose  enamour'd  soul  and  eye, 
I  scem'd,  as  is  the  sun  on  high, 

The  light  of  all  below,  above. 
The  spirit  of  sea,  land,  and  air. 
Whose  influence,  felt  every  where, 
Spread  from  its  centre,  her  own  heart. 
Even  to  the  world's  extremest  part — 
While  through  that  wot  Id  her  reinless  mind 

Had  now  career'd  so  fast  and  far, 
That  earth  itself  seem'd  left  behind. 
And  her  proud  fancy  unconfined. 

Already  saw  heaven's  gates  a-jar  ! 

Happy  enthusiast !  still,  oh  still. 
Spite  of  my  own  heart's  moital  chill, 
Spite  of  that  double-fronted  sorrow, 

Which  looks  at  once  before  and  back, 
Beholds  the  yesterday,  the  morrow, 

And  sees  both  comfortless,  both  black- 
Spite  of  all  this,  I  could  have  still 
In  her  delight  forgot  all  ill ; 
Or,  if  pain  iixiidd  not  be  forgot. 
At  least  have  borne  and  murmur'd  not. 
WhiMi  thoughts  of  an  oliended  Heaven, 

Of  sinfulness,  which  1 — even  I, 


1  It  !■<  tlic  (i|iFnion  iifsimu'ot'tlie  Fii'licrs,  lliiit  llin  know 
ledac  wliicli  the  liciillieiis  por^sessect  of  the  ProvidonCL-  of 
Gml,  a  rutiirc  Btalo,  iind  ollior  sublime  .lor.trinos  -if  Cliris- 
tinnity,  wiis  (U>rivt!ii  fiom  the  prenip.  un^  rcvidutioiia  of  theHe 
riillcn  anjcld  to  tiie  women  ofoartk — Soe  Nolo 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


30.J 


While  down  its  steep  most  headlong  driven, — 
Well  knew  could  never  be  forgiven, 

C.ime  o'er  me  with  an  agony 
Heyond  all  reach  of  mortal  woo, — 
A  torture  Itcpt  for  those  who  know. 
Know  every  thing,  and,  worst  of  all. 
Know  and  love  virtue  while  they  fall ! — 
Even  then  her  presence  had  the  power 

To  sooth,  to  warm, — nay,  even  to  bless — 
If  ever  bliss  could  gratl  its  (lower 
On  stem  so  full  of  bitterness — 
Even  then  her  glorious  smile  to  me 

Brought  warmth  and  radiance,  if  not  balm. 
Like  moonlight  on  a  troubled  sea, 

Brightening  the  storm  it  cannot  calm. 
Oft,  too,  when  that  disheartening  fear, 
Which  all  who  love  beneath  the  sky 
Feel,  when  they  gaze  on  what  is  dear — 
The  dreadful  thought  that  it  must  die! 
That  desolating  thought,  which  comes 
Into  men's  happiest  hours  and  homes  ; 
Whose  melancholy  Ijoding  flings 
Death's  shadow  o'er  the  brightest  things, 
Sicklies  the  iiifuit's  bloom,  and  spreads 
The  grave  beneath  young  lovers'  heads  ! 
This  fear,  so  sad  to  all — to  me 

Most  full  of  sadness,  from  the  thought 
That  I  must  still  live  on,  when  she 
Would,  like  the  snow  that  on  the  sea 
Fell  yesterday,  in  vain  be  sought — 
That  Heaven  to  me  the  final  seal 

Of  all  earth's  sorrow  would  deny. 
And  1  eternally  must  feel 

The  death-pang,  without  power  to  die  ! 
Even  this,  her  fond  endearments — fond 
As  ever  twisted  the  sweet  bond 
'Twixt  heart  and  heart — could  charm  away  : 
Before  her  look  no  clouds  would  stay. 
Or,  if  they  did,  their  gloom  was  gone. 
Their  darkness  put  a  glory  on ! 
There  seem'd  a  freshness  in  her  breath, 
Beyond  the  reach,  the  power  of  death  ! 
And  then,  her  voice — oh,  who  could  doubt 
That  't  would  for  ever  thus  breathe  out 
A  music,  like  the  harmony 
Of  the  tuned  orbs,  too  sweet  to  die  ! 
While  in  her  lip's  awakening  touch 
There  thrill'd  a  life  ambrosial — such 
As  mantles  in  the  fruit  stcep'd  through 
With  Eden's  most  delicious  dew — 
Till  I  could  almost  think,  though  known 
And  loved  as  human,  they  had  grown 
By  bliss,  celestial  as  my  own  ! 
But  't  is  not,  't  is  not  for  the  wrong. 
The  guilty,  to  be  happy  long; 
And  she,  too,  now,  had  sunk  within 
The  shadow  of  a  tempter's  sin — 
Shadow  of  death,  whose  withering  frown 
Kills  whatsoe'er  it  lights  upon — 
Too  deep  for  even  her  soul  to  shun 
The  desolation  it  brings  down  ! 
Listen,  and  if  a  tear  there  be 
Left  in  y(,ur  hearts,  weep  it  for  me 

'T  was  on  the  evening  of  a  day, 
Whif'h  we  in  love  had  dream'd  away; 
U 


In  that  same  garden,  where,  beneath 
The  silent  earth,  stripp'd  of  my  wreath, 
And  furling  up  those  wings,  whose  light 
For  mortal  gaze  were  else  too  bright, 
I  first  had  stood  before  her  sight ; 
And  found  myself — oh,  ecstasy. 

Which  even  in  pain  1  ne'er  forget — 
Worslii))p'd  as  oidy  (iod  should  be. 

And  loved  as  never  man  was  yet  I 
In  that  same  garden  we  were  now, 

Thoughtfully  side  by  side  reclining, 
Her  eyes  turn'd  upward,  and  her  brow 

With  its  own  silent  fancies  shining. 
It  was  an  evening  bright  and  slill 

As  ever  blush'd  on  wave  or  bower, 
Smiling  from  Heaven,  as  if  nought  ill 

Coidd  happen  in  so  sweet  an  hour. 
Yet,  I  remember,  both  grew  sad 

In  looking  at  that  light — even  she, 
Of  heart  so  fresh,  and  brow  so  glad, 

Felt  the  mute  hour's  solemnity, 
And  thought  she  saw,  in  that  repose, 

'I'he  death-hour  not  alone  of  light. 
But  of  this  whole  fiir  world — tlie  close 

Of  all  things  beautiful  and  bright — 
The  last  grand  sun-set,  in  whose  ray 
Nature  herself  died  calm  away  ! 

At  length,  as  if  some  thought,  awaking 

Suddeidy,  sprung  within  her  breast — 
Like  a  young  bird,  when  day-light  breaking 

Startles  him  from  his  dreamy  nest — 
She  turn'd  upon  me  her  dark  eyes, 

Dilated  into  that  full  shape 
They  took  in  joy,  reproach,  surprise, 

As  if  to  let  more  soul  escape, 
And,  playfully  as  on  my  head 
Her  white  hand  rested,  smiled  and  said  :— 

"  I  had,  last  night,  a  dream  of  thee. 
Resembling  those  divine  ones,  given, 

Like  preludes  to  sweet  minstrelsy, 

Before  thou  cumest,  thyself,  from  heaveE 

The  same  rich  wreath  was  on  thy  brow, 
Dazzling  as  if  of  star-light  made; 

And  these  wij\gs,  lying  darkly  now. 

Like  meteors  round  thee  tiash'd  and  play'd 

All  bright  as  m  those  happy  dreams 
Thou  stood'st,  a  creature  to  adore 

No  less  than  love,  breathing  out  beams. 
As  flowers  do  fragrance,  at  each  pore ! 

Sudden  I  felt  thee  draw  me  near 
To  thy  pure  heart,  where,  fondly  placctl. 

I  seem'd  within  the  atmosphere 
Of  that  exhaling  light  embraced  ; 

And,  as  thou  held'st  me  there,  the  flame 
Pass'd  from  thy  heavenly  soul  to  mine, 

Till — oh,  too  blissful — I  became. 
Like  thee,  all  spirit,  all  divine. 

Say,  why  did  dream  so  bright  come  o'er  mo 
If,  now  I  wake,  't  is  faded,  gone  ? 

When  will  my  Chcnib  shine  before  me 
Thus  radiant,  as  in  heaven  ht  shone  "> 


306 


MOORE  S  WORKS. 


■'  When  shall  1,  waking,  be  allow'd 
To  gaze  upon  those  perfect  charms, 

And  hold  thee  thus,  without  a  cloud, 
A  chill  of  earth,  within  my  arms  ? 

"  Oh  what  a  pride  to  say — this,  this 

Is  my  own  Angel — all  divine, 
And  pure,  and  dazzling  as  he  is. 

And  fresh  from  heaven,  he  's  mine,  he's  mine! 

"Think'st  thou,  were  Lilis  in  thy  place, 

A  creature  of  yon  lofty  skies, 
She  would  have  hid  one  single  grace, 

One  glory  from  her  lover's  eyes  ? 

"No,  no — then,  if  thou  lov'st  like  me. 
Shine  out,  young  Spirit,  in  the  blaze 

Of  thy  most  proud  divinity. 

Nor  think  thou'lt  wound  this  mortal  gaze. 

"  Too  long  have  I  look'd  doating  on 
Those  ardent  eyes,  intense  even  thus — 

Too  near  the  stars  themselves  have  gone. 
To  fear  aught  grand  or  luminous. 

"  Then  doubt  me  not — oh,  who  can  say 
But  that  this  dream  may  yet  come  true, 

And  my  blest  spirit  driuk  thy  ray 
Till  it  becomes  all  heavenly  too  ? 

"  Let  me  this  once  but  feel  the  flame 
Of  those  spread  wings,  the  very  pride 

Will  change  my  nature,  and  this  frame 
By  the  mere  touch  be  deified  I" 

Thus  spoke  the  maid,  as  one,  not  used 
To  be  by  man  or  God  refused — 
As  one,  who  felt  her  influence  o'er 

All  creatures,  w-hatsoe'er  they  were. 
And,  though  to  heaven  she  could  not  soar, 

At  least  would  bring  down  heaven  to  her  ! 

Little  did  she,  alas,  or  I — 

Even  I,  whose  soul,  but  half-way  yet 
Immerged  in  sin's  obscurity. 
Was  as  the  planet  where  we  lie. 

O'er  half  whose  disk  tiie  sun  is  set — 
Little  did  we  foresee  the  fate, 

The  dreadful — how  can  it  be  told? 
Oh  God  !  such  anguish  to  relate 

Fs  o'er  again  to  feel,  behold  I 
But,  charged  as  't  is,  my  heart  must  speak 
Its  sorrow  out,  or  it  will  break  ! 

Some  dark  misgivings  had,  1  own, 

Pass'd  for  a  moment  through  my  breast — 

Fears  of  some  danger,  vague,  unknown, 
To  one,  or  both — something  unbless'd 
To  happen  from  this  proud  request. 

But  soon  these  boding  fancies  fled ; 
Nor  saw  I  ought  that  could  forbid 

My  full  rcvealment,  save  the  dread 
Of  that  first  daz/.le,  that  unhid 
And  bursting  glory  on  a  lid 

(Tiitned  in  heaven — and  even  this  glare 

She  might,  by  love's  own  nursing  care, 

Be.  like  young  eagles,  taught  to  bear. 

For  well  I  knew  the  lustre  shed 

From  mv  rich  wings,  when  proudliest  spread, 


Was,  in  its  nature,  lambent,  pure, 

And  innocent  as  is  the  light 
The  glow-worm  hangs  out  to  allure 

Her  mate  to  her  green  bower  at  night 

Oft  had  I,  in  the  mid-air,  swept 

Through  clouds  in  which  the  lightning  slept, 

As  in  his  lair,  ready  to  spring. 

Yet  waked  him  not — though  from  my  wing 

A  thousand  sparks  fell  glittering  ! 

Oft  too  when  round  me  IVom  above 

The  feather'd  snow  (which,  for  its  whi:cnesB, 
In  my  pure  days  I  used  to  love) 
Fell  like  the  moultings  of  Heaven's  Dove, — 

So  harmless,  though  so  full  of  brightness, 
Was  my  brow's  wreath,  that  it  would  shake 
From  off  its  flowers  each  downy  flake 
As  delicate,  unmelted,  fairj 
And  cool  as  they  had  fallen  there  ! 
Nay  even  with  Lilis — had  I  not 
Around  her  sleep  in  splendour  come— 
Hung  o'er  each  beauty,  nor  forgot 

To  print  my  radiant  lips  en  some? 
And  yet,  at  morn,  from  that  repose. 

Had  she  not  waked,  unscathed  and  bright. 
As  doth  the  pure,  unconscious  rose. 

Though  by  the  fire-fly  kiss'd  all  night  7 
Even  when  the  rays  I  scatter'd  stole 
Intensest  to  her  dreaming  soul. 
No  thrill  disturb'd  the  insensate  frame — 
So  subtle,  so  refined  that  flame. 
Which,  rapidly  as  lightnings  melt 

The  blade  within  the  unharm'd  sheath, 
Can,  by  the  outward  form  unfelt. 

Reach  and  dissolve  the  soul  beneath '. 

Thus  having  (as,  alas,  deceived 

By  my  sin's  blindness,  I  believed) 

No  cause  for  dread,  and  those  black  eyes 

There  fix'd  upon  me,  eagerly 
As  if  the  unlocking  of  the  skies 

Then  waited  but  a  sign  from  me — 
How  was  1  to  refuse  ?  how  say 

One  word  that  in  her  heart  could  stir 
A  fear,  a  doubt,  but  that  each  ray 

I  brought  from  heaven  belong'd  to  her  ? 
Slow  from  her  side  I  rose,  while  she 
Stood  up,  too,  mutely,  tremblingly, 
But  not  with  fear — all  hope,  desire. 

She  waited  for  the  awful  boon. 
Like  priestesses,  with  eyes  of  fire 

Watching  the  rise  of  the  full  moon, 
Whose  beams — they  know,  yet  cannot  shun— 
Will  madden  them  when  look'd  upon ! 
Of  all  my  glories,  the  bright  crown. 
Which,  when  I  last  from  heaven  came  down, 
I  left — see,  where  those  clouds  afar 

Sail  through  the  west — there  hangs  it  yet. 
Shining  remote,  more  like  a  star 

Tl'.an  a  fillen  angel's  coronet — 
Of  all  my  glories,  this  alone 

Was  wanting — but  the  illumined  brow 
The  curls,  like  tendrils  that  had  grown 

Out  of  the  sun — the  eyes,  that  now 
Had  love's  light  added  to  their  own. 
And  shed  a  blaze,  before  unknown 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS.                                              307 

Even  to  themselves — the  unfolded  wings, 

And  look'd  in  mine  with — oh,  that  look ! 

From  which,  as  from  two  radiant  springs. 

Avenging  Power,  whate'er  the  hell 

Spurkles  fell  fist  around,  like  spray — 

Thou  may'st  to  human  souls  assign. 

All  1  f'ould  bring  of  heaven's  array, 

The  memory  of  that  look  is  mine  ! — 

Of  th:it  rich  panoply  of  charms    . 

In  her  last  struggle,  on  my  brow 

A  rliorub  moves  in,  on  the  day 

Her  ashy  lips  a  kiss  impress'd, 

Of  liis  best  pom[),  1  now  put  on  ; 

So  withering  ! — I  feel  it  now — 

And,  proud  tliat  in  her  eyes  1  shone 

'T  was  fire — but  fire,  even  more  unbless'd 

Thus  glorious,  glided  to  her  arms. 

Than  was  my  own,  and  like  that  flame. 

Which  still  (though  at  a  sight  so  splendid 

The  angels  shudder  but  to  name, 

Her  dazzled  brow  had  instantly 

Hell's  everlasting  element ! 

Sunk  on  her  breast)  were  wide  exterided 

Deep,  deep  it  pierc'd  into  my  brain. 

To  clasp  the  form  she  durst  not  see ! 

Madd'ning  and  torturing  as  it  went. 

And  here — see  here,  the  mark,  the  stain 

Great  God  !  how  coidd  thy  vengeance  light 

It  loft  upon  my  front — burnt  in 

So  bitterly  on  one  so  bright  ? 

By  that  last  kiss  of  love  and  sin — 

How  could  ilio  hand,  that  gave  such  charms, 

A  brand,  which  even  the  wreathed  pride 

Blast  them  again,  in  love's  own  arms  ? 

Of  these  bright  curls,  still  forced  aside 

Scarce  had  1  touth'd  her  shrinking  frame, 

By  its  foul  contact,  cannot  hide  ! 

When — oh  most  horrible  ! — I  felt 

That  every  spark  of  that  pure  flame — 

But  is  it  thus,  dread  Providence— 

Pure,  while  among  the  stars  I  dwelt — 

Can  it,  indeed,  be  thus,  that  she, 

Was  now  by  my  transgression  tuit' d 

Who,  but  for  one  proud,  fond  offence, 

Into  gross,  eartlily  fire,  which  burn'd. 

Had  lionour'd  Heaven  itself,  should  be 

Burn'd  all  it  touch'd,  as  fist  as  eye 

Now  doom'd — I  cannot  speak  it— no, 

Could  follow  iho  fierce  ravening  flashes, 

Merciful  God  !  it  is  not  so — 

Till  there— oh  God  !  I  still  ask  why 

Never  could  lips  divine  have  said 

Such  doom  was  hers  ? — I  saw  her  lie 

The  fiat  of  a  fate  so  dread. 

Blackening  within  my  arms  to  ashes! 

And  yet,  that  look— that  look,  so  fraught 

Those  cheeks,  a  glory  but  to  see — 

With  more  than  anguish,  with  despair — 

Those  lips,  whose  touch  was  what  the  first 

That  new,  fierce  fire,  resembling  nought 

Fresh  cup  of  immortality 

In  heaven  or  earth — this  scorch  I  bear  !— 

Is  to  a  new-made  angel's  thirst ! 

Oh, — for  the  first  time  that  these  knees 

Those  arms,  within  whose  gentle  round, 

Have  bent  before  thee  since  my  fall, 

My  heart's  horizon,  the  whole  bound 

Great  Power,  if  ever  thy  decrees 

Of  its  hope,  prospect,  heaven  was  found  ! 

Thou  couldst  for  prayer  like  mine  recal, 

Which,  even  in  this  dread  moment,  fond 

Pardon  that  spirit,  and  on  me. 

As  when  they  first  were  round  me  cast, 

On  me,  who  taught  her  pride  to  err. 

Loosed  not  in  death  the  fatal  bond. 

Shed  out  each  drop  of  agony 

But,  burning,  held  me  to  the  last — 

Thy  burning  phial  keeps  for  her! 

That  hair,  from  under  whose  dark  veil, 

See,  too,  where  low  beside  me  kneel 

The  snowy  neck,  like  a  white  sail 

Two  other  outcasts,  who,  though  gone 

At  moonlight  seen  'twixt  wave  and  wave. 

And  lost  themselves,  yet  dare  to  fee' 

Shone  out  by  gleams — that  hair,  to  save 

And  pray  for  that  poor  mortal  one. 

But  one  of  whose  long  glossy  wreaths. 

Alas,  too  well,  too  well  they  know 

I  could  have  died  ten  thousand  deaths  ! — 

The  pain,  the  penitence,  the  woe 

All,  all,  that  seem'd,  one  minute  since, 

That  Passion  brings  down  on  the  best. 

So  fall  of  love's  own  redolence. 

The  wisest  and  the  loveliest.— 

Now,  parch'd  and  black,  before  me  lay. 

Oh,  who  is  to  be  saved,  if  such 

Withering  in  agony  away  ; 

Bright  erring  souls  are  not  forgiven  ? 

And  mine,  oh  misery  !  mine  the  flame, 

So  loth  they  wander,  and  so  much 

From  wliich  this  desolation  came — 

Their  very  wanderings  lean  tow'rds  heaven 

And  I  the  fiend,  whose  foul  caress 

Again  I  cry.  Just  (iod,  transfer 

Had  blasted  all  that  loveliness  ! 

That  creature's  sufferings  all  to  me — 
Mine,  mine  the  guilt,  the  torment  be — 

'T  was  madd'ning,  't  was — but  hear  even  worse — 

To  save  one  minute's  pain  to  her. 

Had  death,  death  only,  been  the  curse 

Let  mine  last  all  eternity  ' 

I  brought  upon  her — had  the  doom 

But  ended  here,  when  her  young  bloom 

Lay  in  the  dust,  and  did  the  spirit 

He  paused,  and  to  the  earth  bent  down 

No  part  of  that  fell  curse  inherit. 

His  throbbing  head;  while  they,  wno  let 

'T  were  not  so  dreadful — but,  come  near —     / 

That  agony  as  't  were  their  own. 

Too  shocking  't  is  for  earth  to  hear — 

Those  angel  youths,  beside  him  knel;, 

Just  when  her  eyes,  in  fading,  took 

And,  in  the  night's  still  silence  there, 

Their  last,  keen,  agonized  farewell, 

Wliile  mournfidlv  each  wandering  air 

308 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Pla}'d  in  those  plumes,  that  never  more 
To  their  lost  home  in  heaven  mu»t  soar, 
Breath'd  inwardly  the  voiceless  prayer, 
Unheard  by  all  but  Mercy's  ear — 
And  which  if  ."Mercy  did  not  hear, 
Oh,  God  woukl  not  be  what  this  bright 

And  glorious  universe  of  his. 
This-  world  of  beauty,  goodness,  light. 

And  endless  love,  proclaims  He  is  ! 

Not  long  they  knelt,  when,  from  a  wood 
That  crown'd  that  airy  solitude. 
They  heard  a  low,  uncertain  sound. 
As  from  a  lute,  that  just  had  found 
Some  happy  theme,  and  murmur'd  round 
The  new-born  fancy — with  fond  tone. 
Like  that  of  ring-dove  o'er  her  brood — 
Scarce  thinking  aught  so  sweet  its  own  ! 
Till  soon  a  voice  that  nriateh'd  as  well 

That  gentle  instrument,  as  suits 
The  sea-air  to  an  ocean-shell 

(So  kin  its  spirit  to  the  lute's,) 
Tremblingly  follow'd  the  soft  strain, 
Interpreting  its  joy,  its  pain, 

And  lending  the  light  wings  of  words 
To  many  a  thought  that  else  had  lain 

Unfledged  and  mute  among  the  chords. 

All  started  at  the  sound — but  chief 

The  third  young  Angel,  in  whose  face, 
Though  faded  like  the  others,  grief 

Had  left  a  gentler,  holier,  trace ; 
As  if,  even  yet,  through  pain  and  ill, 
Hope  had  not  quit  him — as  if  still 
Her  precious  pearl  in  sorrow's  cup, 

Unmelted  at  the  bottom  lay, 
To  shine  again,  when,  all  drunk  up. 

The  bitterness  should  pass  away. 
Ch:efly  d:d  he,  though  in  his  eyes 
There  shone  more  pleasure  than  surprise, 
Turn  to  the  wood,  from  whence  that  sound 

Of  solitary  sweetness  broke. 
Then,  listening,  look  delighted  round 

To  his  bright  peers,  while  thus  it  spoke  : — 

"  Come,  pray  with  me,  my  seraph  love, 
My  angel-lord,  come  pray  with  me ; 

In  vain  to-night  my  lip  hath  strove 

To  send  one  holy  prayer  above — 

The  knee  may  bend,  the  lip  may  move. 
But  pray  I  cannot  without  thee  ! 

"  I  've  fed  the  altar  in  my  bower 

With  dropjiings  from  the  incense-tree  ; 

I  've  shelter'd  it  from  wind  and  shower, 

But  dim  it  burns  the  livelong  hour, 

As  if,  like  me,  it  had  no  power 
Of  life,  or  kistre,  without  thee ! 

"  A  boat  at  midnight  sent  alone 
To  drift  upon  the  njoonless  sea, 
A  lute,  whose  leading  chord  is  gone, 
A  wounded  bird,  that  hath  but  one 
Impericct  wing  to  soar  upon. 
Are  like  what  I  am  without  thee  t 

"  Then  ne'er,  tiiy  spirit-love,  divide, 
In  life  or  death,  thyself  from  me; 


But  when  again,  in  sunny  pride. 
Thou  walk'st  through  Eden,  let  me  flide, 
A  prostrate  shadow  V  'hy  side — 
Oh,  happier  thus  than  without  thee  !" 

The  song  had  ceased,  when  from  the  wood- 
Where  curving  down  that  airy  height. 

It  reach'd  the  spot  on  which  they  stood — 
There  suddenly  shone  out  a  light 

From  a  clear  lamp,  which,  as  it  blazed 

Across  the  brow  of  one  who  raised 

The  tlanie  aloft  (as  if  to  throw 

Its  light  upon  that  group  oeiow,; 

Display'd  two  eyes,  sparkling  between 

The  dusky  leaves,  such  as  are  seen 

By  fancy  only,  in  those  faces. 
That  haun&ia  poet's  walk  at  even, 

Looking  from  out  their  leafy  places 
Upon  his  dreams  of  love  and  heaven. 

'T  was  but  a  moment — the  blush,  brought 

O'er  all  her  features  at  the  thought 
Of  being  seen  thus  late,  alone. 

By  any  but  the  eyes  she  sought. 
Had  scarcely  for  an  instant  shone 
Through  the  dark  leaves  when  she  was  gone-- 

Gone,  like  a  meteor  that  o'erhead 

Suddenly  shines,  and,  ere  we  've  said, 

"  Look,  look,  how  beautiful !" — 'tis  fled. 

Yet,  ere  she  went,  the  words,  "  1  come, 

I  come,  my  Nama,"  reach'd  her  ear. 

In  that  kind  voice,  familiar,  dear. 
Which  tells  of  confidence,  of  home, — 
Of  habit,  that  hath  drawn  hearts  near. 
Till  they  grow  o/je — of  faith  sincere. 
And  all  that  Love  most  loves  to  hear ! 
A  music,  breathing  of  the  past, 

The  present,  and  the  time  to  be. 
Where  Hope  and  Memory,  to  the  last. 

Lengthen  out  life's  true  harmony  ! 

Nor  long  did  he,  whom  call  so  kind 
Summon'd  away,  remain  behind  ; 
Nor  did  there  need  much  time  to  tell 

What  they — alas,  more  fallen  than  he 
From  happiness  and  heaven — knew  well. 

His  gentler  love's  short  history  ! 

Thus  did  it  run — not  as  he  told 

The  tale  himself,  but  as  't  is  graved 
Upon  the  tablets  that,  of  old. 

By  Cham  were  from  the  deluge  saved, 
All  written  over  with  sublime 

And  saddening  legends  of  the  unblest 
But  glorious  spirits  of  that  time. 

And  this  young  Angel's  'mong  the  rest. 

THIRD  ANGEL'S  STORY 

Amono  the  Spirits,  of  pure  flame. 
That  round  the  Almighty  Throne  abids— 

Circles  of  light,  that  from  the  same 
Eternal  centre  sweeping  wide. 
Carry  its  beams  on  every  side 

(lake  spheres  of  air  that  waft  around 

The  undulations  of  rich  oound.) 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


309 


Till  the  far-circling  radiance  be 
DilFused  into  infinity ! 
First  and  immediate  near  the  Throne, 
As  if  pf^culiarly  God's  own, 

TIk;  Seraphs'  stancl^ this  burning  sign 

Traced  on  their  banner,  "  Love  Divine  !" 
Their  rank,  their  honours,  far  above 

Even  to  those  high-brow'd  Cherubs  given, 
Though  knowing  all — so  much  doth  Love 

Transcend  all  knowledge,  even  in  heaven! 
'Wong  these  was  Zaniph  once — and  none 

E'er  felt  affection's  holy  fire. 
Or  yearn'd  towards  the  Eternal  One, 

VV^ith  half  such  longing,  deep  desire. 
Love  was  to  his  impassion'd  soul 

Not,  as  with  others,  a  mere  part 
Of  its  existence,  but  the  whole — 

The  very  life-breath  of  his  heart ! 

Often,  when  from  the  Almighty  brow 

A  lustre  came  loo  bright  to  bear, 
And  all  the  seraph  ranks  would  bow 

Their  heads  beneath  their  wings,  nor  dare 

To  look  upon  the  effulgence  there — 
This  Spirit's  eyes  would  court  the  blaze 

(Sucn  pride  he  in  adoring  took,) 
And  rather  lose,  in  that  one  gaze, 

The  power  of  looking  than  not  look ! 
Then  too,  when  angel  voices  sung 
The  mercy  of  their  God,  and  strung 
Their  harps  to  hail,  with  welcome  sweet, 

The  moment,  watch'd  for  by  ail  eyes. 
When  some  repentant  sinner's  feet 

First  touch'd  the  threshold  of  the  skies, 
Oh  then  how  clearly  did  the  voice 
Of  Zaraph  above  all  rejoice  ! 
Love  was  in  every  buo\'ant  tone. 

Such  love  as  only  could  belong 
To  the  blest  angels,  and  alone 

Could,  even  from  angels,  bring  such  song  ! 

Alas,  that  it  should  e'er  have  been 

The  same  in  heaven  as  it  is  here. 
Where  nothing  fond  or  bright  is  seen, 

But  it  hath  pain  and  peril  near — 
Where  right  and  wrong  so  close  resemble, 

That  what  we  take  for  virtue's  thrill 
Is  often  the  first  downward  tremble 

Of  the  heart's  balance  into  ill — 
Where  Love  hath  not  a  shrine  so  pure, 

So  holy,  but  the  serpent.  Sin, 
In  moments  even  the  most  secure. 

Beneath  his  altar  may  glide  in  ! 
So  was  it  with  that  Angel — such 

The  charm  that  sloped  his  tall  along 
From  good  to  ill,  from  loving  much, 

Too  easy  lapse,  to  loving  wrong. — 
Even  so  that  amorous  Spirit,  bound 
By  beauty's  spell,  where'er  't  was  found. 
From  the  bright  things  above  the  moon, 

Down  to  earth's  beaming  eyes  descended. 
Till  love  for  the  Creator  soon 

In  passion  for  the  creature  ended  ! 


\  The  Seraphim  are  the  Spirits  of  Divine  Love. — Set- 
Note 


"J'  was  first  at  twilight,  on  the  shore 

Of  the  smooth  sea,  he  heard  the  lute 
And  voice  of  her  he  loved  steal  o'e- 

The  silver  waters,  that  lay  mute, 
As  loth,  by  even  a  breath,  to  stay 
The  pdgrimage  of  that  sweet  lay  ; 
Whose  echoes  still  went  on  and  op.. 
Till  lost  among  the  light  that  shone 
Far  oir  beyond  the  ocean's  brim — 

There,  where  the  rich  cascade  of  day 
Had,  o'er  the  horizon's  golden  rim, 

Into  Elysium  roll'd  away  I 
Of  God  she  sung,  and  of  the  mild 

Attendant  Mercy,  that  beside 
His  awful  throne  for  ever  smiled, 

Ready  with  her  white  hand,  to  guide 
His  bolts  of  vengeance  to  their  prey- 
That  she  might  quench  them  on  the  way 
Of  Peace— of  that  Atoning  Love, 
Upon  whose  star,  shining  above 
This  twiliglit  world  of  hope  and  fear. 

The  weeping  eyes  of  Faith  are  fix'd 
So  fond,  that  with  her  every  tear 

The  liglu  of  that  love-star  is  mix'd  !— 
All  this  she  sung,  and  such  a  soul 

Of  piety  was  in  that  song, 
That  the  charm'd  Angel,  as  it  stole 

Tenderly  to  his  ear,  along 
Those  lulling  waters,  where  he  lay 
Watching  the  day-light's  dying  ray. 
Thought  't  was  a  voice  from  out  the  wave, 
An  echo  that  some  spirit  gave 
To  Eden's  distant  harmony, 
Heard  faint  and  sweet  beneath  the  sea ! 

Quickly,  however,  to  its  source, 
Tracking  that  music's  melting  course. 
He  saw  upon  the  golden  sand 
Of  the  sea-shore  a  maiden  stand. 
Before  whose  feet  the  expiring  waves 

Flung  their  last  tribute  with  a  sigh — 
As,  in  the  East,  exhausted  slaves 

Lay  down  the  far-brought  gift,  and  die— 
And,  while  her  lute  hung  by  her,  hush'd, 

As  if  unequal  to  the  tide 
Of  song,  that  from  her  lips  still  gush'd, 

She  raised,  like  one  beatified. 
Those  eyes,  whose  light  seem'd  rather  giver 

To  be  adored  than  to  adore — 
Such  eyes  as  may  have  look'd  from  heaven 

But  ne'er  were  raised  to  it  before  ! 

Oh  Love,  Religion,  .Music — all 

That 's  left  of  Eden  upon  earth — 
The  only  blessings,  since  the  fall 
Of  our  weak  souls,  that  still  recall 

A  trace  of  their  high  glorious  birth — 
How  kindred  are  the  dreams  you  bring! 

How  Love,  though  unto  earth  so  prone 
Delights  to  take  Religion's  wiiig. 

When  time  or  grief  hath  stain'd  his  own 
How  near  to  Love's  beguiling  brink. 

Too  oft,  entranced  Religion  lies. 
While  Music,  Music  is  the  link 

Thev  Loth  still  hold  bv  to  the  skies. 


310                                                        MOORE'S 

W(}RKS. 

The  language  of  their  native  sphere, 

Co'ild,  like  the  dial,  fix'd  remain. 

Which  they  had  else  forgotten  here. 

And  wait  till  it  shone  out  again — 

With  Patience  that,  though  often  bow'd 

How  then  oould  Zaraph  fail  to  feel 

By  the  rude  storm,  can  rise  anew, 

That  moment's  witcheries  ? — one  so  fair 

And  Hope  that,  even  from  Evil's  cloud. 

Breathing  out  music  that  might  steal 

Sees  sunny  Good  half  breaking  througn 

Heaven  from  itself,  and  rapt  in  prayer 

This  deep,  relying  Love,  worth  more 

That  seraphs  might  be  proud  to  share  ! 

In  heaven  than  all  a  cherub's  lore — 

O'l,  he  did  feel  it — far  too  well — 

This  Faith,  more  sure  than  aught  beside. 

"With  warmth  that  much  too  dearly  cost — 

Was  the  sole  joy,  ambition,  pride. 

Nor  knew  he,  when  at  last  he  fell, 

Of  her  fond  heart — the  unreasoning  scope 

To  which  attraction,  to  which  spell. 

Of  all  its  vievv^s,  above,  below — 

Love,  Music,  or  Devotion,  most 

So  true  she  felt  it  that  to  hope. 

His  soul  in  that  sweet  hour  was  lost. 

To  trust,  is  happier  than  to  know. 

Sweet  was  the  hour,  though  dearly  won, 

And  thus  in  humbleness  they  trod. 

And  pure,  as  aught  of  earth  could  be. 

Abash'd,  but  pure  before  their  God ; 

For  then  first  did  the  glorious  sun 

Nor  e'er  did  earth  behold  a  sight 

Before  Religion's  altar  see 

So  meekly  beautiful  as  they,    ■ 

Two  hearts  in  wedlock's  golden  tie 

When,  with  the  altar's  holy  light 

Self-pledged,  in  love  to  live  and  die — 

Full  on  their  brows,  they  knelt  to  pray, 

Then  first  did  woman's  virgin  brow 

Hand  within  hand,  and  side  by  side, 

That  hymeneal  chaplet  wear, 

Two  links  of  love,  awhile  untied 

Which,  when  it  dies,  no  second  vow 

From  the  great  chain  above,  but  fast 

Can  bid  a  new  one  bloom  out  there — 

Holding  together  to  the  last — 

Bless'd  union  !  by  that  angel  wove, 

Two  fallen  Splendors  from  that  tree 

And  worthy  from  such  hands  to  come ; 

Which  buds  with  such  eternally,' 

Safe,  sole  asylum,  in  which  Love, 

Shaken  to  earth,  yet  keeping  all 

When  fallen  or  exiled  from  above, 

Their  light  and  freshness  in  the  fall. 

In  this  dark  world  can  find  a  home. 

Their  only  punishment  (as  wrong. 

And,  though  the  Spirit  had  transgress'd, 

However  sweet,  must  bear  its  brand,; 

Had,  from  his  station  'mong  the  bless'd, 

Their  only  doom  was  this — that,  long 

Won  down  by  woman's  smile,  allow'd 

As  the  gree'i  earth  and  ocean  stand, 

Terrestrial  passion  to  breathe  o'er 

They  both  shall  wander  here — the  same 

The  mirror  of  his  heart,  and  cloud 

Throughout  all  time,  in  heart  and  frame- 

God's  image,  there  so  bright  before — 

Still  looking  to  that  goal  sublime. 

Yet  never  did  that  God  look  down 

Whose  light,  remote  but  sure,  they  see, 

On  error  with  a  brow  so  mild  ; 

Pilgrims  of  Love,  whose  way  is  Time. 

Never  did  justice  launch  a  frown 

Whose  home  is  in  Eternity  ! 

That,  ere  it  fell,  so  nearly  smiled. 

Subject,  the  while,  to  all  the  strife 

For  gentle  vj^as  their  love,  with  awe 

True  love  encounters  in  this  life — 

And  trembling  like  a  treasure  kept. 

The  wishes,  hopes,  he  breathes  in  vain ; 

That  was  not  theirs  by  holy  law. 

The  chill,  that  turns  his  warmest  sighs 

Whose  beauty  with  remorse  they  saw. 

To  earthly  vapour,  ere  they  rise  ; 

And  o'er  whose  preciousness  they  wept. 

The  doubt  he  feeds  on,  and  the  pain 

Humility,  that  low,  sweet  root. 

That  in  his  very  sweetness  lies. 

From  which  all  heavenly  virtues  shoot, 

Still  worse,  the  illusions  that  betray 

Was  in  the  hearts  of  both — but  most 

His  footsteps  to  their  shining  brink; 

In  Nama's  heart,  by  whom  alone 

That  tempt  him  on  his  desert  way 

Those  charms,  for  which  a  heaven  was  lost, 

Through. the  bleak  world,  to  bend  and  drink, 

Seem'd  all  unvalued  and  unknown; 

Where  nothing  meets  his  lips,  alas. 

And  when  her  Seraph's  eyes  she  caught. 

But  he  again  must  sighing  pass 

And  hid  hers  glowing  on  his  breast, 

On  to  that  far-otf  home  of  peace, 

Even  bliss  was  humbled  by  the  thought, 

In  which  alone  his  thirst  will  cease. 

"  What  claim  have  I  to  be  so  bless'd  ?" 

All  this  they  bear,  but,  not  the  less, 

Still  less  could  maid  so  meek  have  nursed 

Have  moments  rich  in  happiness — 

Desire  of  knowledge — that  vain  thirst. 

Bless'd  meetings,  after  many  a  day 

With  which  the  sex  hath  all  been  cursed, 

Of  widowhood  past  far  away. 

From  luckless  Eve  to  her  who  near 

When  the  loved  face  again  is  seen 

The  Tabernacle  stole,  to  hear 

Close,  close,  with  not  a  tear  bctween- 

The  secrets  of  the  Anjiels — no — 
To  love  as  her  own  seraph  loved. 

With  Faith,  the  same  through  bliss  and  woe — 

1  An  nllusion  to  tho  Sephiroths  or  Splendors  of  the  Jow 
isli  Cabl)iil.-i,   lepiosenttd   as  a  tree,  of  which  Gnu  is  tht 

Faith  that,  were  even  its  light  removed. 

crown  or  suniinit. — See  Note. 

THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS 


311 


Confidings  frank,  without  control, 
Pour'd  mutually  from  soul  to  soul ; 
As  free  from  any  fear  or  doubt 

As  is  that  light  from  chill  or  stain, 
The  sun  into  the  stars  sheds  out, 

To  bo  by  th(!ni  shed  back  again  ! — 
That  happy  minglement  of  hearts, 

Where,  changed  as  chymic  compounds  are, 
Each  with  its  own  existence  parts. 

To  find  a  new  one,  liappinr  far! 
Such  are  their  joys — and,  crowning  all. 

That  blessed  hope  of  the  bright  hour. 
When,  happy  and  no  more  to  fall, 

Their  spirits  shall,  with  freshen'd  power 
Rise  up  rewarded  for  their  trust 

In  Him,  from  whom  all  goodness  springs, 
And,  shaking  oft"  earth's  soiling  dust 

From  their  emancipated  wings. 
Wander  for  ever  through  those  skies 
Of  radiance,  where  Love  never  dies  ! 

In  what  lone  region  of  the  earth 
These  pilgrims  now  may  roam  or  dwell, 

God  and  the  Angels,  who  look  forth 
To  watch  their  steps,  alone  can  tell. 

But  should  we,  in  our  wanderings. 


Meet  a  young  pair,  whose  beauty  wants 
But  the  adornment  of  bright  wings. 

To  look  like  heaven's  inhabitants — 
Who  shine  where'er  tlu^y  tread,  and  yet 

Are  humble  in  their  earthly  lot, 
As  is  the  way-side  violet. 

That  shines  unseen,  and  were  it  not 

For  its  sweet  breath  would  be  forgot — 
Whose  hearts  in  every  thought  are  one. 

Whose  voices  utter  the  same  wills. 
Answering  as  Echo  doth,  some  tone 

Of  fairy  music  'mong  the  hills. 
So  like  itself,  we  seek  in  vain 
Which  is  the  echo,  which  the  strain — 
Whose  piety  is  love — whose  love. 

Though  close  as  't  were  their  souls'  embrace. 
Is  not  of  earth,  but  from  above — 

Like  two  fair  mirrors,  face  to  face. 
Whose  light,  from  one  to  the  other  thrown. 
In  heaven's  reflection,  not  their  own — 
Should  we  e'er  meet  with  aught  so  pure, 
So  perfect  here,  we  may  be  sure 

There  is  but  one  such  pair  below ; 
And,  as  we  bless  them  on  their  way 
Through  the  world's  wilderness,  may  say, 
"There  Zaraph  and  his  Nama  go." 


NOTES. 


Preface,  p.  295,  line  21. 

An  errnneous  translation  by  the  LXX.  of  tliat  verse  in  the 
aixth  chapter  of  Genesis,  etc. 

The  error  of  these  interpreters  (and,  it  is  said,  of 
the  old  Italic  version  also)  was  in  making  it  o'l  Kyyt- 
Aoi  rov  5£oi),  "the  Ancels  of  God,"  instead  of  "the 
Snnx" — a  mistake  which,  assisted  by  the  allegorising 
comments  of  Philo,  and  the  rhapsodical  fictions  of 
the  Book  of  Enoch,'  was  more  than  sufficient  to  af- 
fect the  imaginations  of  such  half- Pagan  writers  as 
Clemens  Alexandrinus,  Tertullian,  and  Lactantius, 
who,  chiefly,  among  the  Fathers,  have  indulged 
themselves  in  fanciful  reveries  upon  the  subject.  The 
greater  number,  however,  have  rejected  the  fiction 
with  indignation.  Chrysostom,  in  his  twenty-second 
Homily  upon  Genesis,  earnestly  exposes  its  absurd- 
ity ;-  and  Cyril  accounts  such  a  supposition  as  cyyvi, 
Utopia;,  "  bordenng  on  folly."'     According  to  these 


Fathers  (and  their  opinion  has  been  followed  by  all 
the  theologians,  down  from  St.  Thomas  to  Caryl  and 
Lightfoot,*)  the  term  "  Sons  of  God,"  must  be  under- 
stood to  mean  the  descendants  of  Seth,  by  Enos — a 
family  peculiarly  favoured  by  Heaven,  because  with 
them  men  first  began  to  "  call  upon  the  name  of  the 
Lord" — while,  by  "the  daughters  of  men,''  they 
suppose  that  the  corrupt  race  of  Cain  is  designated. 
The  probability,  however,  is,  that  the  words  in  ques- 
tion ought  to  have  been  translated  "the  sons  of  the 
nobles  or  great  men,"  as  we  find  them  interpreted  m 
the  Targum  of  Onkelos  (the  most  ancient  and  accu- 
rate of  all  the  Chaldaic  paraphrases,)  and  as,  it  ap- 
pears from  Cyril,  the  version  of  Symmachus  also 
rendered  them.  This  translation  of  the  passage  re- 
moves all  difficulty,  and  at  once  relieves  the  Sacred 
History  of  an  extravagance,  which,  however  it  may 
suit  the  imagination  of  the  poet,  is  inconsistent  with 
all  our  notions,  both  philosophical  and  religious 


1  It  is  lainciitiibic  to  ihink  lliat  this  absurd  production,  of 
which  we  now  know  the  whole  from  Dr.  Laurence's  trans- 
lation, should  ever  have  been  considered  ns  an  inspired  or 
authentic  work.  See  the  Preliminary  Dissertation,  prefixed 
to  the  Translalion. 

2  One  of  the  arjiiments  of  Chrysostom  is,  that  .^nselsare 
no  where  else,  in  the  Old  Testament,  called  "  Sons  of  God," — 
but  his  commentator,  Monlfiiucon,  shows  that  ho  is  mis- 
taken, and  that  in  the  Book  of  .Tot>  they  are  so  designated, 
(c.  i.  V.  6.)  both  in  the  orisina!  Hebrew  and  the  Vulgate, 
[•^ougli  not  in  the  Septuagint,  which  alone,  he  says,  Chry- 
josiom  read. 

3  Lib.  ii.  Glapliyrorum. — Philaestrius,  in  his  enumeration  I 


of  heresies,  classes  this  story  of  the  .-^ngels  among  ihe  num- 
ber, and  says  it  deserves  only  to  be  ranked  with  tho.se  fic- 
tions about  gods  and  goddesses,  lo  which  the  fancy  of  ihe 
Pagan  poets  gave  birth: — "Siculi  et  Paganornm  et  Poeta- 
runi  niendacia  asserunt  dcos  dca^qno  transforinatns  nefanda 
conJMsia  commisisse." — De  Hxrcs.  Edit.  Basil,  p.  101. 

4  Lightfoot  says,  "The  sons  of  God,  or  the  members  of 
the  Church,  and  the  progeny  of  Seth,  .narryin;  carelessly 
and  promiscnonsly  with  the  daughters  of  men,  or  brood  of 
Cain,"  etc.  I  finil  in  Poh?  that,  according  lo  the  Samantan 
version,  the  phrase  maybe  understood  as  meaning  "the 
Sims  of  thf  .liiilirrs." — So  variously  may  the  FJi  brew  word. 
Elohim,  be  internreted. 


312 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Page  295,  linfi  81. 
TrJiiisinil  each  moanni,  iiijjlit  ami  day, 
Tl.s  eclio  of  His  lamiiioiis  woril ! 

Dionysius  (De  CcElest.  Hierarch.)  is  of  opinion, 
that  when  Isaiah  represents  the  Seraphim  as  crying 
out  "  one  unto  the  oilier,"  his  intention  is  to  describe 
those  communications  of  the  divine  thought  and  will, 
v\  hich  are  continually  passing  from  the  higher  orders 
of  the  angels  to  the  lower: — o'ta  xai  avTovs-ovi  &eora- 
Tuvi  Tipaihijx  o'l  ^zoXoyoi  (fiaaiv  ircpov  rrpoi  rov  htpov  Kt- 
Kpayevai,  (ra(puii  cv  rovTui,  KaOa-ep  oipai,  Rn^ovvres,  Sn 
rwv  ^io'XoyiKniv  yviDcciav  o'l  TrpdjTOt  TOii  bzvTtpuii  pera- 
i,fiunai.—See  also  in  the  Paraphrase  of  Pachynier 
jpoa  Dionysius,  cap.  2.  rather  a  striking  passage, 
.n  which  he  represents  all  living  creatures  as  being, 
ji  a  stronger  or  fainter  degree,  "  echoes  of  God." 

Page  296,  hne  19. 

One  of  earlii's  fairest  wc)  a.'\iik.;iiil, 
Half  veil'ii  f  oiri  view,  cir  ralliur  shrined 
In  the  clear  ciirystal  of  a  brook. 

This  is  given  upon  the  authority,  or  rather  accord- 
ing to  the  fancy,  of  some  of  the  Fathers,  who  sup- 
pose that  the  women  of  earth  were  first  seen  by  the 
angels  in  this  situation  :  and  St.  Basil  has  even  made 
I  the  serious  foundation  of  rather  a  rigorous  rule 
.'"or  the  toilet  of  his  fair  disciples  ;  adding,  iKavov  yap 
tOTi  Tiapayvpvovpcvov  K:i\Xog  Kai  v'tovg  ^cov  Ttpo;  rjio- 
vriv  yoriTtvaai,  Kat  i);  avQpunrovs  6ia  Tavrrjv  airoOvriaKov- 
T«;,  Svr/Tovg  u-oiei^ai. — De  Vera  Virginitat.  torn.  i.  p. 
747  edit.  Paris.  1618. 

Page  296,  line  115. 
The  S|)iiit  ol'yon  beauteous  star. 
It  is  the  opinion  of  Kircher,  Ricciolus,  etc.  (and 
was,  I  believe,  to  a  certain  degree,  that  of  Origen)  that 
the  stars  are  moved  and  directed  by  intelligences  or 
angels  who  preside  over  them.  Among  other  pas- 
sages from  Scripture  in  support  of  this  notion,  they 
cue  those  words  of  the  Book  of  Job,  "  When  the 
morning  stars  sang  together." — Upon  which  Kircher 
remarks,  "  Non  de  materialibus  intelligitur."  Itin.  1. 
Isagog.  Astronom.  See  also  Caryl's  most  wordy 
Commentary  on  the  same  text. 

Page  297,  line  33. 

And  t!ie  b 'iifht  VVutoheis  near  tt.e  throne. 
"  The  \^'atchers,  the  offspring  of  Heaven." — Book 
of  Enoch.     In    Daniel  also   the   angels   are   called 
watchers  : — "  And  l)ehold,  a  watcher  and  an  holy  one 
came  down  from  heaven.  '  iv.  13. 

Page  297,  line  81 
Then,  tno,  th)it  juice  orenrih,  etc.  etc. 

For  all  that  relates  to  the  nature  and  attributes  of 
angels,  the  time  of  their  creation,  the  extent  of  their 
knowledge,  and  the  power  which  they  possess,  or 
can  occasionally  assume,  of  performing  such  human 
fimctions  as  eating,  drinking,  etc.  etc.  I  shall  refer 
'.hose  who  are  inquisitive  upon  the  subject  to  the  fol- 
\i  wing  works  : — The  Treatise  upon  the  Celestial 
Hierarchy  written  under  the  name  of  Dionysius  the 
Aroopagilc,  in  which,  among  much  that  is  heavy  and 
inlling,  there  are  some  sui)lime  notions  concerning 


the  agency  of  these  spiritual  creatures — The  quei. 
tions  "  de  Cognitione  Angelorum"  of  St.  Thomas 
where  he  examines  most  proli.^ly  into  such  puzzling 
points  as  "  whether  angels  illuminate  each  other," 
"  whether  they  speak  to  each  other,"  etc.  etc. — The 
Thesaurus  of  Cocceius,  containing  extracts  from 
almost  every  theologian  that  has  written  on  the  sub- 
ject— The  9th,  10th,  and  11th  chapters,  sixth  book, 
ofl'Histoire  des  Juifs,"  where  all  the  extraordinary 
reveries  of  the  Rabbins'  about  angels  and  demons 
are  enumerated — The  Questions  attributed  to  St. 
Athanasius — The  Treatise  of  Bonaventure  upon  the 
Wings  of  the  Seraphim- — and,  lastly,  the  ponderous 
foiio  of  Suarez  "de  Angelis,"  where  the  reader  wili 
find  all  that  has  ever  been  fancied  or  reasoned,  upon 
a  subject  which  only  such  writers  could  have  con- 
trived to  render  so  dull. 

Page  297,  line  89. 

Then  first  ihe  fatal  wine-cnp  rain'd,  etc. 
Some  of  the  circumstances  of  this  story  were  sug- 
gested to  me  by  the  Eastern  legend  of  the  two  angels, 
Harut  and  Marut,  as  it  is  given  by  Mariti,  who  says, 
that  the  author  of  the  Taalim  founds  upon  it  the  Ma- 
hometan prohibition  of  wine.  The  Bahardanush  tells 
the  story  differently. 

Page  297,  line  105. 

Why,  why  have  h.'ipless  angels  eyes? 
Tertullian  imagines  that  the  words  of  St.  Paul, 
"  Woman  ougM  to  have  a  veil  on  her  head,'  on  ac- 
count of  (he  anpeh"  have  an  evident  reference  to  the 
fatal  effects  which  the  beauty  of  women  once  pro- 
duced upon  these  spiritual  beings.  See  the  strange 
passage  of  this  Father  (de  Virgin.  Velandis,)  begin- 
ning "  Si  enim  propter  angelos,"  etc.  etc.  where  his 
editor  Paraelius  endeavours  to  save  his  morality,  at 
the  expense  of  his  latinity,  by  substituting  the  word 
"  excussat"  for  "  excusat."  Such  instances  of  inde- 
corum, however,  are  but  too  common  throughout  the 
Fathers,  in  proof  of  which  I  need  only  refer  to  some 
passages  in  the  same  writer's  treatise, "  De  Anima," — 
to  the  Second  and  Third  Books  of  the  Ptedagogusof 
Clemens  Alexandrinus,  and  to  the  instances  which 
La  Mothe  le  Vayer  has  adduced  from  Chrysostom  in 
his  Hexameron  Hustique,  Journee  Seconde. 


1  The  I'lillowiii^'  may  serve  as  specimens: — "  Les  ang'S 
MO  savent  point  la  liin:;ue  Chaldaique:  c'est  pourijuoi  ils  n«) 
portent  point  a  Dieu  les  oraisons  deceuxqui  prient  diinscetle 
langiie.  lis  se  tronipent  souveni  ;  ils  font  doserreurs  danjer- 
euscs;  car  I'Anijo  de  la  mori,  (|ui  est  charce  de  faire  inoiirir 
un  homme,  en  prend  qucliiuefois  un  autre,  ce  qui  cause  de 
grands  d6sordres lis  sont  charges  de  chan- 
ter devant  Dieu  Ic  cantique,  Saint,  Saint  est  In  Dim  ila 
arm  CIS ;  mais  ils  ne  renqilissent  cet  office  qn'une  fois  Ic 
jour,  dans  une  semaine,  dans  nn  mois,  dans  un  an,  dans  un 
siecle,  ou  dans  r6lcrnit6.  I/Anpequi  lulioit  centre  Jacob 
le  pressa  do  le  laisser  allor,  lorsque  I'Aurore  parut,  parcf 
(]ue  c'iitoit  son  tour  de  chanter  le  cantique  ce  jour-la,  ce 
qii'il  n'avoit  encore  jamais  fait." 

2  This  work  (which,  notwithstanding  its  title,  is,  proba- 
bly, (piile  as  dull  as  the  rest)  \  have  not,  niy-.elf,  been  ahlt 
to  sec,  having  si-arclieil  for  it  in  vain  Ihronirh  the  Kind's  T,i 
brary  at  Paris,  thongh  assisted  by  the  zeal  and  kindness  of 
"M.  Iiangl6s  and  M.  VonpradI,  whosi-  liberal  adrninislraliorj 
of  that  most  liberal  cstahlishmeni,  entitles  them — not  onlj 
for  the  immediate  eflTcct  of  such  eondnel,  but  for  the  iisefa' 
and  civilizing  e.vaniple  it  holds  forth — to  the  most  cordia 
gratimdi-  of  Ihe  wlmlo  litrTarv  world. 

3  Corinth   xi.  10.  Dr.  Mackni:,'hl'8  Translation. 


Page  298,  line  75. 

When  Lucifer,  in  fallinfr,  bore 
Tim  lliir.l  of  the  hrifrlit  slurs  iiw.iy. 
"  And  his  tail  drew  the  third  part  of  the  stars  of 
heaven,  and  did  cast  thcin  to  the  earth."  Revelat. 
in.  4. — Docent  sancti  (says  i?iiarcz)  suprcmnm  aiige- 
luin  traxisse  secum  tertiam  partem  stellarum."  Lib. 
7  cap.  7. 

Page  2D8,  line  77. 

Kise,  in  earth's  hi'auty,  to  repair 
That  1  .s8  of  M^ht  and  glory  Iher,'! 
The  idea  of  the  Fathers  was,  that  the  vacancies 
occasioned  in  tlie  ditierent  orders  of  angels  by  the 
fall  were  to  be  filled  up  from  the  human  race,  'i'here 
is,  however,  another  opinion,  backed  by  papal  autiio- 
rity,  that  it  was  only  the  tenth  order  of  the  Celestial 
Hierarchy  that  ftll,  and  that,  therefore,  tlie  promo- 
tions vvhicli  occasionally  tal;e  place  from  earth  are 
intended  for  the  completion  of  that  grade  alone  :  or, 
as  it  is  explained  by  Salonius  (Dial,  in  Eccl.)— "De- 
cem  sunt  ordines  angclorum,  sed  unus  cecidit  pcrsu- 
perbiam,  et  idcirco  boni  angeli  semper  laborant,  ut  de 
hominibus  numenis  adimpleatur,  et  proveniat  ad  per- 
fectum  numerum,  id  est,  denarium."  Accordins;  to 
some  theologians,  virgins  alone  are  admitted  "  ad  col- 
legium angclorum,"  but  the  author'  of  the  "  Speculum 
Peregrinarum  Qua;stionum"  rather  questions  this  ex- 
clusive privilege : — "Hoc  non  videtur  veruin,  quia  mul- 
ti,  non  virgines,  ut  Petrus  et  Magdalena,  mullis  eti;mi 
virginibf.s  emincntiores  sunt.''  Decad.  2.  cap.  10. 

Page  299,  line  38. 

■T  wa>  Rufll. 

I  might  have  chosen,  perhaps,  some  better  name, 
but  it  is  meant  (like  that  of  Zaraph  in  the  following 
story)  to  define  the  particular  class  of  spirits  to  which 
the  angel  belonged.  The  autlior  of  the  Book  of 
Enoch,  who  estimates  at  200  the  number  of  angels 
that  descended  upon  3Iount  Hcrmon,  for  the  purpose 
of  making  love  to  the  women  of  earth,  has  favoured 
IIS  with  the  names  of  their  leader  and  chiefs — Samy- 
aza,  rrakabaramoel,  Akibeel,  Tamiel,  etc.  etc. 

In  that  heretical  worship  of  angels  which  prevailed, 
to  a  great  degree,  during  the  first  ages  of  Christianity, 
to  name  them  seems  to  have  been  one  of  the  most 
important  ceremonies ;  for  we  find  it  expressly  for- 
bidden in  one  of  the  Canons  (35ih)  of  the  council  of 
Laodicea,  ovoftn^eiv  rovg  ayyeXov;.  Josephus,  too, 
mentions,  among  the  religious  rites  of  the  Essenes, 
iheir  swearing  to  preserve  the  names  of  the  angels." 
— (TvvTijpriativ  ra  Tian  ayycXhiv  ovofiara.  Bell.  Jud.  lib. 
2.  cap.  8. — See  upon  this  subject  Van  Dale,  de  Ong. 
et  Progress.  Idololat.  cap.  9. 

Page  299,  line  39. 

thu^e  bright  troiitures  named 

Spirits  of  Knowledge. 
The  word  cherub  signifies  knowledge — to  yvo^iKov 
'.vTu}v  Kai  ■Jto-TiKoi',  says  Dionysius.   Hence  it  is  that 
Ezekiel,  to  express  the  abundance  of  their  knowledge, 
represents  them  as  "  full  of  eyes." 


Page  299,  line  78. 

Sumnion'd  U\»  chiol'  uiigulic  |iO»'ur8 
To  wilncss,  i;ln. 

St.  Augustin,  upon  Genesis,  seems  nither  incliiiec 
to  admit  that  the  angels  had  some  share  ("aliquuo 
ministerium")  in  the  creation  of  Adam  and  Eve. 

Page  300,  line  124. 
I  harl  brheld  llieir  Pirsi,  I  heir  HvE, 
Horn  in  lli:it  H|)leiiii  d  I'Mrad  s-. 
Whether  Eve  was  created  in  Paradise  or  not  is  l 
question  that  has  been  productive  of  much  doubt  and 
controversy  among  tlie  tlieologians.  With  respect  ".o 
Adam,  it  is  agreed  on  all  sides  that  he  was  created 
outride ;  and  it  is  accordingly  asked,  with  some 
warmth,  by  one  of  the  commentators,  "  why  should 
woman,  the  ignoblor  creature  of  the  two,  be  created 
within?'  Others,  on  the  contrary,  consider  this  dis- 
tinction as  but  a  fair  tribute  to  the  superior  beauty 
and  purity  of  women ;  and  some,  in  their  zeal,  even 
seem  to  think  that,  if  the  scene  of  her  creation  waa 
not  already  Paradise,  it  became  so,  immediately  upon 
that  event,  in  cotnpliment  to  her.  Josephus  is  one 
of  those  who  think  that  Eve  was  formed  outside  ; 
TertuUian,  too,  among  the  Fathers — and,  among  the 
Theologians,  Rupertus,  who,  to  do  him  justice,  never 
misses  an  opportunity  of  putting  on  record  his  ill- 
will  to  the  sex.  Pererius,  however  (and  his  opinion 
seems  to  be  considered  as  the  most  orthodox,)  thinks 
it  much  more  consistent  with  the  order  of  the  Mosaic 
narration,  as  well  as  with  the  sentiments  of  Basil  and 
other  Fathers,  to  conclude  that  Eve  was  created  in 
Paradise. 

Page  301,  line  8. 

IJci  .  rro. ,  to... 
The  comparative  extent  of  Eve  s  delinquency,  and 
the  proportion  wliich  it  bears  to  that  of  Adam,  is  an- 
other point  which  has  exercised  the  tiresome  inge- 
nuity of  the  Commentators  ;  and  they  seem  gouerally 
to  agree  (with  the  exception  always  of  Riipertiis) 
that,  as  she  was  not  yet  created  when  the  prohibition 
was  issued,  and  therefore  could  not  have  heard  it,  (a 
conclusion  remarkably  confirmed  by  the  inaccurate 
way  in  w'hich  she  reports  it  to  the  serpent,-')  her  share 
in  the  crime  of  disobedience  is  considerably  liglitei 
than  that  of  Adam.'  In  corroboration  of  this  view 
of  the  matter,  Pererius  remarks  that  it  is  to  Adam 
alone  the  Deity  addresses  his  reproaches  for  having 
eaten  of  the  forbidden  tree,  because  to  Adam  alone 
the  order  had  been  originally  promulgated.  So  far, 
indeed,  does  the  gallantry  of  another  commentator, 
Hugh  de  St.  Victor,  carry  iiim,  that  he  looks  upon  the 
W'ords  "  I  will  put  enmity  between  thee  and  the  wo- 
man" as  a  proof  that  the  sex  was  from  that  moment 
enlisted  into  the  service  of  Heaven,  as  the  chief  foe 
and  obstacle  which  the  Spirit  of  Evil  would  have  to 
contend  with  in  his  inroads  on  this  world  : — "  si  dein- 


1  F.  BartholoHKPUs  Sibylla. 


1  "Cur  denique  Ev:im,  qua;  Adauio  ignobilior  erat,  tor- 
mavit  intra  Paiadismn  ?" 

2  Uupcctus  considers  these  variavtes  as  intentional  and 
prevaricatory,  and  as  the  first  instance  upon  record  of  s 
wilful  vitiation  of  the  words  of  God,  for  the  purpose  of 
suiiing  the  corrupt  views  and  propensities  of  human  nature 
— De  Trinitat.  lib.  iii.  cap.  5. 

3  Caielanus,  indeed,  pronounces  it  to  be  "uiiuinium  pe( 
catuin  " 


314 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ceps  Eva  inimica  Diabolo,  ergo  fuit  grata  et  arnica 
Deo." 

Page  301,  line  36. 
Call  her — lliink  whal— his  Lilbl  his  Life! 

Chavah  (or,  as  it  is  in  the  Latin  version,  Eva)  has 
"le  same  signification  as  the  Greek,  Zoe. 

Epiphanius,  among  others,  is  not  a  little  surprised 
ai  the  application  of  such  a  name  to  Eve,  so  immedi- 
ately, too,  after  that  awful  denunciation  of  death, 
•'  dust  thou  art,"  etc.  etc'  Some  of  the  commenta- 
tors think  that  it  was  meant  as  a  sarcasm,  and  spoken 
Dy  Adam,  in  the  first  bitterness  of  his  heart, — in  the 
same  spirit  of  irony  (says  Pererius)  as  that  of  the 
Greeks  in  calling  their  Furies,  Eumenides,  or  Gentle.^ 
But  the  Bishop  of  Chalon  rejects  this  supposition : — 
"  Explodendi  sane  qui  id  nominis  ab  Adamo  per  iro- 
niam  inditum  uxori  suae  putant ;  atque  quod  mortis 
causa  esset,  amaro  ioco  vitam  appellasse.' 

With  a  similar  feeling  of  spleen  against  women, 
some  of  these  "  distillateurs  des  Saintes  Lettres"  (as 
Bayle  calls  them,)  in  rendering  the  text  "  I  will  make 
him  a  help  meet  for  /ii7n,"  translate  these  words 
"  acramst  or  contrary  to  him"  (a  meaning  which,  it 
appears,  the  original  will  bear,)  and  represent  them 
as  prophetic  of  those  contradictions  and  perplexities 
which  men  experience  from  women  in  this  life. 

It  is  rather  strange  that  these  two  instances  of  per- 
verse commentatorship  should  have  escaped  the  re- 
searches of  Bayle,  in  his  curious  article  upon  Eve. 
He  would  have  found  another  subject  of  discussion, 
equally  to  his  taste,  in  Gataker's  whimsical  disserta- 
tion upon  Eve's  knowledge  of  the  rc^vri  v(pavTiKt], 
and  upon  the  notion  of  Epiphanius  that  it  was  taught 
her  in  a  special  revelation  from  Heaven. — Miscellan. 
lib.  ii.  cap.  3.  p.  200. 

Page  302,  line  113. 

Oh,  idol  of  my  dreams!   vvhate'er 
Thy  nature  be — human,  divine 
Or  hut  hiilf  heavenly. 

In  an  article  upon  the  Fathers,  which  appeared, 
some  years  since,  i;i  the  Edinburgh  Review  (No. 
XLVir,)  and  of  which  I  have  made  some  little  use  in 
these  notes  (having  that  claim  over  it — as  "  quiddam 
notum  propriumque" — which  Lucretius  gives  to  the 
cow  ovei  .he  calf,)  there  is  the  following  remark : — 
"  The  belief  of  an  intercourse  between  angels  and 
women,  founded  upon  a  false  version  of  a  text  in 
Genesis,  is  one  of  those  extravagant  notions  of  St. 
Justin  and  other  Fathers,  which  show  how  little  they 
had  yet  purified  themselves  from  the  grossness  of 
heathen  mythology,  and  in  how  many  respects  their 
heaven  was  but  Olympus,  with  other  names.  Yet  we 
can  hardly  be  angry  with  them  for  this  one  error, 
when  we  recollect  that  possibly  to  their  enamoured 
angels  we  owe  the  fanciful  world  of  sylphs  and 
gnomes,  and  that  at  this  moment  we  might  have 
v»anted  Pope's  most  exquisite  poem,  if  the  version  of 
the  LXX.  had  translated  the  Book  of  Genesis  cor- 
rectly." 


1  Kxt    ftiTH    TO    uxntKTXi,   yn   £»,  xxi    si;   j.111/    aTriKivrrn, 

fCtrX   TJJV    TTXpx^XTiV     V.%i    tfV    ^UVfAXtrTOV   OT*    jUSTce   TljV  TTMpX' 
^Xa-IV  TXUTYIV   TIIV   fity  XKHV  KT'/^IV   i?ruJl/U;Kl«V.    HajrCS  78.  BBC. 

18.  loin.  i.  edit.  Paris,  1622. 

2  I  jh.  6.  p.  2:!4. 

3  Pontus  Tyard.  dc  recta  nomiiiuui  iin|>ositioiie,  p.  14. 


The  following  is  one  among  many  passages,  wn'ch 
may  be  adduced  from  the  Comte  de  Gabalis,  in  con- 
firmation of  this  remark : — "Ces  enfans  du  ciel  engeu 
drerent  les  geans  fameux,  s'etant  fait  aimer  aux  fiUes 
des  hommes ;  et  les  mauvais  cabalistes  Joseph  et  Philo 
(comme  tous  fes  Juifs  sont  ignorans,)  et  apres  eui 
tons  les  auteurs  que  j'ai  nommes  tout  a  I'heure,  ont 
dit  que  c'etoit  des  anges,  et  n'ont  pas  su  que  c'etail 
les  sylplies  et  les  autres  peuples  des  elemens,  qui, 
sous  le  nom  d'enfiins  d'Eloim,  sont  distingues  de8 
enfans  des  hommes." — See  Entret.  Second. 

Page  303,  line  110. 

So  high  sill!  ilciiiiM  hi-T  Clieruh's  love  ! 

"  Nihil  plus  desiderare  potuerint  quae  angelos  pos- 
sidebant — magno  scilicet  nupserant.''  Tertull.  de 
Habitu  Mulieb.  cap.  2. 

Page  304,  line  14. 

Thi'n  first  were  <liaiii<jnds  cautiht,  eir. 

"  Quclques  gnomes,  desireux  de  devenir  immortels, 
avoieiit  voulu  gagner  les  bonnes  graces  de  nos  filles, 
et  leur  avaient  apporte  des  pierreries  dont  ils  sont 
gardiens  naturels  :  et  ses  auteurs  ont  cru,  s'appuyant 
sur  le  livre  d'Enoch  nial  entendu,  que  c'etaient  des 
pieges  que  les  anges  amoureux,"  etc.  etc. — Compte 
de  Gabalis. 

Terttillian  traces  all  the  chief  luxuries  of  female 
attire,  the  necklaces,  armlets,  rouge,  and  the  black 
powder  for  the  eye-lashes,  to  the  researches  of  these 
fallen  angels  into  the  inmost  recesses  of  nature,  and 
the  discoveries  they  were,  in  consequence,  enabled 
to  make,  of  all  that  could  embellish  the  beauty  of 
their  earthly  favourites.  The  passage  is  so  remark- 
able that  I  shall  give  it  entire  : — "  Nam  et  ilU  qui  ea 
constituerant,  damnati  in  psenam  mortis  deputantur  : 
illi  scilicet  angeli,  qui  ad  filias  hominum  de  ccbIo  rue- 
runt,  ut  ha;c  quoque  ignoniinia  foeminai  accedat.  Nam 
cum  et  nmterias  quasdam  bene  occultas  et  artes  ple- 
rasque  non  bene  revelatas,  saeculo  multo  magis  impe- 
rito  prodidissent  (siquidem  et  metallorum  opera  nuda- 
verant,  et  herbarum  ingenia  traduxerant  et  incanta- 
tionum  vires  provulgaverant,  et  omnem  curiositatem 
usque  ad  stellarum  interpretationem  designaverant) 
proprie  et  quasi  peculiariter  ioBminis  instrumentum 
istud  muliebris  gloria  contuleruut :  lumina  lapillorum 
quibus  monilia  variantur,  et  circulos  ex  auro  quibus 
brachia  arclantur ;  et  medicamenta  ex  fuco,  quibus 
lanae  culorantur,  et  ilium  ipsum  nigrum  pulverein, 
quo  oculorum  exordia  producuntur."  De  Habitu 
Mulieb.  cap.  2. — See  him  also  "  De  Cuitu  Foem.  cap  10. 

Page  304,  line  28. 

iln'  mighty  magi!et,  set 

In  W(iiiian'.s  form. 
The  same  figure,  as  applied  to  female  attractions, 
occurs  in  a  singular  passage  of  St.  Basil,  of  which  the 
following  is  the  conclusion  : — Aia  rtiv  cvovaav  Kara 

TTOjilihiOii  fiayvcTii,  tovto  irjioi  fa"rov  jiayyavtvi.  De 
Vera  Viigiiiitat.  lom.  i.  p.  727.  It  is  but  f  lir,  however, 
to  add,  that  Ilermant,  the  biographer  of  Basil,  has  pro 
iiounccd  this  most  unsanctified  treatise  to  be  spurious. 

Page  304,  line  37. 
1  've  said,  "  N;iy,  look  nut  there,  mv  h)vo,"  etc. 
I  am  aware  that  this  happv  saying  of  Lord  Alb& 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


315 


marle's  loses  much  of  its  grace  and  playfulness,  by 
being  put  into  the  moutli  of  any  but  a  human  lover. 

Page  304  —Note. 
Clemnns  Alexandrinus  is  one  of  those  who  suppose 
tliat  the  knowledge  of  such  sublime  doctrines  was 
derived  from  the  disclosure  of  the  angels.  Stromat. 
lib.  V.  p.  48.  To  th«  same  source  Cassianus  and 
others  trace  all  impious  and  daring  sciences,  such 
as  magic,  alchemy,  etc.  "  From  the  fallen  angels 
(says  Zosimus)  came  all  that  miserable  knowledge 
which  is  of  no  use  to  the  soul." — Flaira  ra  -rrovrij'a 
Kai  jiribtv  <j}ipc.\ovvTa  Ttjv  \j.'v^riv. — Ap  Photium. 

Page  304,  line  9L 

light 

Escaping  from  the  Zod.ac's  signs. 
"  La  lumiere  Zodiacale  n'est  autre  chose  que  I'at- 
mosphfere  du  soleil." — Lalande. 

Page  308,  line,  108. 

as  't  is  graved 

Upon  Ihe  tablets  that,  of  old, 
By  Cham  were  from  the  Deluge  saved. 
The  pillars  of  Seth  are  usually  referred  to  as  the 
depositories  of  ante-diluvian  knowledge ;  but  they 
were  inscribed  with  none  but  astronomical  secrets. 
I  have,  therefore,  preferred  here  the  tablets  of  Cham 
as  being,  at  least,  more  miscellaneous  in  their  infor- 
mation. The  following  account  of  them  is  given  in 
Jablonski  from  Cassianus  : — "  Quantum  enim  antiqua; 
traditiones  ferunt  Cham  filius  No;c,  qui  siiperstitioni- 
bus  ac  profanis  fuerit  arlibus  institiittis,  scions  nullum 
ee  posse  siiperbis  memorialem  librum  in  arcam  inferre, 
in  quam  erat  ingressurus,  sacrilcgas  artes  ac  profana 
commenta  durissimis  insculpsit  lapidibus." 

Page  308,  line  114. 

And  this  young  Angel's  'nxiiig  the  rest. 

Pachyirier,  in  his  Paraphrase  on  the  Book  de  Divi- 
uis  Nominibus  of  Dyonysius,  speaking  of  the  incarna- 
tion of  Christ,  says,  that  it  was  a  mystery  ineffable 
from  all  time,  and  "  unknown  even  to  the  first  and 
oldest  angel," — justifying  tliis  last  phrase  by  the  au- 
thority of  St.  John  in  the  Revelation. 

Page  308,  line  4. 
Circles  of  light  that  from  the  same 
Eternal  centre  sweeping  wide, 
Carry  its  beams  on  every  side. 

See  the  13th  chapter  of  Dionysius  for  his  notions 


of  the  manner  in  which  God  s  ray  is  communicated, 
lirst  to  the  Intelligences  near  him,  and  then  to  those 
more  remote,  gradually  loshig  its  own  brightness  aa 
it  passes  into  a  denser  medium. — TrpoaBaXXovaa  it  ran 
■Ka')(yTtpaii  fc^aij,  afiviiJOTqjuv  e^ci  rt/v  iiaioTiKij*  nri- 
tpavctav. 

Page  310,  line  20. 

Then  first  did  woman's  virgin  brow 

Tl;at  hymeneal  cliaplet  wear, 
Which,  when  it  dies,  no  second  vow 

Can  bid  u  new  one  bloom  out  there. 

In  the  Catholic  church,  when  a  widow  is  marrifld, 
she  is  not,  I  believe,  allowed  to  wear  flowers  on  her 
head.  The  ancient  Romans  honoured  with  a  "corona 
pudicitia;,"  or  crown  of  modesty,  those  who  entered 
but  once  into  tlie  marriage  state. 

Page  310,  line  57. 

her,  who  near 

The  Tiibernacle  stole  to  hear 
The  secrets  of  the  Angels. 


Sara. 


Page  310,  line  86. 


Two  lallcn  Splendors. 

The  Sephiroths  are  the  higher  orders  of  emanative 
being,  in  the  strange  and  incomprehensible  system  of 
the  Jewish  Cabbala.  They  are  called  by  various 
names.  Pity,  Beauty,  etc.  etc.;  and  their  influences 
are  supposed  to  act  through  certain  canals,  which 
communicate  with  each  other.  The  reader  may 
judge  of  the  rationality  of  the  system  by  the  follow- 
ing explanation  of  part  of  the  machinery : — "  Les 
canaux  qui  sortent  de  la  Misericorde  et  de  la  Force,  et 
qui  vontaboutir  a,  la  Beautc,  sont  charges  d'un  gr<and 
nombre  d'Anges.  II  y  en  a  treiite-cinq  sur  le  canal 
de  la  Misericorde,  qui  recompensent  et  qui  couronnent 
la  vertu  des  Saints,"  etc.  etc.  For  a  concise  account 
of  the  Cabalistic  Philosophy,  see  Enfield's  very  usefi)' 
compendium  of  Brucker. 

Page  310,  line  86. 

from  that  tree 

Which  buds  with  such  eternally. 

"  On  les  represente  quelquefois  sous  la  figure  d'ur 
arbre  ....  I'Ensoph  qu'on  met  au-dessus  de  I'arbre 
Sephirotique  ou  des  Splendeurs  divines,  est  I'lnCDi 
— L'Histoire  des  Juifs,  hv.  ix.  11. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


Though  the  beauties  of  the  National  Music  of  Ire- 
and  have  been  very  generally  felt  and  acknowledged, 
/et  it  has  happened,  through  the  want  of  appropriate 
English  words,  and  of  the  arrangement  necessary  to 
adapt  them  to  the  voice,  that  many  of  the  most  excel- j 
lent  compositions  have  hitherto  remained  in  obscurity 
It  is  intended,  therefore,  to  form  a  Collection  of  the 
best  Original  Irish  Melodies,  with  characteristic 
Symphonies  and  Accompaniments,  and  with  Words 
containing  as  frequent  as  possible  allusions  to  the 
manners  and  history  of  the  country. 

In  the  poetical  part,  the  Publisher  has  had  promises 
of  assistance  from  several  distinguished  Literary  Cha- 
racters, particularly  from  Mr.  Moore,  whose  lyrical 
talent  is  so  peculiarly  suited  to  such  a  task,  and  whose 
zeal  in  the  undertaking  will  be  best  understood  from 
the  following  extract  of  a  letter  which  he  has  address- 
ed to  Sir  John  Stevenson  (who  has  undertaken  the 
arrangement  of  the  airs)  on  the  subject: — 

"  I  feel  very  anxious  that  a  Work  of  this  kind  should 
be  undertaken.  We  have  too  long  neglected  the  only 
talent  for  which  our  English  neighbours  ever  deigned 
to  allow  us  any  credit.  Our  National  Music  has  never 
been  properly  collected ;'  and,  whde  the  composers 
of  the  Continent  have  enriched  their  operas  and 
sonatas  with  melodies  borrowed  from  Ireland — very 
often  without  even  the  honesty  of  acknowledgment — 
we  have  left^  these  treasures  in  a  great  degree  un- 
claimed and  fugitive.  Thus  our  airs,  like  too  many 
of  our  countrymen,  for  want  of  protection  at  home, 
have  passed  into  the  service  of  foreigners.  Bu.t  we 
are  come,  1  hope,  to  a  better  period  both  of  politics 
and  music ;  and  how  much  they  are  connected,  in 
Ireland  at  least,  appears  too  plainly  in  the  tone  of 
sorrow  and  depression  which  characterises  most  of 
our  early  songs. — The  task  which  ypu  propose  to  me, 
of  adapting  words  to  these  airs,  is  by  no  means  easy. 
The  poet,  who  would  follow  the  various  sentiments 
which  they  express,  must  feel  and  understand  that 
rapid  fluctuation  of  spirits,  that  unaccountable  mixture 
of  gloom  and  levity,  which  composes  the  character 
of  my  countrymen,  and  has  deeply  tinged  their  music. 
Even  in  their  liveliest  strains  we  find  some  melan- 
choly note  intrude — some  minor  third  or  flat  seventh 
— wliich  throws  its  shade  as  it  passes,  and  makes 
even  mirth  interesting.  If  Burns  had  been  an  Irish- 
man (and  I  would  willingly  give  up  all  our  claims 
upon  <')s.';iAN  for  him,)  his  heart  would  have  been 
proud  of  such  music,  and  his  genius  would  have  made 
•t  immortal. 


1  The  writer  forgot,  wlinn  ho  made  this  assertion,  that  the 
Puhlio  aro  inilcbtoil  to  Mr.  Bunting  tor  a  very  vuluiihlc  col- 
ection  otliiHh  Music;  and  ihat  thu  patriotic  genius  of  Miss 
Oweneun  liati  been  einploved  upon  euinout'our  finest  Airs. 

316 


"Another  difficulty  (which  is,  however,  purely 
mechanical)  arises  from  the  irregular  structure  of 
many  of  those  airs,  and  the  lawless  kind  of  metre 
which  it  will  in  consequence  be  necessary  to  adapt 
to  them.  In  these  instances  the  poet  must  write  not 
to  the  eye  but  to  the  ear ;  and  must  be  content  to  have 
his  verses  of  that  description  which  Cicero  mentions, 
'  Quos  si  cantu  spoliuveris,  nuda  remuiiehit  oratio ' 
That  beautiful  air,  '  The  Twisting  of  the  Rope,'  which 
has  all  the  romantic  character  of  the  Swiss  Ranz  ties 
Vaches,  is  one  of  those  wild  and  sentimental  rakes) 
which  it  will  not  be  very  easy  to  tie  down  in  sober 
wedlock  with  poetry.  However,  notwithstanding  all 
these  difficulties,  and  the  very  little  talent  which  J 
can  bring  to  surmount  them,  the  design  appears  to 
me  so  truly  national,  that  I  shall  feel  much  pleasure 
in  giving  it  all  the  assistance  in  my  power 

"Leicestershire,  Feb.  1807.'' 


IRISH  MELODIES. 

No.  I. 


GO  WHERE  GLORY  WAITS  THEE 

Am— Maid  of  the  Valley. 
Go  where  glory  waits  thee, 
But,  wliile  fame  elates  thee, 

Oh  !  still  rernomber  me. 
When  the  praise  thou  meetest 
To  thine  ear  io  sweetest, 

Oh  !  then  remember  me. 
Other  arms  may  press  thee, 
Dearer  friends  caress  thee. 
All  the  joys  that  bless  thee 

Sweeter  far  may  be  ; 
But  when  friends  are  nearest. 
And  when  joys  are  dearest, 

Oh  !  then  remember  me. 

When  at  eve  thou  rovest 
By  the  star  thou  lovest. 

Oh  !  then  remembnr  me. 
Think,  when  home  returning, 
Bright  we've  seen  it  burning — 

Oh  !  thus  remember  me. 
Oft  as  summer  closes, 
When  thine  eye  reposes, 
On  its  lingering  roses, 

Once  so  lov<:d  by  thee — 
Think  of  her  who  wove  them. 
Her  who  made  thee  love  them— 

Oh  !  then  remember  me. 

When,  around  thee  dying. 
Autumn  leaves  are  lying, 
Oh  I  then  remember  me 


IRISH  3IELODIES 


317 


And,  at  night,  when  gazing 
On  the  gay  heartli  blazing. 

Oh  !  still  remember  me. 
Then  should  music,  stealing 
All  the  souJ  of  feeling. 
To  thy  heari  appealing, 

Draw  one  tear  from  thee  , 
Then  let  memory  bring  thee 
Strains  I  lised  to  sing  thee — 

Oh  !  then  remember  me. 


WAR  SONG. 

REMEMBER  THE  nr.ORIKS  OF  RRIEN  THE 

BRAVE.' 

Air — MoUy  Macalpin. 
Rf.memder  the  glories  of  Bhikn  the  brave, 

Though  the  days  of  the  hero  are  o'er  ; 
Though  lost  to  jMononia^  and  cold  in  the  grave, 

He  returns  to  Kinkora'  no  more  ! 
That  star  of  the  field,  which  so  often  has  pour'd 

Its  beam  on  the  battle,  is  set; 
3ut  enough  of  its  glory  remains  on  each  sword 

To  light  us  to  victory  yet ! 

Mononia  I  when  nature  embellish'd  the  tint 

Of  thy  fields  and  thy  mountains  so  fair, 
Did  she  ever  intend  that  a  tyrant  should  print 

The  footstep  of  Slavery  there  ? 
No,  Freedom  !  whose  smile  we  shall  never  resign, 

Go,  tell  our  invaders,  the  Danes, 
That  't  is  sweeter  to  bleed  for  an  age  at  thy  shrine, 

Than  to  sleep  but  a  moment  in  chains  ! 

Forget  not  our  wounded  companions  who  stood'' 

In  the  day  of  distress  by  our  side  ; 
While  the  moss  of  the  valley  grew  red  with  their  blood 

They  stirr'd  not,  but  conquer'd  and  died  ! 
The  stm  that  now  blesses  our  arms  with  his  hght, 

Saw  tliem  fall  upon  Ossory's  plain  ! — 
Oh !  let  him  not  blush,  when  he  leaves  us  to-night, 

To  find  that  they  fell  there  in  vain  ! 


ERIN!  THE  TEAR  AND  THE  SMILE  IN 
THINE  EYES. 

Air — Aileen  Aroon. 
Erin  !  the  tear  and  the  smile  in  thine  eyes 
Blend  hke  the  rainbow  that  hangs  in  thy  skies  ! 


1  Brieii  Borombe,  the  great  Monarch  i>f  trelaml,  who  wag 
killed  in  Ih.'  batile  of  Cloiilarl',  in  ihe  l)(><rinning  of  thn  I  Itl 
ciiiuury,  after  having  defeated  the  Uanca  in  twenty  fivi 
ensjaiciiieiils. 

2  .Munstei.  3  The  palace  of  Bricn. 

4  This  alhiiles  to  an  intercstin«r  circumstanre  nlated  of 
the  Diilsais,  ihi'  fiivourilo  troops  of  Firinn,  when  they  were 
internipted  in  their  return  from  the  battle  of  Clontarf,  by 
Fitzpalriek,  Prince  o^0^so^v.  The  wounded  men  entr-alpd 
that  they  might  be  allowi-d  to  fi;rht  with  the  rest. — "  f.rt 
stakes  (they  said)  be  .itiick  in  the  grminil,  and  suffrr  cnrh 
of  us,  tied  and  svpported  by  one  of  these,  stakes,  to  be 
vlaced  in  his  rank  by  the  side  of  a  sound  man.'^  "  Be- 
tween seven  and  ei£;ht  hundred  wounded  men  (adds  OHal- 
'oran,)  pale,  emaciated,  and  supported  in  this  manner,  ap- 
peared mixed  with  the  foremost  of  tlie  troops  : — never  was 
mirh  nnother  sight  exhibited." — History  of  Ireland,  Book, 
12,  I 'hap    ' 


Shining  through  sorrow's  stream. 
Saddening  through  pleasure's  beam. 
Thy  suns,  with  doubtfiil  gleam. 
Weep  while  they  rise  ! 

I>in  I  thy  silent  tear  never  shall  cease, 
Erin  I  iliy  languid  smile  ne'er  shall  increase. 

Till,  like  the  rainbow's  light, 

Thy  various  tints  unite, 

And  form,  in  Heaven's  sight, 
One  arch  of  peace ! 


OH!  BREATHE  NOT  HIS  NAME. 

Air — The  Brown  Maid. 

On  !  breathe  not  his  name,  let  it  sleep  in  the  shade 
Where  cold  and  unhonour'd  his  relics  are  laid : 
Sad,  silent,  and  dark  be  the  tears  that  we  shed. 
As  the  night-dew  that  falls  on  the  grass  o'er  his  head 

But   the   night-dew  that  falls,  though   in  silence  il 

weeps. 
Shall  brighten  with  verdure  the  grave  where  he  sleeps. 
And  the  tear  that  we  shed,  though  in  secret  it  rolls, 
Shall  long  keep  his  memory  green  in  our  souls. 


WHEN  HE  WHO  ADORES  THEE. 
Air — 7*7(6  Fox's  Sleep. 

WiiKN  he  who  adores  thee  has  left  but  the  name 

Of  his  fault  and  his  sorrows  behind, 
Oh  !  say,  wilt  thou  weep,  when  they  darken  the  fame 

Of  a  life  that  for  thee  was  resign'd  ? 
Yes,  weep,  and  however  my  foes  may  condemn, 

Thy  tears  shall  efface  their  decree  ; 
For  Heaven  can  witness,  though  guilty  to  them, 

I  have  been  too  faithful  to  thee  ! 

With  thee  were  the  dreams  of  my  eaifiest  love 

Every  thought  of  my  reason  was  thine  ; 
In  my  last  himible  prayer  to  the  Spirit  above 

Thy  name  shall  be  mingled  with  mine  ! 
Oh  I  blest  are  the  lovers  and  friends  who  shall  \i\t^ 

The  days  of  thy  glory  to  see  ; 
But  the  next  dearest  blessinir  that  Heaven  can  givn 

Is  the  pride  of  thus  dying  for  thee  I 


THE  HARP  THAT  ONfE  THROUGH 
TARA'S  HALLS. 
A IR — Gramnchree. 

The  harp  that  once  through  Tara's  halls 

The  soul  of  music  shed. 
Now  hangs  as  mute  on  Tara's  walls 

As  if  that  soul  were  fled. 
So  sleeps  the  prine  of  former  days, 

So  glory's  thnll  is  o'er, 
And  hearts  that  once  beat  high  for  praisp 

Now  feel  that  pulse  no  more  ' 


318 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


No  more  to  chiefs  and  ladies  bright 

The  harp  of  Tara  swells  ; 
The  chord  alone,  that  breads  at  night, 

Its  tale  of  ruin  tells. 
Thus  Freedom  now  so  seldom  wakes, 

The  only  throb  she  gives 
Is  when  some  heart  indignant  breaks, 

To  show  that  still  she  lives  ! 


FLY  NOT  YET. 

Air — Planxty  Kelly. 

Fly  not  yet,  't  is  just  the  hour 
When  pleasure,  like  the  midnight  flower 
That  scorns  the  eye  of  vulgar  light, 
Begins  to  bloom  for  sons  of  night, 

And  maids  who  love  the  moon  ! 
'T  was  but  to  bless  these  hours  of  shade 
That  beauty  and  the  moon  were  made ; 
'Tis  then  their  soft  attractions  glowmg 
Set  the  tides  and  goblets  flowing. 

Oh  !  stay— Oh  !  stay- 
Joy  so  seldom  weaves  a  chain 
Like  this  to-night,  that  oh  !  't  is  pain 

To  break  its  links  so  soon. 

Fly  not  yet,  the  fount  that  play'd 

In  times  of  old  through  Ammon's  shade,' 

Through  icy  cold  by  day  it  ran, 

Yet  still,  like  souls  of  mirth,  began 

To  Durn  when  night  was  near : 
And  thus  should  woman's  heart  and  looks 
At  noon  be  cold  as  winter  brooks. 
Nor  kindle  till  the  night,  returning. 
Brings  their  genial  hour  for  burning. 

Oh  !  stay — Oh  !  stay — 
When  did  morning  ever  break. 
And  find  such  beaming  eyes  awake 

As  those  that  sparkle  here ! 


OH !  THINK  NOT  MY  SPIRITS  ARE  AL- 
WAYS AS  LIGHT. 
Air — John  O'Reilly  the  Active. 

On  '  think  not  my  spirits  are  always  as  light, 

And  as  free  from  a  pang  as  they  seem  to  you  now  ; 
Nor  expect  that  the  heart-beaming  smiie  of  to-night 

Will  return  with  to-morrow  to  brighten  my  brow. 
No — life  is  a  waste  of  wearisome  hours, 

Which  seldom  the  rose  of  enjoyment  adorns; 
And  the  heart  that  is  soonest  awake  to  the  flowers 

Is  always  the  first  to  be  touch'd  by  the  thorns  ! 
But  send  round  the  bowl,  and  be  happy  awhile ; 

May  we  never  meet  worse,  in  our  pilgrimage  here, 
Than  the  tear  that  enjoyment  can  gild  with  a  smile. 

And  the  smile  that  compassion  can  turn  to  a  tear. 

The  thread  of  our  life  would  be  dark.  Heaven  knows. 
If  it  wore  not  with  friendship  and  love  intertwined  ; 

\nd  I  care  not  how  soon  I  may  sink  to  repose. 
When  these  blessings  shall  cease  to  be  dear  to  my 
mind ! 


•  Solis  Funs,  near  the  temple  of  Ammoii. 


But  they  who  have  loved  the  fondest,  the  purest. 

Too  often  have  wept  o  er  the  dream  they  believed 
And  the  heart  that  has  slumber'd  in  friendship  securest 

Is  happy  indeed  if  't  were  never  deceived. 
But  send  round  the  bowl — while  a  relic  of  truth 

Is  in  man  or  in  woman,  this  prayer  shall  be  mine, — 
That  the  sun-shine  of  love  may  illumine  our  youth. 

And  the  moonlight  of  friendship  console  our  de- 
cline. 


THOUGH  THE  LAST  GLIMPSE  OF  ERIN 
WITH  SORROW  I  SEE 

Air — Coulin. 

Though  the  last  glimpse  of  Erin  with  sorrow  1  see, 

Yet  wherever  thou  art  shall  seem  Erin  to  me; 

In  exile  thy  bosom  shall  still  be  my  home. 

And  thine  eyes  make  my  climate  wherever  we  roam 

To  the  gloom  of  some  desert  or  cold  rocky  shore, 
Where  the  eye  of  the  stranger  can  haunt  us  no  more, 
I  will  fly  with  my  Coulin,  and  think  the  rough  wind 
Less  rude  than  the  foes  we  leave  frowning  behind 

And  I'll  gaze  on  thy  gold  hair,  as  graceful  it  wreathes. 
And  hang  o'er  thy  sof^  harp,  as  wildly  it  breathes  , 
Nor  dread  that  the  cold-hearted  Saxon  will  tear 
One  chord  from  that  harp,  or  one  lock  from  that  hair  ' 


RICH  AND  RARE  WERE  THE  GEMS  SHE 
WORE.= 

Air — The  Summer  is  coming. 
Rich  and  rare  were  the  gems  she  wore. 
And  a  bright  gold  ring  on  her  wand  she  bore , 
But  oh  !  her  beauty  was  far  btyond 
Her  sparkling  gems  or  snow-white  wand. 

"  Lady  !  dost  thou  not  fear  to  stray, 

So  lone  and  lovely,  through  this  bleak  way? 

Are  Erin's  sons  so  good  or  so  cold 

As  not  to  be  tempted  by  woman  or  gold  V 


1  "In  tlie  tweiuy-elgliili  year  of  the  leign  of  Henry  VIII. 
an  act  was  made  ref.|)tciii)g  the  habits,  and  dress  in  genera, 
of  I  lie  Irish,  whereby  all  pirsons  wtrc  restrained  from  being 
shorn  or  sliavuii  above  llie  ears,  or  from  wearing  sihbbes,  oi 
Coidivs  (long  locks,)  on  their  heads,  or  hair  on  tlieir  upper 
li|i,  called  Croinniciil.  On  this  occasion  a  song  was  writte* 
by  one  of  our  biirds,  in  which  an  Irish  virgin  is  miide  to  give 
the  preference  to  lier  dear  CuuUn  (or  the  youth  with  the 
fluvviiig  locks,)  to  all  strangers  (by  which  the  English  were 
meant,)  or  those  who  wore  their  habits.  Of  this  gong  ths 
air  alone  has  reached  us,  and  is  nniversally  admired." — 
tValkir's  Hisioiicid  Memoirs  of  Irish  Bards,  page  ],'i4. 
Mr.  Walker  informs  us  also,  that,  about  the  same  period, 
were  some  harsh  measures  taken  agaimstthc  Irish  Minstrels 

'2  This  ballail  is  (bunded  upon  the  following  anecdote ; 
"The  people  were  inspired  with  such  a  spirit  of  honour 
viriue,  and  religion,  by  the  great  example  of  lirien,  and  by 
his  excellent  administration,  that,  as  a  proof  of  it,  we  are 
informed  that  a  young  lady'of  great  beauty,  adornod  with 
jewels  and  a  costly  dress,  underlook  a  journey  alone  from 
lino  end  of  the  kingdom  to  the  other,  with  a  wand  only  ip 
her  hi  nd,  at  the  top  ol' which  was  a  ring  of  exceeding  great 
value;  and  such  an  impression  had  the  laws  and  government 
of  this  Monarch  made  on  the  minds  of  all  the  people,  that 
no  nitem|it  was  made  upon  her  honour,  nor  was  she  robbed 
of  her  clothes  or  jewels." — Warner's  History  of  Ireland 
Vol.  i.  Book  10. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


319 


•*  Sir  Knight !  I  feel  not  the  least  alarm, 
No  son  of  Krin  will  offer  mc  harm — 
Fortfiough  thoy  love  woman  and  golden  store, 
Sir  Kniglit !  they  love  honour  and  virtue  more !' 

On  she  went,  and  her  maiden  smile 
In  safety  lighted  her  round  the  green  isle. 
And  blest  for  ever  is  slie  who  relied 
Upon  Erin's  honour  and  Erin's  pride  ! 


AS  A  BE.UI  O'ER  THE  FACE  OF  THE 
WATERS  MAY  GLOW. 

Air — Tke  Young  Man's  Dream. 
As  a  beam  o'er  the  face  of  the  waters  may  glow 
While  the  tide  runs  in  darkness  and  coldness  below, 
So  the  cheek  may  be  tinged  with  a  warm  sunny  smile, 
Though  the  cold  heart  to  ruin  runs  darkly  the  while. 

One  fatal  remembrance,  one  sorrow  that  throws 
Its  bleak  shade  alike  o'er  our  joys  and  our  woes. 
To  wiiich  life  nothing  darker  or  brighter  can  bring. 
For  which  joy  has  no  balm,  and  affliction  no  sting! — 

Oh !  this  thought  in  the  midst  of  enjoyment  will  stay. 
Like  a  dead,  leafless  branch  in  the  summer's  bright  ray; 
Tlie  beams  of  the  wami  sun  play  round  it  in  vain, — 
It  may  smile  in  his  light,  but  it  blooms  not  again ! 


THE  MEETING  OF  THE  WATERS.' 

Air — The  Old  Head  of  Denis. 
There  is  not  in  the  wide  world  a  valley  so  sweet 
As  that  vale  in  whose  bosom  the  bright  waters  meet  ;^ 
Oh !  the  last  ray  of  feeling  and  life  must  depart. 
Ere  the  bloom  of  that  valley  shall  fade  from  my  heart. 

Yet  it  was  not  that  nature  had  shed  o'er  the  scene 
Her  purest  of  crystal  and  brightest  of  green  ; 
'T  was  not  the  soft  magic  of  streamlet  or  hill — 
Oh  I  no — it  was  something  more  exquisite  still. 

'Twas  that  friends  the  beloved  of  my  bosom  were  near^ 
Who  made  every  dear  scene  ofencliantment  more  dear. 
And  who  felt  how  the  best  charms  of  nature  improve. 
When  we  see  them  reflected  from  looks  that  we  love. 

Sweet  vale  of  Avoca  !  how  calm  could  I  rest 

In  thy  bosom  of  shade,  with  the  friends  I  love  best, 

Where  the  storms  that  we  feel  in  this  cold  world 

should  cease. 
And  our  hearts,  like  thy  waters,  be  mingled  in  peace 


No.   II. 

ST.  SENANIIS  AND  THE  LADY. 

Air — The  Brown  Thorn. 

ST.    SENANUS. 

"  Oh  !  haste,  and  leave  this  sacred  isle, 
Unholy  bark,  ere  morning  smile  ; 


1  "The  Meeting  of  tlie  Waters"  forms  a  pari  of  tliat 
beautiful  scenery  wliich  lies  between  Ratluiruni  and  Ark- 
low,  in  tlie  couiily  of  Wicklow,  and  these  lines  were  sug- 
gested by  a  visit  to  this  romantic  spot,  in  the  summer  of  18U7. 

2  The  rivers  .'Xvon  and  Avoca. 


For  on  thy  deck,  though  dark  it  be, 

A  female  form  I  see  ; 
And  I  liave  sworn  this  sainted  sod 
Shall  ne'er  by  woman's  feet  be  trod  '"' 

THE    LADY. 

"  Oh  !  Father,  send  not  hence  my  bark 
Through  wintry  winds  and  billows  dark 
I  come,  with  humble  heart,  to  share 

Thy  morn  and  evening  prayer; 
Nor  mine  the  feet,  oh  !  holy  Saint, 
Tlie  brightness  of  thy  sod  to  taint." 

The  lady's  prayer  Senanus  spurn'd  ; 
The  winds  blew  fresh,  the  bark  return'd 
But  legends  hint,  that  had  the  maid 

Till  morning's  light  delay'd. 
And  given  the  saint  one  rosy  smile, 
She  ne'er  had  left  his  lonely  isle 


HOW  DEAR  TO  3IE  THE  HOUR. 
Air— 77(6  Tidstin<r  of  the  Rope. 
How  dear  to  me  the  hour  when  day-light  dies. 

And  sun-beams  melt  along  the  silent  sea. 
For  then  sweet  dreams  of  other  days  arise. 
And  memory  breathes  her  vesper  sigh  to  thee. 

And,  as  I  watch  the  line  of  light  that  plays 
Along  the  smooth  wave  toward  the  burning  west, 

I  long  to  tread  that  golden  path  of  rays, 
And  think 't  would  lead  to  some  bright  isle  ol  rest 


TAKE  BACK  THE  VIRGIN  PAGE. 
written  on  returning  a  blank  book. 
Air — Dermolt. 
Take  back  the  virgin  page, 

White  and  unwritten  still ; 
Some  hand  more  calm  and  sage 

The  leaf  must  fill. 
Thouglits  come  as  pure  as  light, 

Pure  as  even  you  require: 
But  oh  !  each  word  I  write 
Love  turns  to  fire. 

Yet  let  me  keep  the  book  ; 
Oft  shall  my  heart  renew. 


1  In  a  metrical  life  of  St.  Senanus,  taken  frocn  an  oli) 
Kilkenny  MS.  and  which  may  he  found  ainonj;  the  .f)cta 
Siutcturum  Hilieniiin,  we  are  to!d  of  his  fliglit  to  the  island 
of  Seattery,  and  his  resolution  n  )t  to  admit  any  woman  ot 
tlie  jiarly ;  he  refused  to  receive  i  ven  n  sister  saint,  St.  Cm. 
uera,  whom  an  ansel  had  taken  to  the  island,  fur  the  express 
purpose  of  introducing  her  to  him.  The  following  was  the 
ungracious  answer  of  Senanus,  according  to  his  poetical 
biiigrapher: 

Cui  Pr:esul,  quid  freminis 
Commune  est  cum  monachis? 
Neo  te  nee  ullam  aliain 
Admittemus  in  insulam. 

See  the  ..Icta  Sand.  Hib.  page  610. 
According  to  Dr.  Ledwich,  St.  Senanus  was  no  less  • 
personage  than  the  river  Shannon  ;  but  O'Connor,  and  oiiiu 
antiouariaus  denv  this  metamorphose  indigiianllv 


320 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


When  on  its  leaves  I  look, 

Dear  thoughts  of  you  ! 
Like  you,  "t  is  fair  and  bright; 

Like  you,  too  bright  and  fair 
To  let  wild  passion  write 

One  wrong  wish  there  ! 

Haply,  when  from  those  eyes 

Far,  far  away  I  roam. 
Should  calmer  thoughts  arise 

Towards  you  and  home. 
Fancy  may  trace  some  line 

Worthy  those  eyes  to  meet ; 
Thoughts  that  not  burn,  but  shine 

Pure,  calm,  and  sweet ! 

And,  as  the  records  are. 

Which  wandering  seamen  Kefej> 
Led  by  their  hidden  star 

Through  the  cold  deep — 
So  may  tlie  words  I  write 

Tell  through  what  storms  I  stray 
You  still  the  unseen  light 

Guiding  my  way  ! 


THE  LEGACY. 

Air — Unkncmm. 
When  in  death  I  shall  calm  recline, 

O  bear  my  heart  to  my  mistress  dear ; 
Tell  her  it  lived  upon  smiles  and  wine 

Of  the  brightest  hue,  while  it  linger'd  he  3 
Bid  her  not  shed  one  tear  of  sorrow 

To  sully  a  heart  so  brilliant  and  light ; 
Rut  balmy  drops  of  the  red  grape  borrow, 

To  bathe  the  relic  from  morn  till  night. 

When  the  light  of  my  song  is  o'er, 

Then  take  my  harp  to  your  ancient  hall 
Hang  it  up  at  that  friendly  door. 

Where  weary  travellers  love  to  call.' 
Then  if  some  bard,  who  roams  forsaken, 

Revive  its  soft  note  in  passing  along. 
Oh  !  let  one  thought  of  its  master  waken 

Your  warmest  smile  for  the  child  of  song 

Keep  this  cup,  which  is  now  o'erflowing. 

To  grace  your  revel  when  I'm  at  rest ; 
Never,  oh  !  never  its  balm  bestowing 

On  lips  that  beauty  hath  seldom  blest ! 
But  when  some  warm  devoted  lover 

To  her  he  adores  shall  bathe  its  brim. 
Then,  then  my  spirit  around  shall  hover, 

And  hallow  each  drop  that  foams  for  him. 


HOW  OFT  HAS  THE  BENSHEE  CRIED 

Air — The  Dear  Bhu-k  Maid. 
How  oft  has  the  Benshee  cried  ! 
How  oft  has  death  untied 


1  "  In  every  house  was  one  or  two  fiarps,  tree  to  all  tra- 
rellers,  wlin  wore  the  more  caresseil  the  more  they  excelled 
n  music  "--W  J/allaran. 


Bright  links  that  Clo;-y  wove, 

Sweet  bonds,  entwined  by  Love  ! 
Peace  to  each  manly  soul  that  sleepeth! 
Rest  to  each  faithful  eye  that  weepeth  ! 

Long  may  the  fair  and  brave 

Sigh  o'er  the  hero's  grave. 

We're  fpllen  upon  gloomy  days,' 

Star  after  star  decays. 

Every  bright  name,  that  shed 

Light  o'er  the  land,  is  fled. 
Dark  falli  the  tear  of  him  who  mourneth 
Tjost  jov,  or  hope  that  ne'er  returneth ; 

Rui  brightlj  flows  the  tear 

Wept  o'er  a  hero's  bier! 

Oh  !  quench'd  are  our  beacon-lights— 
Thou,  of  the  hundred  fights  1^ 
Thou,  on  whose  burning  tongue' 
Truth,  peace  and  freedom  hung  ! 
Both  mute — but  long  as  valour  shineth, 
Or  mercy's  soul  at  war  repineth, 
So  long  shall  Erin's  pride 
Tell  how  they  lived  and  died. 


WE  MAY  ROAM  THROUGH  THIS  WORLD 

Air — Garyone. 

We  may  roam  through  this  world  like  a  child  at  a 
feast. 

Who  but  sips  of  a  sweet,  and  then  flies  to  the  rest; 
And  when  pleasure  begins  to  grow  dull  in  the  eas  , 

We  may  order  our  wings  and  be  off  to  the  west- 
But  if  hearts  that  feel,  and  eyes  that  smile. 

Are  the  dearest  gifts  that  Heaven  supplies, 
We  never  need  leave  our  own  green  isle. 

For  sensitive  hearts  and  for  sun-bright  eyes. 
Then  remember,  wherever  your  goblet  is  crown'd. 

Through  this  world  whether  eastward  or  westwj  -d 
you  roam. 
When  a  cup  to  the  smile  of  dear  woman  goes  rotmd 

Oh  !  remember  the  smile  which  adorns  her  at  home 

In  England,  the  garden  of  beauty  is  kept 

By  a  dragon  of  prudery,  placed  within  call; 
But  so  oft  this  unamiable  dragon  has  slept. 

That  the  garden's  but  carelessly  watch'd  afler  all. 
Oh  !  they  want  the  wild  sweet  briery  fence. 

Which  round  the  flowers  of  Erin  dwells, 
Which  warms  the  touch,  while  winning  the  sense. 

Nor  charms  us  least  when  it  most  repels. 
Then  remember,  wherever  your  goblet  is  crown'd. 

Through  this  world  whether  eastward  or  westward 
you  roam, 


1  1  have  endeavoured  here,  wit houtlosin?  that  Irish  charac 
ter  which  il  is  my  objecl  to  preserve  iliroiia;hiiut  this  work, 
to  allude  to  the  9:id  .ind  oniiiious  thtiility  hy  which  I'ligLTrid 
lias  liei'H  deprived  of  so  many  irri'ut  and  good  men  at  a  mo- 
ment wl)en  she  most  requires  all  tlie  aids  of  talent  and  in- 
tejirity. 

2  This  des'gnation,  which  has  heen  applied  to  Lord  Nel- 
son l)i'fore,  is  \\w.  lille  given  1o  a  celebrated  Irish  hero,  m  a 
poem  hy  O'flnivo,  the  hard  of  O'Niel,  which  is  quoted  in 
the  "  I'iiilosophiciil  Survey  of  the  South  of  Ireland,"  paffe 
433.  "Con,  of  the  hundred  fi^»hts,  sleep  in  thy  irrass-growii 
tomb,  and  nphraid  not  onr  defeats  with  thy  victories!' 

3  Fox,  "ultimus  Romanorurn.*' 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


321 


When  a  Clip  to  the  smile  of  dear  woman  goes  rounci, 
Oil !  remember  ihe  smile  which  adorns  her  at  home. 

in  France,  when  the  heart  of  a  woman  sets  sail, 

On  the  ocean  of  wedlock  its  fortune  to  try. 
Love  seldom  goes  far  in  a  vessel  so  frail, 

But  just  pilots  her  off,  and  then  bids  her  good-bye  ! 
While  the  daughters  of  Erin  keep  the  boy 

Ever  smiling  beside  his  faithful  oar. 
Through  billows  of  woe  and  beams  of  joy 

The  same  as  ho  lonk'd  when  he  loft  the  shore. 
T^en  rem(Mnber,  wherever  your  goblet  is  crown'd, 

Through  this  world  whether  eastward  or  westward 
you  roam, 
VVh->n  a  cup  to  the  smile  of  dear  woman  goes  round. 

On !  remember  the  smile  which  adorns  her  at  home. 


EVELEEN'S  BOWER 

Air — Unknown.  ' 

On  !  weep  for  the  hour, 
When  to  Eveleen's  bower 

The  Lord  of  the  valley  with  false  vows  came; 
The  moon  hid  her  light 
From  the  heavens  that  night. 

And  wept  behind  her  clouds  o'er  tlie  maiden's  shame. 
The  clouds  pass'd  soon 
From  the  chaste  cold  moon, 

And  Heaven  smiled  again  with  her  vestal  flame ; 
But  none  will  see  the  day. 
When  the  clouds  shall  pass  away. 

Which  that  dark  hour  left  upon  Eveleen's  fame. 

Tlie  white  snow  lay 

On  the  narrow  |)ath-way, 
Where  the  Lord  of  the  valley  cross'd  over  the  moor: 

And  many  a  deep  print 

On  the  white  snow's  tint 
Show'd  the  track  of  his  footstep  to  Eveleen's  door. 

The  next  sun's  ray 

Soon  mclled  away 
Every  trace  on  the  path  where  the  false  Lord  came 

But  there  "s  a  light  above 

Which  alone  can  remove 
That  stain  upon  the  snow  of  fair  Eveleen's  fame. 


LET  ERIN  REMEMBER  THE  DAYS  OF  OLD. 
Air— T/ic  Red  Fox. 
Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of  old. 

Ere  her  faithless  sons  betray'd  her; 
When  Malachi  wore  the  collar  of  gold,' 

Which  he  won  from  her  proud  invader ; 
When  her  kings,  with  standard  of  green  unfurl'd. 

Led  the  Red-Branch  Knights  to  danger; — ' 
Ere  the  emerald  gem  of  the  western  world 

Was  set  in  the  crown  of  a  stranger. 


On  Lough  Neagh's  bank  as  the  fishermen  strays,' 

When  the  clear,  cold  eve  's  declining. 
He  sees  the  round  towers  of  other  days. 

In  the  wave  beneath  him  shining  ! 
Thus  shall  memory  often,  in  dreams  sublime, 

Catch  a  glimpse  of  the  days  that  are  ircf  ; 
Thus,  sighing,  look  through  the  waves  of  tiio« 

For  the  long-faded  glories  they  cover  ! 


THE  SONG  OF  F10N\UALA.« 

Air — Arrah  my  dear  F.vchcn. 
Si  r.ENT,  oh  Moyle  !  be  the  roar  of  thy  water, 

Break  not,  ye  breezes,  your  chain  of  repose, 
W'hile  murmuring  mournfully,  Lir's  lonely  daughter 

Tells  to  the  night-star  her  tale  of  woes. 
When  shalj  the  swan,  her  death-note  singing, 

Sleep  with  wings  in  darkness  furl'd  ? 
When  will  Heaven,  its  sweet  bell  ringing, 

Call  my  spirit  from  this  stormy  world  ? 

Sadly,  oh  Moyle  !  to  thy  winter  wave  weeping, 

Fate  bids  me  languish  long  ages  away  ; 
Yet  sliil  in  hor  darkness  doth  Erin  lie  sleeping. 

Still  doth  the  pure  light  its  dawning  delay  ! 
When  will  that  day-star,  mildly  springing. 

Warm  our  isle  with  peace  and  love  ? 
When  will  Heaven,  its  sweet  bell  ringing. 

Call  |iy  spirit  to  the  fields  above  ? 


1  "This  hro'igln  nii  an  encounter  between  Malachi  (the 
Moiiarrh  of  Irelaml  in  ilio  t.-nih  cen'ury)  and  the  I):ines,  in 
which  Malachi  ilefiiiieil  two  of  tlieir  champions,  whom  he 
eiicoiiiUHrnl  successively  hanil  to  hand,  taking  a  collar  of 
cold  from  the  neck  of  one,  and  carryins  off  llie  sword  of  the 
other,  ns  trophies  of  his  \\vlory. "—IVamrr^s  History  of 
Irrinnd,  vol.  i.  hov)k  0. 

2  "  Military  order*  of  knights  were  very  early  established 

V 


COME,  SEND  ROUND  THE  WINE. 

Air — We  brousht  Ihe  Summer  with  us. 
Come,  send  round  the  wine,  and  leave  points  of  be 
lief 
To  simpleton  sages,  and  reasoning  fools  ; 
This  moment 's  a  flower  too  iair  and  brief. 

To   be   withered  and   stain'd  by  the  dust  of  the 
schools. 


Ireland.  Lon^  before  the  birlhol  Christ,  we  find  a  here 
dit:iry  order  of  chivalry  in  Uister,  called  Ctira  idlir  na  Cra- 
nibhe.  ract'lh,  or  the  kni;,'hts  of  the  Red  Branch,  froin  their 
chiif  seat  in  Eniania,  adjoininj  to  tlie  palace  of  the  Ulster 
kings,  called  Teiig/t  nn  Crnoibhe  ruiidh,  or  Ihe  Academy  o( 
the  Red  Btiinch  ;  and  conlisnons  to  which  was  a  large  lios 
pital,  founded  for  the  sick  knights  and  soldiers,  rail,  d  Bnin- 
/(Afflr/r,  or  the  house  of  the  sorrowful  soldier." — W  Halto- 
rail's  fntroductiov,  etc.  part.  i.  chap.  5. 

1  It  was  an  old  tradition,  in  the  linie  of  Giraldiis,  lliat 
Lonsh  N-agh  had  been  orignally  a  fountain,  by  whose  snd- 
ihm  overflowing  the  connlry  was  inundated,  and  a  who'c  re- 
gion, like  the  Atlantis  of  Piaio,  overwhelmed.  He  says  that 
Ihe  fishermen,  in  clear  weather,  used  to  point  out  to  s:ian- 
i;ers  the  tall  ecclesiaslic:il  lowers  under  Ihe  water.  "  Pisca 
lores  .Tqure  illius  lurres  ecelesiasticiis,  qiire  more  patriae  »rc 
Ire  sunt  el  ali;e,  necnon  el  rotund:e,  sub  undis  manifesle, 
sereno  tempore  conspiciunt  et  extraneis  Iranseumibus,  re-- 
ipie  causas  admirantibus,  frer|uenter  oslcndunl." — 1  opugr 
l/ili.  nisi..  2.  c.  9. 

2  To  make  this  story  intelligible  in  a  song,  would  rpfinirc 
:i  loneh  greater  number  of  verses  than  anyone  is  antlior  serf 
to  inflict  upon  an  audience  at  once;  the  reader  nuisl  there- 
fore be  content  to  lerirn,  in  a  nolo,  that  Fionnuala,  thr. 
ihiiiL'bterofLir,  was,hvsiirne  siiperniiltiral  power,  transform 
ed  into  aswan,  and  coiid  inned  to  Wiinder,  lor  nianv  Imiidreil 
years,  over  certain  lakes  and  rivers  in  Ireland,  till  the 
coming  of  Chrislianily,  when  the  first  sound  of  the  mnss-bell 
was  lo  be  the  signalOf  her  release. — I  found  this  fanciful 
fiction  amons  some  manuscript  translatuins  from  ihe  Irish, 
which  were  begun  unilcr  ihe  direction  of  that  enlightenn*' 

1  friend  of  Ireland,  the  late  Coiintpfs  of  Moira. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Y'oar  glass  may  be  piirple  and  mine  may  be  blue, 
But,  wnile  they  are  tilled  from  the  same  bria;htbo\vl, 

The  fool  who  would  quarrel  for  difference  of  hue 
Deserves  not  the  comforts  they  shed  o'er  the  soul. 

Shall  I  ask  the  brave  soldier,  who  fights  by  my  side 

In  the  cause  of  mankind,  if  our  creeds  agree? 
Shall  I  give  up  the  friend  I  have  valued  and  tried, 

If  he  kneel  not  before  the  same  altar  with  me  ? 
From  the  heretic  girl  of  my  soul  shall  I  fly, 

To  seek  somewhere  else  a  more  orthodox  kiss  7 
No !  perish  the  hearts  and  the  laws  that  try 

Truth,  valour,  or  love,  by  a  standard  like  this  ! 


Thou  wouldst  still  be  adored,  as  this  motaent  thou 
art, 

Let  thy  loveliness  fade  as  it  will. 
And  around  the  dear  ruin,  each  wish  of  my  heart 

Would  entwine  itself  verdantly  still ! 

It  is  not  while  beauty  and  youth  are  thine  own, 

And  thy  cheeks  unprofaned  by  a  tear. 
That  the  fervour  and  faith  of  a  soul  can  be  known, 

To  which  time  w^ill  but  in-,ke  thee  more  dear! 
Oh  !  the  heart  that  has  truly  loved,  never  forgets, 

But  as  truly  loves  on  to  the  close, 
As  the  sim-tlower  turns  on  her  god,  when  he  sets, 

The  same  look  which  she  turn'd  when  he  rose ! 


SUB1.1ME  WAS  THE  WARNING. 

f^iTi— The  Black  Joke. 
StTBLiMF.  was  the  warning  which  Liberty  spoke. 
And  grand  was  tlie  moment  wlien  Spaniards  awoke 

Into  life  and  revenge  from  the  conqueror's  chain ! 
Oh,  Liberty  !  let  not  this  spirit  have  rest, 
TUl  it  move,  like  a  breeze,  o'er  the  waves  of  the 

west — 
Give  the  light  of  your  look  to  each  sorrowing  spot. 
Nor,  oh  !  be  the  Shamrock  of  Erin  forgot. 

While  you  add  to  your  garland  the  Olive  of  Spain  ! 

If  the  fai  le  of  our  fathers  bequeath'd  with  their  rights. 
Give  to  country  its  charm,  and  to  home  its  delights, 

If  deceit  be  a  wound  and  suspicion  a  stain — 
Then,  ye  men  of  Iberia  !  our  cause  is  the  same : 
And  oh  !  may  his  tomb  want  a  tear  and  a  name, 
Who  would  ask  for  a  nobler,  a  holier  death, 
Than  to  turn  his  last  sigh  into  victory's  breath 

For  the  Shamrock  of  Erin  and  Olive  of  Spain  ! 

Ye  Blakes  and  O'Donnels,  whose  fathers  resigned 
The  green  hills  of  their  youth,  among  strangers  to  find 

That  repose  which  at  home  they  had  sigh'd  for  in 
vain. 
Join,  join  in  our  hope  that  the  flame,  which  you  light. 
May  be  felt  yet  in  Erin,  as  calm  and  as  bright. 
And  forgive  even  Albion,  while  blushing  she  draws. 
Like  a  truant,  her  sword,  in  the  long-slighted  cause 

Of  the  Shamrock  of  Erin  and  Olive  of  Spain! 

God  prosper  the  cause  !— oh  !  it  cannot  but  thrive. 
While  the  pulse  of  one  patriot  heart  is  alive. 

Its  devotion  to  feel,  and  its  rights  to  maintain. 
Then  how  sainted  by  sorrow  its  martyrs  will  die! 
The  finger  of  (Jlory  shall  point  where  they  lie. 
While,  fir  from  the  footstep  of  coward  or  slave. 
The   young   Spirit  of  Freedom   shall   shelter  their 
grave. 

Beneath  Shamrocks  of  Erin  and  Olives  of  Spain. 


BELIEVE  ME,  IF  ALL  THOSE  ENDEARING 
YOUNG  CHARMS. 

Aiu — Ml/  Tjiih'ins  is  on  the  cold  Ground. 
Kpii.ievk  me,  if  all  those  endearing  young  charms. 

Which  I  ga/e  on  so  fondly  to-day, 
'.Vere  to  change  by  to-morrow,  and  fleet  in  my  arms, 

Like  fairy  gifls  fading  away  ! 


No.  III. 


TO  THE  MARCHIONESS  DOWAGER  OF 
DONEGAL. 

While  the  Publisher  of  these  Melodies  very  pro 
pcrly  inscribes  them  to  the  Nobility  and  Gentry  of 
Ireland  in  general,  I  have  much  pleasure  in  selecting; 
one  from  that  number  to  whom  my  share  of  the  Work 
is  particularly  dedicated.  Though  your  Ladyship  has 
been  so  long  absent  from  Ireland,  I  know  that  you 
remember  it  well  and  warmly— that  you  have  not 
allowed  the  charm  of  English  society,  like  the  taste 
of  the  lotus,  to  produce  oblivion  of  your  country,  but 
that  even  the  humble  tribute  which  I  offer  derives  its 
chief  claim  upon  your  interest  from  the  appeal  which 
it  makes  to  your  patriotism.  Indeed,  absence,  how- 
ever fital  to  some  affections  of  the  heart,  rather 
strengthens  our  love  for  the  land  where  we  were 
born  ;  and  Ireland  is  the  country,  of  all  others,  which 
an  exile  must  remember  with  enthusiasm.  Those  few 
darker  and  less  amiable  traits,  with  which  bigotry 
and  misrule  have  stained  her  character,  and  which 
are  too  apt  to  disgust  us  upon  a  nearer  intercourse, 
become  softened  at  a  distance,  or  altogether  invisible  ; 
and  nothing  is  remembered  but  her  virtues  and  her 
misfortunes— the  zeal  with  which  she  has  always 
loved  liberty,  and  the  barbarous  policy  which  has 
always  withheld  it  from  her— the  ease  with  whidi 
her  generous  spirit  might  be  conciliated,  and  the  cruel 
ingenuity  which  has  been  exerted  to  "wring  her  into 
nndutifulncss."' 

It  has  often  been  remarked,  and  oflener  felt,  that 
our  music  is  the  truest  of  all  comments  upon  our  his- 
tory. The  tone  of  defiance,  succeeded  by  the  lan- 
guor of  despondency— a  burst  of  turbulence  dying 
away  into  softness — the  sorrows  of  one  moment  lost 
in  the  h^vity  of  the  next— and  all  that  romantic  mix- 
ture of  mirth  and  sadness,  which  is  naturally  pro- 
duced by  the  efforts  of  a  lively  temperament,  to  shake 
off,  or  fbrget,  the  wrongs  which  lie  upon  it :— such 
are  the  features  of  our  history  and  character,  whicti 
we  find  strongly  and  faithfully  reflected  m  ou-r  music 
and  there  are  many  airs  which,  I  think,  it  is  difficult 

1  A  phrase  vvliicli  occurs  in  a  letlrr  from  tho  Enrl  of  I)e»- 
mond  to  the  Eiul  of  OriTKiml,  in  Klizal)cth's  time.— Serf 
nia  Sacra,  as  quoted  by  Curry 


lUISII  MELODIES. 


M  listen  to,  witliout  recalling  some  pcriofl  orevcnt  to 
vvliicli  their  expression  seems  poeiiliarly  applicable. 
Soiiu'timcs,  wlu'n  the  strain  is  open  and  spirited,  yet 
sh;ided  here  and  there  by  a  inoiirnfiil  recollection,  we 
can  fancy  that  we  behold  the  brave  allies  of  Mon- 
trose,' marching  to  the  aid  o'"»he  royal  cause,  notwith- 
standing all  the  periiily  of  Ch;"-les  and  his  ministers, 
ind  remcniberiiig  just  enough  o.'  past  sullcrings  to 
eiihanco  the  generosity  of  their  p-isent  sacrifice. 
Theplaintive  melodies  of  Carolan  takt  'is  back  to  the 
:imes  in  which  he  lived,  when  our  poor  countrymen 
were  driven  to  worship  their  God  in  caves,  or  to  quit 
for  ever  the  land  of  their  birth  (like  the  bird  that 
abandons  the  nest  which  human  touch  has  violated ;) 
and  in  many  a  song  do  we  hear  the  last  farewell  of 
the  exile,-'  mingling  regret  for  the  ties  he  leaves  at 
home,  with  sanguine  expectations  of  the  honours 
that  await  him  abroad — sui^h  honours  as  werc'vonon 
the  field  of  Fontenoy,  where  the  valour  of  Irish 
Catholics  turned  the  fortune  of  the  day  in  favour  of 
the  French,  and  extorted  from  George  the  Second 
that  memorable  exclamation,  "  Cursed  be  the  laws 
which  deprive  me  of  such  subjects  !" 

Though  much  has  been  said  of  the  antiquity  of  our 
music,  it  is  certain  that  our  finest  and  most  popular 
airs  are  modern;  and  perhaps  we  may  look  no  fur- 
ther tlian  the  last  disgraceful  century  for  the  origin 
of  most  of  those  wild  and  melancholy  strains,  which 
were  at  once  the  oHspring  and  solace  of  grief,  and 
which  wore  applied  to  the  mind,  as  music  was  for- 
merly to  the  body,  "decantare  loca  dolentia."  Mr. 
Pinkerton  is  of  opinion^  that  none  of  the  Scotch 
popular  airs  are  as  old  as  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth 
century ;  and,  though  musical  antiquaries  refer  us, 
for  some  of  our  melodies,  to  so  early  a  period  as  the 
fillh  century,  I  am  persuaded  that  there  are  few,  of  a 
civilized  description  (and  by  this  I  mean  to  exclude 
all  the  savage  Ceanans,  cries,'  etc.)  which  can  claim 
quite  so  ancient  a  date  as  Mr.  Pinkerton  allows  to 
the  Scotch.  But  music  is  not  the  only  subject  upon 
which  our  taste  for  antiquity  is  rather  uii-i-easonably 
indulged;  and,  however  heretical  it  maybe  to  dis- 
sent from  these  romantic  speculations,  I  cannot  help 


1  Thi're  are  some  gratifyinif  aocounts  of  Ihe  gallantry  of 
thase  Iri-h  ;iu\iliiries  in  "  Tlie  C<iii|)l,'ie  History  of  the 
Wars  in  Scotland,  iiiui-.^r  Momrosc"  ( KifiO.)  See  particularly, 
for  the  coi.iluet  of  an  Irishman  at  the  battle  of  Aberdeen, 
cliap.  6.  p.  4'.(;  and,  for  a  tril)iite  to  tiie  br.cvery  of  Colonel 
O'Kyan,  chap.  7.  p.  .55.  Clareinlon  owns  tli:it  the  Marquis 
of  Mr.nl rose  whs  indebted  for  much  of  liis  iniraculoui  suc- 
cess to  Ibis  small  b;ind  of  Irish  beroc^s  under  Mar^donnell. 

2  The  associations  of  the  Hinlu  .Mu.-ic,  though  more  ob- 
vious and  defined,  were  fiir  loss  touching  and  characteristic. 
Tliey  divided  their  son'.'s  according  to  thr  srasons  of  the 
year,  ny  which  (says  Sir  William  .tones)  "they  were  able 
to  recai  the  memory  of  autunuial  nienimcnt,at  the  close  of 
the  hiirvest,or  of  separation  and  mjlanclioly  durin?  the  cold 
mo'iths,"  etc.  Jl.'unttc  Tninxactiotis,  vol.  3,  on  tlie  Musi- 
cal Modes  of  the  Hindus.  What  the  Abb^  (In  Bos  says  of 
the  syin[)honies  of  I,ulh-,  may  be  a.«seried,  with  much  more 
probnbiiitv,  of  our  bold  luid  impassioned  airs: — "  Klles  au- 
roient  prodnit  de  cis  etie's,  qui  nous  paroissent  fabnlcii.v 
dans  le  ri^cit  des  anciens,  si  on  les  Mvoii  fait  entendre  a  des 
noi.imisd'un  iiadira!  ;'iissi  vif  que  les  Atheniens." — Keflex, 
^ur  la  Pn'nttirr^  i-tc.  torn.  I.  sect.  45. 

3  Disserlntion,  prcfi.xnd  to  tlie  second  volume  of  his  Scot- 
tish Ballads. 

4  or  which  some  genuine  sjieci  mens  may  be  found  at  the 
ind  of  Mr.  Walker's  work  upon  the  Irish  Bards.  Mr.  Bun- 
ding has  disfigured  his  last  splendid  volume  by  too  many  of 
these  barbarous  rhapsodies. 


thinking  that  it  is  possible  to  love  our  count rv  very 
zealously,  and  to  feel  deeply  interested  in  her  honour 
and  happiness,  without  bel.eving  that  Irish  was  the 
language  spoken  in  Parad.se  ;'  that  ourancestors  were 
kind  enough  to  take  the  trouble  of  polishing  the 
(Greeks;'  or  that  Abaris,  the  Hyperborean,  was  a  na 
tive  of  the  North  of  Ireland.' 

I5y  some  of  these  arch.'cologists,  it  has  been  ima- 
gined that  the  Irish  were  early  acquainted  with  coun- 
ter-point;' and  they  endeavour  to  support  this  con- 
jecture by  a  well-known  passage  in  Giraldiis,  where 
he  dilates,  with  such  elaborate  praise,  upon  the  beau- 
ties of  our  national  minstrelsy.  But  the  terms  of  this 
eulogy  are  too  vague,  too  delicient  in  technical  accu- 
racy, to  prove  that  even  Giraldus  himself  knew  any 
thing  of  the  artilice  of  counter-point.  There  are 
many  expressions  in  the  Greek  and  Latin  writer? 
which  might  be  cited,  with  much  more  plausibility, 
to  prove  that  they  understood  the  arrangement  oi 
music  in  parts ;'  yet  I  b;;lieve  it  is  conceded  in  gene- 
ral by  the  learned,  that,  however  grand  and  pathetic 
the  melodies  of  the  ancients  may  have  been,  it  was 
reserved  for  the  ingenuity  of  modern  Science  to 
transmit  the  "light  of  Song"  through  the  variegating 
prism  of  Harmony. 

Indeed  the  irregular  scale  of  the  early  Irish  (in 
which,  as  in  the  music  of  Scotland,  the  interval  of 
the  fourth  was  vvanting)*^  must  have  furnished  but 
wild  and  refractory  subjects  to  the  harmoiii.st.  It  was 
only  when  the  invention  of  Guido  began  to  be  linown, 


1  See  Advertisement  to  the  Transaciions  of  tiic  Gaelic 
Society  of  Dublin. 

2  O'Halloran,  vol.  1.  part  1.  chap.  G. 
.3  Id.  ib.  cliap.  7. 

4  It  is  also  supposed,  but  with  as  little  proof,  that  they 
unilerstood  the  diesis,  or  enharmonic  interval.— The  Greeks 
seem  to  litive  formed  llnir  ears  to  this  delicate  gradation  o( 
sound :  and,  whatever  diliiculiies  or  objections  may  le  in 
the  way  of  its  practical  use,  we  must  agree  with  Mirsenne 
(Pr<;lu<les  de  rH:irmonie,  quest.  7,)  that  the  theory  of  music 
would  be  imperfect  witii.iut  it; -and,  even  in  p-aclice  (as 
Tosi,  aiitong  others,  very  justly  remarks,  Obser  .ations  on 
Florid  Song,  chap.  1.  sec.  10,)  there  is  no  gooil  performer 
on  the  violin  who  does  not  make  a  sensible  dillerence  be 
tween  D  sharp  and  E  !lat,  though,  from  the  iiiiperfection 
of  the  inslrunient,  they  are  the  same  notes  upon  the  piano 
forte.  The  effect  of  modulation  by  enharmonic  transitions 
is  also  very  striking  and  beautiful. 

5  The  words  TroiKiXKia  and  erepopuivfa,  in  a  pasjage  of 
Plato,  and  some  expressions  of  Cicero,  in  Frasnient.  lib.  ii 
de  Repiibl  induced  the  .'\bbi;  Fragnier  to  maintain  that  the 
ancients  had  a  knowledge  of  counter-point.  .M.  Burette, 
however,  htis  answeied  htm,  I  think,  satisfactorily- — (E.va- 
men  d' un  passage  <1«  Platon,  in  the  3d  v.-;.  of  IJi.sioire  de 
I'Acid.)  M.  Huet  is  of  opinion  'Penstes  Divcr.-es)  that 
wh:it  Ciceio  says  of  the  music  of  the  sphens,  in  his  dri'ain 
of  Sci|iio,  is  sulTicient  to  jirove  an  acquaintance  with  har- 
mony ;  but  one  of  the  strongest  ptis.sagis  which  I  rcfollecl 
in  favour  of  the  supposition,  occurs  in  the  Treatise,  attributed 
to  Ansfolle,  llipi    Kio-fiOv — .Mou<r<xn  Ss   o£<i{    xftt   xxi  i,x- 

?-=.,-,  X.  T.  K. 

fi  .Another  lawless  peculiarity  of  our  music  is  ilie  fre(|uency 
of  what  composers  call  consecutive  fifths;  but  this  is  an 
irrcgelari'y  which  ctin  hardly  be  avoided  by  persons  not 
very  cimveisant  with  the  rules  of  composition  ;  indeed,  if  I 
mav  venture  "o  ci'e  my  own  wild  atteiiipis  in  this  w'ay,  it  is 
a  fault  which  I  find  myself  continually  commiiliiig,  and 
which  has  sometimes  appeared  so  pleasing  to  my  ear,  ilia' 
I  have  surrendeied  it  to  the  critic  with  considerible  reluc- 
tance. Mav  tlic  re  no'  be  a  little  pedantry  in  adhering  too 
rigidly  to  this  rule? — I  have  been  lold  that  there  are  inslan 
ees  in  Haydn  of  a'l  undisguised  succession  of  fifths:  an(f 
.Mr.  Shield,  in  his  Introduction  to  Harmony,  seems  to  int! 
mate  that  Handel  has  been  sometimes  guilty  of  the  sam* 
i.-regulnriiy. 


324 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


and  the  powers  of  the  harp'  were  enlarged  by  addi- 
tional strings,  that  our  melodies  took  the  sweet  cha- 
racter wh:ch  interests  us  at  present ;  and,  while  the 
Scotch  persevered  in  the  old  mutilation  of  the  scale,' 


or  singing  each  air,  to  restore  the  regularity  of  its 
form,  and  the  chaste  simplicity  of  its  character. 

I  must  again  observe,  that,  in  doubting  the  anti 
quity  of  our  music,  my  scepticism  extends  but  to  those 


our  music  became  gradually  more  amenable  to  the 'polished  specimens  of  the  art,  which  it  is  difficult  to 
laws  of  harmony  and  counter-point.  [conceive  anterior  to  the  dawn  of  modern  improve- 

In  profiting,  however-  by  the  improvements  of  the  Iment ;  and  that  I  would  by  no  means  invalidate  the 
moderns,  our^'style  still  kept  its  originality  sacred  from  !  claims  of  Ireland  to  as  early  a  rank  in  the  annals  of 
their  retinements;  and,  though  Carolan  had  frequent ! minstrelsy  as  the  most  zealous  antiquary  may  be  in- 


opportunities  of  hearing  the  works  of  Geminiani,  and 
other  masters,  we  but  rarely  find  him  sacrificing  his 
native  simplicity  to  the  ambition  of  their  ornaments, 
or  atiectation  of  their  science.  In  that  curious  com- 
position, indeed,  called  his  Concerto,  it  is  evident  that 
he  laboured  to  imitate  Corelli ;  and  this  union  of  man- 
ners, so  very  dissimilar,  produces  the  same  kind  of 
uneasy  sensation  which  is  felt  at  a  mixture  of  dillercnt 


clined  to  allow  her.  In  addition,  indeed,  to  the  power* 
which  music  must  alwaj's  have  possessed  over  the 
minds  of  a  people  so  ardent  and  susceptible,  the  sti- 
mulus of  persecution  was  i-ot  wanting  to  quicken  oui 
taste  into  enthusiasm  ;  the  charms  of  song  were  en- 
nobled with  the  glories  of  martyrdom,  and  ths  acts 
against  minstrels,  in  the  reigns  of  Henry  VI 11.  and 
Elizabeth,  were  as  successful,  I  doubt  not,  in  making 


stvles  of  architecture.   In  general,  however,  the  artless  my  countrymen  musicians,  as  the  penal  laws  have 
flow  of  our  music  has  preserved  itself  free  from  all  been  in  keeping  them  Catholics. 


tinse  of  foreign  innovation,-^  and  the  chief  corruptions, 
of  which  we  have  to  complain,  arise  from  the  unskil- 
ful performance  of  our  own  itinerant  musicians,  from 
whom,  too  frequently,  the  airs  are  noted  down,  en- 
cumbered by  their  tasteless  decorations,  and  respon- 
sible for  all  their  ignorant  anomalies.     Though  it  be 


With  respect  to  the  verses  which  I  have  written 
for  these  Melodies,  as  they  are  intended  rather  to  be 
sung  than  read,  I  can  answer  for  their^sound  with 
somewhat  more  confidence  than  their  sense ;  yet,  it 
would  be  affectation  to  deny  that  I  have  given  much 
attention  to  the  task,  and  that  it  is  not  through  want 


1  A  siiii;ular  ovHrsiglit  iiCL-iirs  in  an  Essay  upon  tlie  Iiish 
H;irp,  l)y  M-  Botut'ord,  wliirfi  is  insc-riccf  in  tlie  Appeniiix 
to  WulKei-'s  Historical  Memoirs.— "  Tiie  lii.-h  (says  lu:,) 
accoiding  lo  Brotnloii,  in  tlie  reign  of  Heniy  II.  Iiad  iwo 
kinds  of  liarps,  '  (libeniici  tanieii  in  duofius  musici  guiu-ris 
iiislrunienlis,  quaiiivis  jiriEcipilem  et  velocem,  suavein  laniun 
et  jucuiidam,'  llie  one  greatly  bold  and  qui(;k,  llie  olher  soft 
and  pl.asinj." — How  a  man  of  Mr.  Beaulbrd's  learr.ing 
could  so  mistake  the  meaning,  and  mutilate  llie  granimaleal 
construcuon  of  this  extract,  is  unaccountable.  The  I'ldlow- 
ing  IS  the  passage  as  I  find  it  entire  in  Biouiiiton,  and  it  re- 
(|uires  but  liule  Laiin  to  percL'ive  the  injustice  whirli  h;is 
been  done  to  the  words  of  the  old  chronicler: — "  Kl  cum 
Pcotia,  iuijup  terrip  tilia,  uiatur  lya,  tympano  el  choro,  ac 
VVallia  c-thara,  tubis  (it  choro  Hibernici  laiiien  in  dnobus 
musici  generis  iimtiunientis,  i/uainvis  pracipitem  et  vi.Lo- 
cem,  siuiona  tamcn  nljucundam,  crispatis  moduhs  et^  inlri- 
catis  notulis,  rfficiunt  liarmonitun.'" — Hist.  Anglic.  Scri|)l. 
pag.  1075.  I  sh,oiild  not  have  thought  ihis  erro;  worth  re- 
ni:rrking,  but  ili'at  the  compiler  of  the  Dissertation  on  thr 
H:i.-n,  prefixed  lo  Mr.  Bunting's  last  Work,  has  adopted  it 
jmplirillv. 

2  The  Scotch  l;iy  claim  to  some  of  our  best  airs,  but  there 
are  strong  trails  of  difTe-ence  bi'lween  ihoir  m'jlodi-s  and 
ours.  Thf  y  had  formerly  ihi-  same  pa.ssion  lor  robbing  us 
of  onr  S  liiiis,  and  the  leMrned  Dempster  was,  for  this  otriic(!, 
culled  "  The  Saint  Ste:iler."  I  snp|iosi>  it  was  an  Irishman, 
who,  by  wiiv  of  reprisal,  stole  Dempster's  beauiil'nl  wife 
f:om  him  at  Pisa. — See  this  anecdote  in  the  Pinacolkcca  of 
Ervthripu^,  pari  i.  page  2.5. 

:j  An g  other  false  refinements  of  the  art,  onr  music 

(.with  ihe  exception  perhaps  of  die  air  called  "Mamma, 
Mamma,"  and  one  or  two  more  of  the  same  ludicrou--  de- 
scription,) has  avoided  that  pU'Tile  mimickry  of  natural 
noises,  motions,  etc.  wlii-li  di<griices  so  often  the  works  of 
even  the  great  Handel  him>elf.  D'.Membert  oiiilit  lo  have 
had  better  taste  than  to  become  Ihe  patron  of  tins  imitiitive 
Bfreclation. —  Oisconrn.  f'ridiiiiinairr.  lU  V  Fiiryrhipnlie.. 
The  reader  mav  find  some  good  remarks  on  the  .-iihi'Ct  in 
Avison  npim  Musical  Kxpression :  a  work  which,  ihoimli 
ander  the  name  of  Avison,  was  written,  it  is  said,  by  Dr. 
Brown. 

<  Virgil,  if.ncid,  lib.  f).  V.  204. 


sometimes  impossible  to  trace  the  original  strain,  yet, !  of  zeal  or  industry,  if  I  unfortunately  disgrace  the 
in  most  of  them,  "auri  perramos  o!^ra  refulget,"'*  the  1  sweet  airs  of  my  country,  by  poetry  altogether  un- 
pure  sold  of  the  melody  shines  through  the  ungrace-  i  worthy  of  their  taste,  their  energy,  and  their  ten 
ful  foliage  which  surrounds  it;  and  the  most  delicate  iderness. 

and  difficult  duty  of  a  compiler  is  to  endeavour,  as  Though  the  humble  nature  of  my  contributions  to 
much  a  possible,  by  retrenching  these  inelegant  super-  Ithis  work  may  exempt  them  from  tlie  rigours  of  lite- 
fluities,  and  collating  the  various  methods  of  playing  '  rary  criticisms,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  those 

touches  of  political  feeling,  those  tones  of  national 
complaint,  in  which  the  poetry  sometimes  sympa- 
thizes with  the  music,  would  be  suffered  to  pass  with- 
out censure  or  alarm,  it  has  been  accordingly  said, 
that  the  tendency  of  this  publication  is  mischievous,' 
and  that  I  have  chosen  these  airs  but  as  a  vehicle  of 
dangerous  politics — as  fair  and  precious  vessels  (to 
borrow  an  image  of  St.  Augustin")  from  which  the 
wine  of  error  mightbe  administered.  To  those  who 
identify  nationality  with  treason,  and  who  see,  in 
every  effort  for  Ireland,  a  system  of  hostility  towards 
England, — to  those  too,  who,  nursed  in  the  gloom  ol 
prejudice,  are  alarmed  by  the  faintest  gleam  of  libe- 
rality that  threatens  to  disturb  their  darkness  (like  that 
Demophon  of  old,  who,  when  the  sun  shone  upon 
him,  shivered!'^) — to  such  men  I  shall  not  deign  to 
apologize  for  the  warmth  of  any  political  sentiment 
which  may  occur  in  the  course  of  these  pages.  But. 
as  there  are  many,  among  the  more  wise  and  tol«>- 
rant,  who,  with  feeling  enough  to  mourn  over  the 
wrongs  of  their  country,  and  sense  enough  to  per- 
ceive all  the  danger  of  not  redressing  them,  may  yet 
think  that  ailusious  in  the  least  degree  bold  or  inflam- 
matory should  be  avoided  in  a  publication  of  this 
popular  description — I  beg  of  these  respected  per 


1  See  Letters,  nnder  the  signatures  of  Timujus,  eic.  in  tlia 
Morninir  I'oat,  Pilot,  and  olher  pipers. 

2  "  Non  nccnso  verba,  quasi  vasa  electa  alque  pretiosa- 
siul  vimmi  crroiis,  (juod  cum  eis  nobis  propiuulnr." — Lib.  i. 
Confess,  cap.  10. 

3  This  emblem  of  madern  liigots  was  hcad-butler  (Tp» 
!Tii^o-roi3«)  to  Alexander  the  (ilreal. — iicxt.  Kiiipir.  Pyrrn 
Hypotk.  lib.  i. 


[UISII  MELOIUES. 


32.5 


«iiiis  to  bi^licve,  that  there  is  no  one  who  deprecates 
more  sincerely  than  I  do  any  appeal  to  the  passions 
'1*  un  ignorant  and  angry  inuitiuido  ;  but,  that  it  is 
not  through  that  gross  and  indammable  region  of 
c-'iciety  a  work  of  this  nature  could  ever  have  been 
intended  to  circulate.  It  looks  much  higher  for  its 
audience  and  readers — it  is  found  upon  the  piano-! 
fortes  of  the  rich  and  the  educated — of  those  who 
can  alford  to  have  their  national  zeal  a  little  stimula- 
ted, without  exciting  much  dread  of  the  excesses  into 
•wiiich  it  may  hurry  them  ;  and  of  many,  whose 
nerves  may  be,  now  and  then,  alarmed  with  advan- 
tage, as  much  more  is  to  be  gained  by  their  fears, 
iliun  could  ever  be  expected  from  tiieir  justice. 

Having  thus  adverted  to  the  principal  objection 
which  has  been  hitherto  made  to  the  poetical  part  of 
this  work,  allow  me  to  add  a  few  words  in  defence 
of  my  ingenious  coadjutor,  Sir  John  Stevenson,  who 
has  been  accused  of  having  spoiled  the  simplicity  of 
the  airs,  by  the  chromatic  ricliness  of  his  symphonies, 
and  the  elaborate  variety  of  his  harmonies.  We  might 
cite  the  example  o''  the  admirable  llaydn,  who  has 
sported  through  all  the  mazes  of  musical  science,  in 
his  arrangement  of  the  simplest  Scottish  melodies ; 
but  it  appears  to  me,  that  Sir  John  Stevenson  has 
brought  a  national  feeling  to  this  task,  which  it  would 
be  in  v;iin  to  expect  from  a  foreigner,  however  taste- 
ful or  judicious.  Through  many  of  his  own  compo- 
sitions uc  trace  a  vein  of  Irish  sentiment,  which 
points  him  out  as  peculiarly  suited  to  catch  the  spirit 
of  his  country's  music  ;  and,  far  from  agreeing  with 
those  critics  who  think  that  his  symphonies  have  no- 
lliing  kindled  with  the  airs  which  they  introduce,  I 
would  say  that,  in  gener.il,  they  resemble  those  illu- 
minated initials  of  old  manuscripts,  which  are  of  the 
<ame  character  with  the  writing  which  follows, 
■hough  more  highly  coloured'  and  more  curiously 
jrnameiited. 

In  tho.se  airs  which  are  arranged  for  voices,  his 
jkill  has  particularly  distinguished  itself;  and,  though 
t  cannot  be  denied  tliat  a  single  melody  most  natu- 
rally expresses  the  language  of  feeling  and  passion, 
yet,  often,  when  a  favourite  strain  has  been  dismissed, 
as  having  lost  its  charm  of  novelty  for  the  ear,  it  re- 
turns, in  a  harmonized  shape,  with  new  claims  upon 
our  interest  and  attention ;  and  to  those  who  study 
he  delicate  artifices  of  composition,  the  construction 
)f  the  inner  parts  of  these  pieces  must  afford,  I  think, 
.onsiderable  satisfaction  Every  voice  has  an  air  to 
.tself,  a  flowing  succession  of  notes,  which  might  be  | 
►leard  with  pleasure,  independent  of  the  rest,  so  art- 
jully  has  the  harmonist  (if  I  may  thus  express  it)  pa- 
velled  the  melody,  distributing  an  equal  portion  of  its 
sweetness  to  every  part. 

If  your  Ladyship  s  love  of  Music  were  not  known 
to  me,  I  should  not  have  hazarded  so  long  a  letter 
upon  the  subject ;  but  as,  probably,  I  may  have  pre- 
sumed -oo  far  upon  your  partiality,  the  best'^^revenge 
vou  can  take  is  to  write  me  just  as  long  a  letter  upon 
Painting;  and  I  promise  to  attend  to  your  theory  of 
the  art,  with  a  pleasure  only  surpassed  by  that  which 
I  have  so  often  derived  from  your  practice  of  it. — 


31ay  the  rnind  which  such  talents  adorn,  continue 
calm  as  it  is  bright,  and  happy  as  it  is  virtuous  ! 
Believe  me,  your  Ladyship's 

Grateful  Friend  and  Servant, 

'I'JIUMAS  MOORE 
DiJiliii,  January,  1810. 


ERIN!  Oil  ERIN! 
Air — Thamama  Halla. 

Like  the  bright  lamp  that  shone  in  Kildare's  hol\ 
fane,' 
And  burn'd   through   long  ages  of  darkness  and 
storm, 
Is  the  heart  that  afflictions  have  come  o'er  in  vain. 
Whose  spirit  outlives  them,  unfading  and  warm! 
Erin  I  oh  Erin  !  thus  bright,  through  the  tears 
Of  a  long  night  of  bondage,  thy  spirit  appears  ! 

The  nations  have  fallen,  and  thou  still  art  young. 

Thy  sun  is  but  rising,  when  others  are  set ; 
And  though  slavery's  cloud  o'er  thy  morning  hath 
hung, 
The  full  moon  of  freedom  shall  beam  round  thee 
yet. 
Erin  !  oh  Erin  !  though  long  in  the  shade, 
Thy  star  will  shine  out,  when  the  proudest  shall  fide 

UnchilI'd  by  the  rain,  and  unwaked  by  the  wind. 
The  iiiy  iies  sleeping  through  winter's  cold  hour, 

Till  spring,  with  a  touch,  her  dark  slumber  unbind, 
And  day-light  and  liberty  bless  tlie  young  flower  * 

Erin  !  oh  Erin  !  thy  winter  is  past. 

And  the  hope  that  lived  through  it  shall  blosso.a  ai 
last. 


1   The  word  "chromatic"  mio-ht   have  been  usoJ  here, 
/itiiout  uny  violence  to  its  meaning. 


DRINK  TO  HER. 

Air — Heigh  oh  !  my  Jackey 
Drink  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh  ; 
The  girl  who  gave  to  song 

Wliat  gold  could  never  buy. 
Oh  !  woman's  heart  was  made 

For  minstrel  hands  alone  ; 
By  other  fingers  play'd. 

It  yields  not  half  the  tone. 
Then  here  's  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh. 
The  girl  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy ! 

At  Beauty's  door  of  glass 

When  Wealth  and  Wit  once  stood, 
They  ask'd  her  "which  might  pass  ?" 

She  answer'd,  "  he  who  could." 


1  The  inextinguishable  fire  of  St.  Bridget,  at  Kildiire, 
wliich  Giraldiis  inenliDiis,  "A|niil  Kil'liiriam  occurrit  Ignii 
Samce  Bri;;idje,  quem  iiiextinguibilein  vorant;  nnn  ouod 
exiiiisui  nun  |>ossit,sed  quud  tarn  8oli<-ite  moniuleset  stincta 
miilieres  ignem,  suppetente  materia,  fovent  et  nulriunt,  ii'  a 
tempiire  virginis  por  tot  annnrum  curricula  semper  mansii 
inextinotus." — Girald.  Cainb.  de  Mirabil.  Hihem.  Dis.  2. 
c.  .14. 

2  Mrs.  H.  Tighe,  in  her  exquisite  line.s  on  the  lily,  has  ai' 
plied  this  iiniige  to  a  still  more  iinponaiit  subicci 


32G 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Wiih  golden  key  Wealth  thought 

To  n:iss — hut  't  would  not  do : 
Wliile  Wit  a  diamond  brought, 

Winch  cut  his  bright  way  through  ! 
So  here  's  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh, 
The  girl  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy  ! 

The  love  that  seeks  a  home, 

Where  wealth  or  grandeur  shines, 
Is  like  the  gloomy  gnome 

That  dwells  in  dark  gold  mines. 
But  oh  !  the  poet's  love 

Can  boast  a  brighter  sphere  ; 
It's  native  home  's  above, 

Though  woman  keeps  it  here  ! 
Then  drink  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh, 
rhe  girl  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy  ! 


OH!  BLAME  NOT  THE  BARD." 

Air — Kitty  Tyrrel. 
Oh  !  blame  not  the  bard,  if  he  fly  to  the  bowers. 

Where  Pleasure  lies  carelessly  smiling  at  Fame; 
He  was  born  for  much  more,  and  in  happier  hours 

His  soul  might  have  burn'd  with  a  holier  flame. 
The  string,  that  now  languishes  loose  o'er  the  lyre, 

Might  have  bent  a  proud  bow  to  the  warrior's  dart,^ 
And  the  lip,  which  now  breathes  but  the  song  of  desire. 

Might  have  pour'd  the  full  tide  of  a  patriot's  heart. 

But  alas  !  for  his  country — her  pride  is  gone  by, 

And  that  spirit  is  broken  which  never  would  bend ; 
O'er  the  ruin  her  children  in  secret  must  sigh. 

For  't  is  treason  to  love  her,  and  death  to  defend. 
Unprized  are  her  sons,  till  they  've  learn'd  to  betray ; 
Undistinguish'd  they  live,  if  they  shame  not  their 
sires ; 
And  the  torch,  that  would  light  them  through  dignity's 
way. 
Must  be  caught  from  the  pile  where  their  countr}' 
expires ! 

Then  blame  not  the  bard,  if,  in  pleasure's  soft  dream, 
He  should  try  to  forget  what  he  never  can  heal ; 

Oil  1  give  but  a  hope — let  a  vista  but  gleam 

Through  the  gloom  of  his  country,  and  mark  how 
he'll  feel  ! 

That  instant  his  heart  at  her  shrine  would  lav  down 
Every  passion  it  nursed,  every  bliss  it  auorea. 


1  We  niiiy  snppDsc  lliis  ii|)()lngy  lo  liave  been  utierod  liy 
onroftliose  waudonns  bards,  wliumSprncorsosfiverfly,  and, 
piirhiipi',  truly,  describes  in  Ins  State  of  Ireland,  and  wbose 
pneins,  he  lella  Us,  "  wore  sprinkli'd  willi  some  pretty  flowers 
iif  their  natural  device,  which  gave  good  grace  and  comeli- 
ness unto  them,  the  which  it  is  grcai  pity  to  see  abused  to 
the  gracing  of  wickedne-sand  vice,  whicii,  with  good  usage, 
would  serve  to  iidorn  antl  beautify  virlue." 

2  It  is  conjectured  l)y  Worniius,  that  the  name  of  Ireland 
ia  derived  from  Yr,  the  Runic  (or  a  bow,  in  the  useof  which 
weapon  the  Irish  were  omi!  very  expert.  This  derivation 
e  certainly  more  creditable  to  os  than  the  following:  "So 
ihat  Ireland  (called  the  land  of  Ire.,  for  the  constant  broils 
(iH'rein  for  400  years')  wasnow  b'Tornc  llie  land  orconcord." 

I .loyd's  State  IViirthius,  .'Jrt.  The  Lord  (;r>iwlisoii. 


While  the  myrtle,  now  idly  entwinsd  v.'itli  his  crown, 
Like  the  wreath  of  Harmodius,  she  aid  cover  hii 
sword.' 

But,  though  glory  be  gone,  and  though  hope  fade  away 

Thy  name,  loved  Erin !  shall  live  in  his  songs ; 
Not  even  m  the  hour  when  his  heart  is  most  gay 

Will   he  lose   the  remembrance  of  thee  and  thj 
wrongs  ! 
The  stranger  shall  hear  thy  lament  on  his  plains ; 

The  sigh  of  thy  harp  shall  be  sent  o'er  the  deep, 
Till  thy  masters  themselves,  as  they  rivet  thy  cbnins. 

Shall  pause  at  the  song  of  their  captive,  and  weep 


WHILE  GAZING  ON  THE  MOON'S  LIGHT 

Air — Oonagh. 
While  gazing  on  the  moon's  light, 

A  moment  from  her  smile  I  turn'd. 
To  look  at  orbs  that,  more  bright. 
In  lone  and  distant  glory  burn'd. 
But,  too  far, 
Each  proud  star. 
For  me  to  feel  its  warming  flame — 
Much  more  dear 
That  mild  sphere. 
Which  near  our  planet  smiling  came;' 
Thus,  Mary,  'oe  but  thou  my  own — 

While  brighter  eyes  unheeded  play, 
I'll  love  those  moon-light  looks  alone. 
Which  bless  my  home  and  guide  my  way ! 

The  day  had  sunk  in  dim  showers. 

But  midnight  now,  with  lustre  meek. 
Illumined  all  the  pale  flowers. 

Like  hope,  that  lights  a  mourner's  cheek 
I  said  (while 
The  moon's  smile 
Play'd  o'er  a  stream  in  dimpling  bliss,) 
"The  moon  looks 
On  many  brooks 
The  brook  can  see  no  moon  but  this  ;"* 
And  thus,  I  thought,  our  fortunes  run, 

For  many  a  lover  looks  to  thee, 
While  oh  !  I  feel  there  is  but  one. 
One  ]\Iary  in  the  world  for  me. 


ILL  OMENS. 

Air — Kilty  of  Coleraine  ;  or,  Paddy\i  Resource 

When  daylight  was  yet  sleeping  under  the  billow. 

And  stars  in  the  heavens  still  lingering  shone. 


1  See  the  Hymn,  atiribnted  to  Alca;us,  Ei/  /Kupr(j»  hA.** 
TO  5i«o«  (fopurou — "  I  will  carry  my  sword,  hidden  ai 
myrtles,  like  Harmodius  and  Arislogilon,"  etc. 

2  "  Ol'sncb  celestial  bodies  as  are  visible,  the  sun  excepted, 
the  single  tiioon,  as  ibispieable  as  it  is  in  lompnrison  to  niosl 
of  the  others,  is  nineh  more  beneficial  than  they  all  i)ut  to- 
gether."—  IVIiifUni's  Thrvrij,  etc. 

In  the  Kiitrnticim  d'.'Iristi:,  among  other  ingenious  em 
blems,  we  find  a  starry  sky  witliont  a  inoon,  with  the  words 
JViiv  mitlc,  (/nod  ahsnin. 

3  This  image  was  sucgested  by  the  following  thoiighl 
which  occurs  soinewhere  in  Sir  William  .Tones's  works 
"  The  moon  looks  upon  many  night-flowers,  tlie  nig  jl-flowo 
s<;eH  but  one  moon  " 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


327 


Voiiiig  Kitty,  all  blushing,  rose  up  from  her  pillow, 
The  last  time  she  e'er  was  to  pres.s  it  alone. 

For  the  youth,  whom  she  treasured  her  heart  and  her 
soul  in, 
Flad  promised  to  link  the  last  tie  liePore  noon ; 

.\nd,  wlien  once  the  young  heart  of  a  maiden  is  stolen, 
The  maiden  herself  will  steal  after  it  soon ! 

As  she  look'd  in  the  glass,  which  a  woman  ne'er 
misses. 

Nor  ever  wants  time  for  a  sly  glance  or  two, 
A  butterfly,  fresh  from  the  night-Mower's  kisses. 

Flew  over  the  mirror,  and  shaded  her  view. 
Enraged  with  the  insect  for  hiding  her  graces, 

She  brush'd  him — he  fell,  alas  !  never  to  rise — 
"  Ah  !  such,"  said  the  girl,  "  is  the  pride  of  our  faces, 

For  which  the  soul's  innocence  too  often  dies!" 

While  she  stole  through  the  garden,  where  heart' s- 
ease  was  growing, 
She  cull'd  some,  and  kiss'doff  its  night-fallen  dew; 
And  a  rose,  further  on,  look'd  so  tempting  and  glow- 
ing. 
That,  spite  of  her  haste,  she  must  gather  it  loo ; 
But,  while  o'er  the  roses  too  carelessly  leaning. 

Her  zone  flew  in  two,  and  the  heart's-ease  was  lost — 
"  Ah  I  this  means,"  said  the  girl  (and  she  sigh'd  at  its 
meaning,) 
That  love  is  scarce  worth  the  repose  it  will  cost !" 


BEFORE  THE  BATTLE. 

Air — The  Fairy  Queen. 
By  the  hope  within  us  springing, 

Herald  of  to-morrow's  strife  ; 
By  that  sun  whose  light  is  bringing 

Chains  or  freedom,  death  or  life — 
Oh  !  remember  life  can  be 
No  charm  for  him  who  lives  not  free ! 

liike  the  day-star  in  the  wave, 

Sinks  a  hero  to  his  grave, 
'Midst  the  devv-foll  of  a  nation's  tears  ! 

Happy  is  he  o'er  whose  decline 

The  smiles  of  home  may  soothing  shine, 
And  light  him  down  the  steep  of  years: — 

But  oh  !  how  grand  they  sink  to  rest 

Who  close  their  eyes  on  Victory's  breast ! 

O'er  his  watch-fire's  fading  embers 
Now  the  foeman's  cheek  turns  white, 

When  his  heart  that  field  remembers, 
Where  we  dimm'd  his  glory's  light ! 

Never  let  him  bind  again 

A  chain  like  that  we  broke  from  then. 
Hark  !  the  horn  of  combat  calls — 
Ere  the  golden  evening  falls, 

May  we  pledge  that  horn  in  triumph  round  !' 
Many  a  heart,  that  now  beats  high. 
In  slumber  cold  at  night  shall  lie. 

Nor  waken  even  at  victory's  sound  : — 


1  "The  Irisli  Ci)rna  was  not  entirely  devoted  to  marli 
vurposos.     In  the  heroir  ajes  imr  ancestors  fjuatfed  Meadli 
jut  of  tlierii,  as  the  Danish  hunters  do  tlieir  beverage  at  lliii 
lav." —  IValker.     . 


Rut  oh  !  how  bless'd  thai  hero's  sleep. 
O'er  whom  a  wondering  world  shall  weep 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 

Am — Thy  Fair  Bosom. 

Night  closed  around  the  conqueror's  way 

And  lightnings  show'd  the  distant  hill, 
Where  those  who  lost  that  dreadful  day 

Stood,  few  and  fixint,  but  fearless  still  ! 
The  soldier's  hope,  the  patriot's  zeal. 

For  ever  dimm'd,  for  ever  cross'd — 
Oh  !  who  shall  say  what  heroes  feel, 

When  all  but  life  and  honour  's  lost ! 

The  last  sad  hour  of  freedom's  dream, 

And  valour's  task,  moved  slowly  by, 
While  mute  they  watch'd,  till  morning's  beam 

Should  rise,  and  give  them  light  to  die  '— 
There  is  a  world  where  souls  are  free. 

Where  tyrants  taint  not  nature's  bliss ; 
If  death  that  world's  bright  opening  be, 

Oh  !  who  would  live  a  slave  in  tliis  1 


OH !  'T  IS  SWEET  TO  THINK. 

Air — Thady,  you  Gander. 
Oil !  't  is  sweet  to  think  that,  wherever  we  rove, 

We  are  sure  to  find  something  blissful  and  dear; 
And  that,  when  we're  far  from  the  lips  we  love, 

We  have  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  we  are  near ! 
The  heart,  like  a  tendril,  accustom'd  to  cling. 

Let  it  grow  where  it  will,  cannot  flourish  alone. 
But  will  lean  to  the  nearest  and  loveliest  thing 

It  can  twine  with  itself,  and  make  closely  its  own. 
Then  oh  !  what  pleasure,  where'er  we  rove, 

To  be  doom'd  to  find  something,  still,  that  is  deal 
And  to  know,  when  far  from  the  lips  we  love. 

We  have  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  we  are  near 

'T  were  a  shame,  when  flowers  around  us  rise, 

To  make  light  of  the  rest,  if  the  rose  is  not  there; 
And  the  world  's  so  rich  in  resplendent  eyes, 

'T  were  a  pity  to  limit  one's  love  to  a  pair. 
Love's  wing  and  the  peacock's  are  nearly  alike. 

They  are  both  of  them  bright,  but  they're  chajg© 
able  too, 
And,  wherever  a  new  beam  of  beauty  can  strike. 

It  will  tincture  Love's  plume  with  a  different  hue ! 
Then  oh  !  what  pleasure,  where'er  we  rove, 

To  be  doom'd  to  find  something,  still,  that  is  dear 
And  to  know,  when  far  from  the  lips  we  love, 

We  have  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  we  are  neai 


1  I  lielieve  it  is  Murmontel,  who  says  "  yxvanii  on  n'  a 
pan  cc  que  Von  aimc,  il  faut  aimer  ce  que  I'on  a." — There 
are  so  many  niatter-of  fact  people,  wlio  take  sucli  jeux 
(Vrxprit  as  this  defence  of  inconsiancy,  to  be  the  neural  and 
genuine  sentiments  of  him  who  writes  them,  tnal  tliuy  com 
pel  one,  in  self-defence,  'o  be  as  multer-of-fact  as  ;lieni 
selves,  and  to  remind  lliem,  that  Deniocritus  was  nol  ih» 
worse  physiologist  for  having  playfully  contendi'd  Ihai  snuw 
was  black  ;  nor  Erasmus  in  any  lieirreu  ihe  lus*  wi««  loi 
having  written  an  ingenious  encomium  of  lollv. 


328 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE  IRISH  PEASANT  TO  HIS  MISTRESS. 

Air  

Through  grief  and  through  danger  thy  smile  hath 

ciieer'd  my  way. 
Till  hope  seem'd  to  bud  from  each  thorn  that  round 

me  lay  ; 
The  darker  our  fortune,  the  brighter  our  pure  love 

burn'd. 
Till  shame  into  glory,  till  fear  into  zeal  was  turn'd : 
Oh !  slave  as  I  was.  in  thy  arms  my  spirit  felt  free, 
4nd  bk-ss'd  even  the  sorrows  that  made  me  more 

dear  to  thee. 

Thy  rival  was  honour'd,  while  thou  werfwrong'd 

and  scorn'd ; 
Thy  crown  was  of  briers,  wlnle  gold   her  brows 

adorn'd ; 
She  woo'd  me  to  temples,  while  tliou  lay'st  hid  m 

caves ; 
Her  friends  were  all  masters,  while  thine,  alas !  were 

slaves  ; 
Vet,  cold  in  the  earth,  at  thy  feet  I  would  rather  be. 
Than  wed  what  I  loved  not,  or  turn  one  thought 

from  thee. 

They  slander  thee   sorely,  who  say  thy  vows  are 

frail— 
Hadst  thou  been  a  false  one,  thy  cheek  had  look'd 

less  pale ! 
They  say,  too,  so  long  thou  hast  worn  those  lingering 

chains. 
That  deep  in  thy  heart  they  have  printed  their  servile 

stains — 
Oh :  do  not  believe  them — no  chain  could  that  soul 

subdue — 
Where  shineth  thy  spirit,  there  liberty  shineth  too  !' 


ON  MUSIC. 

Air — Banks  of  Banna. 
When  through  life  unbless'd  we  rove, 

Losing  all  that  made  life  dear, 
Should  some  notes,  we  used  to  love 

In  days  of  boyhood,  meet  our  ear. 
Oh  how  welcome  breathes  the  strain  ! 

Wakening  thoughts  that  long  have  slept ; 
Kindling  former  smiles  again. 

In  faded  eyes  that  long  have  wept ! 

Like  the  gale  that  sighs  along 

Beds  of  oriental  (lowers. 
Is  the  grateful  breath  of  song, 

That  once  was  heard  in  happier  hours. 
Fill'd  with  balm  the  gale  sighs  on, 

Though  the  flowers  have  sunk  in  death  ; 
So,  when  pleasure's  dream  is  gone. 

Its  memory  lives  in  Music's  breath  ! 

Music  ! — oh  !  how  fami,  how  weak, 
Language  fades  before  thy  spell ! 


I  ''  VVIierc  the  Suirit  of  the  Lord  is,  there  is  liberty.' 
*<   Paul,  2  Corinihiaiis,  iii.  17. 


Why  should  feeling  ever  speak, 

When  thou  canst  breathe  her  soul  so  well? 
Friendship's  balmy  words  may  feign, 

Love's  are  even  more  false  than  they; 
Oh!  'tis  only  3Iusic's  strain 

Can  sweetly  sooth,  and  not  betray ! 


IT  IS  NOT  THE  TEAR  AT  THIS  MOMENT 
SHED.' 
Air — The  Sixpence. 
It  is  not  the  tear  at  this  moment  shed. 

When  the  cold  turf  has  just  been  laid  o'er  him. 
That  can  tell  how  beloved  was  the  friend  that 's  fled, 

Or  how  deep  in  our  hearts  we  deplore  him 
'T  is  the  tear  through  many  a  long  day  wept, 

Through  a  life  by  his  loss  all  shaded  ; 
'T  is  the  sad  remembrance,  tbndly  kept. 

When  all  lighter  griefs  have  faded  ! 

Oh !  thus  shall  we  mourn,  and  his  memory's  light, 

While  it  shines  through  our  heart,  will  improve 
them ; 
For  worth  shall  look  fairer,  and  truth  more  bright. 

When  we  think  how  he  lived  but  to  love  them! 
And,  as  buried  saints  have  given  perfume 

To  shrines  where  they've  been  lying, 
So  our  hearts  shall  borrow  a  sweetening  bloom 

From  the  image  he  left  there  in  dying ! 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  HARP 

Air — Gage  Fane. 
'T  IS  believed  that  this  harp,  which  I  wake  now  for 

thee, 
Was  a  Siren  of  old,  who  sung  under  the  sesi, 
And  who  often,  at  eve,  through  the  bright  billow 

roved, 
To  meet,  on  the  green  shore,  a  youth  whom  she  loved 

But  she  loved  him  in  vain,  for  he  left  her  to  weep. 
And  in  tears,  all  the  night,  her  gold  ringlets  to  steep, 
Till  Heaven  look'd  with  pity  on  true-love  so  warm. 
And  changed  to  this  soft  harp  the  sea-maideu's  form  . 

Still  her  bosom  rose  fair — still  her  cheek  smiled  the 

same — 
While  her  sea-beauties  gracefully  curl'd   round  the 

frame ; 
And  her  hair,  shedding  tear-drops  from  all  its  brigh; 

rings, 
Fell  over  her  white  arm,  to  make  the  gold  strings  !^ 

Hence  it  came,  that  this  soft  harp  so  long  hath  been 

known 
To  mingle  love's  language  with  sorrow's  sad  tone: 
Till  thou  didst  divide  tbom,  and  teach  the  fond  lay 
To  be  love  wlien  I'm  near  thee,  and  grief  when  away' 


1  These  lines  were  occasioned  hy  the  (Icialh  of  a  vcrj 
iiciir  and  df.iii  rclalive. 

2  This  IlidUglit  was  suggested  by  an  ingcmioiis  design 
pri'lixcd  lo  an  ode  upon  Si.  Cecilia,  published  some  yeari 
since,  by  Mr.  Hudson  of  IJubliir. 


NO.   IV. 


Tins  Number  of  The  IMolodies  ought  to  have  ap- 
poiiroii  much  earlier;  and  the  writer  of  the  words  is 
ashamed  to  confess,  that  tlie  del:iy  of  its  publication 
must  b(!  imputed  chiefly,  if  not  entirely,  to  him.  He 
finds  It  necessary  to  make  this  avowal,  not  only  for 
the  purpose  of  removing  all  blame  from  the  publisher, 
but  in  consequence  of  a  rumour,  which  has  been  cir- 
culated industriously  in  Dublin,  that  the  Irish  CJoveru- 
menl  had  interfered  to  prevent  the  continuance  of 
the  Work.  This  would  be,  indeed,  a  revival  of 
Henry  the  Eighth's  enactments  against  Minstrels,  and 
it  is  very  flattering  to  liud  that  so  much  importance  is 
af.ached  to  our  compilation,  even  by  such  persons  as 
the  inventors  of  the  report.  Bishop  Lowth,  it  is  true, 
was  of  this  opinion,  that  one  song,  like  the  Hjimn  to 
Harmofliu.i,  would  have  done  more  towards  rousing 
the  spirit  of  the  Romans  than  nil  thi^  philippu-s  of 
Cicero.  But  we  live  in  wiser  and  less  musical  times; 
ballads  have  long  lost  their  revolutionary  powers, 
and  we  question  if  even  a  "  Lillibullero"  would  pro- 
duce any  very  serious  consequences  at  present.  It  is 
needless,  therefore,  to  add,  that  there  is  no  truth  in 
the  report;  and  we  trust  that  whatever  belief  it  ob- 
tained was  founded  more  upon  the  character  of  the 
Gorernmenl  than  of  the  Work. 

The  Airs  of  the  last  Number,  though  full  of  origi- 
nality and  beauty,  were  perhaps,  in  general,  too  cu- 
riously selected  to  become  all  at  once  as  popular  as, 
we  think,  they  deserve  to  be.  The  Public  are  re- 
markably reserved  towards  new  acquaintances  in 
music,  which,  perhaps,  is  one  of  the  reasons  why 
many  modern  composers  introduce  none  but  old 
friends  to  their  notice.  Indeed,  it  is  natural  that  per- 
sons who  love  music  only  by  association,  should  be 
slow  in  feeling  the  charms  of  a  new  and  strange 
melody;  while  those  who  have  a  quick  sensibility  for 
this  enchanting  art,  will  as  naturally  seek  and  enjoy 
novelty,  because  in  every  variety  of  strain  they  find  a 
fresh  combination  of  ideas,  and  the  sound  has  scarcely 
reached  the  ear,  before  the  heart  has  rapidly  trans- 
lated it  into  sentiment.  After  all,  however,  it  can- 
not be  denied  that  the  most  popular  of  our  national 
Airs  are  also  the  most  beautiful  ;  and  it  has  been  our 
wish,  in  the  present  Number,  to  select  from  those 
Melodies  only  which  have  long  been  listened  to  and 
admired.  Tiie  least  known  in  the  collection  is  the 
Air  of  "  I  Jove's  young  Dream;''''  but  it  is  one  of  those 
easy,  artless  strangers,  whose  merit  the  heart  ac- 
Knowledges  instantly 

T.  M. 

Bury  Street,  St.  James's, 
'Nov.  1811. 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  UREA3I. 
Am— The  Old  Woman. 

Oil !  the  days  are  gone,  when  Beauty  bright 

3Iy  heart's  chain  wove  1 
When  my  dream  of  life,  from  morn  till  night, 

VVas  love,  still  love  ! 


New  hope  may  bloom, 

And  days  may  come 
Of  milder,  calmer  beam, 
But  there's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 

As  love's  young  dream  ! 
Oh  !  there  's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 

As  love's  young  dream  ! 

Though  the  bard  to  purer  fime  may  soar, 

When  wild  youth  's  past; 
Though  he  win  the  wise,  who  frown'd  before, 

To  smile  at  last ; 

He'll  never  meet 

A  joy  so  sweet. 
In  all  his  noon  of  fame. 
As  when  first  he  sung  to  woman's  ear 

His  soul-felt  flame. 
And,  at  every  close,  she  biush'd  to  hear 

The  one  loved  name! 

Oh  I  that  hallow'd  form  is  ne'er  forgot, 

Which  first-love  traced ; 
Still  it  lingering  haunts  the  greenest  spot 

On  memory's  waste ! 

'T  was  odour  fled 

As  soon  as  shed  ; 
'Twas  morning's  winged  dream; 
'T  was  a  light  that  ne'er  can  shine  again 

On  life's  dull  stream  ! 
Oh!  't  was  light  that  ne'er  can  shine  again 

On  life's  dull  stream. 


THE  PRINCE'S  DAY.' 

Air — St.  Patrick's  Day. 

Though  dark  are  our  sorrows,  to-day  we  'II  forget 
them. 
And  smile  through  our  tears,  like  a  sun-beam  .'n 
showers ; 
There  never  were  hearts,  if  our  rulers  would  let  them, 
More  form'd  to  be  grateful  and  bless'd  than  ours! 
But,  just  when  the  chain 
Has  ceased  to  pain, 
And  Hope  has  enwreathed  it  round  with  flowers. 
There  comes  a  new  link 
Our  spirits  to  sink — 
Oh  !  the  joy  that  we  taste,  like  the  light  of  the  poles. 

Is  a  flash  amid  darkness,  too  brilliant  to  stay , 

But,  though  't  were  the  last  little  spark  in  our  souls. 

We  must  light  it  up  now  on  our  Prince  s  Day. 

Contempt  on  the  minion  who  calls  you  disloyal ! 
Though  fierce  to  your  foe,  to  your  friends  you  are 
true ; 
And  the  tribute  most  high  to  a  head  that  is  rovi  I 
Is  love  from  a  heart  that  loves  liberty  too 
While  cowards  who  blight 
Your  fame,  your  right. 
Would  shrink  from  the  blaze  of  the  battle  array, 
The  Standard  of  (ireen 
In  front  would  be  seen — 


1  This  song  was  written  for  a  fete  in  honour  of  the  Prince 
(if  Wales's  Birth-Day,  ^iven  liy  my  frieiul,  Major  lirvaii,  ai 
\  his  seat  in  the  county  ol  Kilktiinv. 


330                                                        MOORE'S  WORKS. 

( th  !  my  life  on  your  faith  !  were  you  summon'd  this 

Beauty  lies 

minute, 

In  many  eyes. 

Vou'd  cast  every  bitter  remembrance  away. 

But  love  in  yours,  my  Nora  Crema  : 

And  show  what  the  arm  of  old  Erin  has  in  it, 
When  roused  by  the  foe,  on  her  Prince's  Day. 

Lesbia  wears  a  robe  of  gold. 

But  all  so  close  the  nymph  hath  laced  ii 

He  loves  the  Green  Isle,  and  his  love  is  recorded 

Not  a  charm  of  Beauty's  mould 

In  hearts  which  have  sufler'd  too  much  to  forget ; 

Presumes  to  stay  where  Nature  placed  it! 

And  hope  shall  be  crown'd,  and  attachment  rewarded. 

Oh  !  my  Nora's  gown  for  me. 

And  Erin's  gay  jubilee  shine  out  yet ! 

That  floats  as  wild  as  mountain  breezes, 

The  gem  may  be  broke 

Leaving  every  beauty  free 

By  many  a  stroke. 

To  sink  or  swell,  as  Heaven  pleases 

But  nothing  can  cloud  its  native  ray ; 

Yes,  my  Nora  Creina,  dear  ! 

Each  fragment  will  cast 

My  simple,  graceful  Nora  Creina ! 

A  light,  to  the  last  !— 

Nature's  dress 

And  thus,  Erin,  my  country !  though  broken  thou  art. 

Is  loveliness — 

There  's  a  lustre  within  thee  that  ne'er  will  decay; 

The  dress  you  wear,  my  Nora  Creina  ! 

A  spirit  which  beams  through  each  suffering  part. 
And  now  smiles  at  their  pain,  on  the  Prince's  Day  ! 

Lesbia  hath  a  wit  refined. 

But,  when  its  points  are  gleaming  round  ua. 

Who  can  tell  if  they're  design'd 

To  dazzle  merely  or  to  wound  us  ? 

Pi'low'd  on  my  Nora's  heart. 

WEEP  ON,  WEEP  ON. 

In  safer  slumber  Love  reposes — 

Air — The  Song  of  Sorrow. 

Bed  of  peace  I  whose  roughest  part 

Weep  on,  weep  on,  your  hcur  is  past, 

Is  but  the  crumbling  of  the  roses. 

Your  dreams  of  pride  are  o'er  ; 
The  fatal  chain  is  round  you  cast, 

And  you  are  men  no  more ! 
In  vain  the  hero's  heart  hath  bled. 

Oh,  my  Nora  Creina,  dear  ! 
My  mild,  my  artless  Nora  Creina! 
Wit,  though  bright. 
Hath  not  the  light 

The  sage's  tongue  hath  warn'd  in  vain  ; — 

That  warms  your  eyes,  my  Nora  Creina ! 

Oh,  Freedom  !  once  thy  flame  hath  fled, 
It  never  lights  again  ! 

Weep  on — perhaps  in  a^ler  days 

They'll  learn  to  love  your  name ; 
When  many  a  deed  shall  wake  in  praise 

I  SAW  THY  FORM  IN  YOUTHFUL  PRIME 

Air — Domlmall. 

That  now  must  sleep  in  blame  ! 

I  SAW  thy  form  in  youthful  prime, 

And,  when  they  tread  the  ruin'd  isle. 

Nor  thought  that  pale  decay 

Where  rest,  at  length,  the  lord  and  slave, 

Would  steal  before  the  steps  of  time, 

They'll  wond'ring  ask,  how  hands  so  vile 

And  waste  its  bloom  away,  Mary  ! 

Could  conquer  hearts  so  brave. 

Yet  still  thy  features  wore  that  light 

Which  fleets  not  with  the  breath  ; 

"  'T  was  fate,"  they'll  say,  "  a  wayward  fate 

And  life  ne'er  look'd  more  truly  bright 

Your  web  of  discord  wove ; 

Than  in  thy  smile  of  death,  Mary! 

And,  while  your  tyrants  join'd  in  hate, 

You  never  join'd  in  love! 

As  streams  that  run  o'er  golden  mines, 

But  hearts  fell  off  that  ought  to  twine, 

Yet  humbly,  calmly  glide, 

And  man  profaned  what  God  hath  given. 

Nor  seem  to  know  the  wealth  that  shines 

Till  some  were  heard  to  curse  the  shrine 

Within  their  gentle  tide,  Mary  ! 

Where  others  knelt  to  Heaven!" 

So,  veil'd  beneath  the  simplest  guise. 

Thy  radiant  genius  shone. 

And  that  which  charm'd  all  other  eyes 
Seem'd  worthless  in  thy  own,  Mary ! 

LESBIA  HATH  A  BEAMING  EYE. 

Air — Nora  Creina. 

If  souls  could  always  dwell  above. 

Thou  ne'er  hadst  left  tiiat  sphere  ; 

Lesbia  hath  a  beaming  eye. 

Or,  could  we  keep  the  souls  we  love. 

But  no  one  knows  for  whom  it  beameth ; 

We  ne'er  had  lost  thee  here,  Mary  I 

Right  and  loft  its  arrows  fly. 

Though  many  a  gifted  mind  we  meet. 

But  what  they  airn  at  no  one  dreameth  ! 

Though  fairest  forms  we  see. 

Sweeter  't  is  to  gaze  upon 

To  live  with  them  is  far  less  sweet 

My  Nora's  lid,  that  seldom  rises  ; 

Than  to  remember  thee,  Mary  !' 

Few  its  looks,  but  every  one, 
Like  unexpected  light,  surprises  I 

Oh,  my  Nora  Creina,  dear  ! 
Mv  gentle,  bashful  Nora  Creina  ! 

1   I  liiivc^  hero  made  a  feeble  elloit  to  imitate  that  eiqui 
site  inscription  of  Shenstoiii^'s,  "  Una  '.   (|Udnlo  .iiiiius  esl 
cum  reli(|uis  vcrsari  quum  tui  mcniinisHe  '" 

IRISH  MELODIES. 


«1 


BY  THAT  LAKE,  WHOSE  GLOOMY  SHORE. 
Am — 21ie  Brown  Irish  Girl 
By  that  lake,  whose  gloomy  shore 
Sky-lark  iiovcr  warbles  o'cr,- 
Whcre  the  clilF  hangs  iiigh  and  steep, 
Young  Saint  Kevin  stole  to  sleep. 
"  Here  at  least,"  he  calmly  said, 
"  Woman  ne'er  shall  tind  my  bed." 
Ah  !  the  good  saint  little  knew 
What  that  wily  sex  can  do. 

'T  was  from  Kathleen's  eyes  he  flew — 
Eyes  of  most  unholy  blue  ! 
She  had  loved  him  well  and  long, 
Wish'd  him  her's,  nor  thought  it  wrong 
Wheresoe'er  the  saint  would  lly. 
Still  he  heard  her  ligiit  foot  nigh  j 
East  or  west,  where'er  he  turn'd. 
Still  her  eyes  before  him  burn'd. 

On  the  bold  cliff's  bosom  cast, 
Tranquil  now  he  sleeps  at  last ; 
Dreams  of  heaven,  nor  thinks  that  e'er 
Woman's  smile  can  haunt  him  there. 
But  nor  earth,  nor  heaven  is  free 
From  her  power,  if  fond  slie  be  : 
Even  now,  while  calm  he  sleeps, 
Kathleen  o'er  him  leans  and  weeps. 

Fearless  she  had  track'd  his  feet 
To  this  rocky  wild  retreat ; 
And  when  morning  met  his  view, 
Her  mild  glances  met  it  too. 
Ah  !  your  saints  have  cruel  hearts! 
Sternly  from  his  bed  he  starts. 
And,  with  rude  repulsive  shock. 
Hurls  her  from  the  beetling  rock. 

Glendalough  !  thy  gloomv  wave 
Soon  was  gentle  Kathleen's  grave  , 
Soon  the  saint  (yet,  ah  !  too  late) 
Felt  her  love,  and  mourn'd  her  fate. 
When  he  said,  "  Heaven  rest  her  soul !" 
Round  the  lake  light  music  stole  ; 
And  her  ghost  was  seen  to  glide, 
Smiling,  o'er  the  fatal  tide  . 


SHE  IS  FAR  FROM  THE  LAND. 

Air — Open  the  Door. 
SHE  IS  far  from  the  land  where  her  young  hero  sleep.s 

Ard  lovers  are  round  her  sighing  ; 
But  coldly  she  turns  from  their  gaze,  and  weeps, 

For  her  heart  in  his  grave  is  lymg  I 

She  sings  the  wild  song  of  her  dear  native  plains, 
Every  note  which  he  loved  awaking. — 

Ah  !  htde  they  think,  who  delight  in  her  strains, 
How  the  heart  of  the  Minstrel  is  breaking ! 


1  Tins  ballad  is  founiliul  upon  one  of  the  many  btories  re- 
lali'd  of  St.  Kevin,  whoso  IhhI  in  the  rock  is  to  l>e  seen  at 
(JlcndaldUiili,  a  most  gloomy  and  romantic  spot  in  tho  county 
of  Wicklow. 

2  Tliere  are  many  other  curious  tradilin";  coni-erning  this 
I'ke,  which  may  be  found  in  Giraldus,  Colgan,  etc. 


He  had  lived  for  his  love  for  his  country  he  died 
They  were  all  that  to  life  had  entwined  hiin,- 

Nor  soon  shall  the  tears  ol"  his  country  be  dried. 
Nor  long  will  his  love  stay  behind  him. 

Oh  !  make  her  a  grave  where  the  sun-beams  rest, 
When  they  promise  a  glorious  morrow  ; 

They'll  shine  o'er  her  sleep  like  a  smile  from  the  \V  ( 
From  her  own  loved  Island  of  Sorrow  ! 


NAY   TELL  ME  NOT. 

Am — Denni.i,  don't  be  threatening. 
Nay,  tell  me  not,  dear !  that  the  goblet  drowns 

One  charm  of  feeling,  one  fond  regret; 
Believe  me,  a  few  of  thy  angry  frowns 
Are  all  I've  sunk  in  its  bright  wave  yet. 
Ne'er  hath  a  beam 
Been  lost  in  the  stream 
That  ever  was  shed  I'rom  thy  fom?  or  soul ; 
The  balm  of  thy  sighs. 
The  light  of  thine  eyes. 
Still  float  on  the  surface  and  hallow  my  bowl ! 
Then  fancy  not,  dearest  I  that  wine  can  steal 
One  blissful  dream  of  the  heart  from  me  ! 
Like  founts  that  awaken  the  pilgrim's  zeal. 
The  bowl  but  brightens  my  love  for  thee ! 

They  tell  us  that  Love  in  his  fairy  bower 

Had  two  blush-roses,  of  birth  divine; 
He  sprinkled  the  one  with  a  rainbow's  shower, 
But  bathed  the  other  with  mantling  wine. 
Soon  did  the  buds, 
That  drank  of  the  Hoods 
Distill'd  by  the  rainbow,  decline  and  fade; 
While  those  which  the  tide 
Of  ruby  had  dyed 
All  blusli'd  into  beauty,  Uke  thee,  swtet  maid . 
Then  fancy  not,  dearest ;  that  wine  can  steal 
One  blissful  dream  of  the  heart  from  me ; 
Like  founts  that  awaken  the  pilgrim's  zeal. 
The  bowl  but  brightens  my  love  for  thee. 


AVENGING  AND  BRIGHT 

Am — Crooghan  a  Venee. 
Avenging  and  bright  fell  the  swift  sword  of  Erin 
On  him  who  the  brave  sons  of  Usna  betray'd  1 — 


1  The  words  of  this  song  were  suggested  by  tlie  vi-ry 
anciunt  Iiish  story,  calli^d  "  JJeirdri,  or  tlie  lamentabl((  futt 
of  the  sons  of  IJsiiacli,"  wliich  has  been  translated  literal!- 
from  the  Gaelic,  by  Jlr.  O'Fluiiiigan  (see  vol.  1.  of  Trans- 
actions  of  tkc  Gaelic  Society  of  JJuldin,)  and  upon  which 
it  appears  that  the  "  Durtliula"  of  Macplierson  is  founded 
The  treiicliery  of  Conor,  Kmg  of  Ulster,  in  putting  to  dcml- 
Ihe  three  sons  of  Usna,  was  the  cause  of  a  desolatinj  war 
ajjainst  Ulster,  which  teriiiiuated  in  the  destruction  of  Knian. 
■'This  story  (says  Mr.  O'Flanugan)  has  been  from  time  ini 
nemorial  held  in  high  repute  as  one  of  the  three  tragic 
siories  of  the  Irish.  These  are,  -The  death  of  the  children 
of  Touran ;'  'The  death  of  the  children  of  Lear'  (boih  re- 
garding Tuiilha  de  Danans;)  and  this,  'The  death  of  ilie 
children  of  U.snach,'  which  is  a  Milesian  story."  In  No 
11.  of  these  Melodies  there  is  a  ballad  upon  Ihe'slory  of  the 
children  of  Lear  or  Lit :  "  Silent,  oh  Movie  I"  etc. 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  those  sanguine  claims  to 
antiquity,  which  .Air.  O'Flamigaii  and  olheis  advance  for 
the  literature  of  Ireland,  it  would  be  a  very  lasting  repruarb 


For  every  fond  eye  hath  waken'd  a  tear  in, 

A  drop  from  nis  heart-wounds  shall  weep  o'er  her 
blade. 

Bv  the  red  cloud  that  hung  over  Conor's  dark  dwel- 
ling,' 
vVhen    Ulad's   three  champions    lay  sleeping   in 
gore— = 
By  the  billows  of  war  which,  so  often,  high  swelling, 
Have  wafted  these  heroes  to  victory's  shore  ! — 

We  swear  to  revenge  them  ! — no  joy  shall  be  tasted, 
The  harp  shall  be  silent,  the  maiden  unwed ; 

Our  halls  shall  be  mute,  and  our  fields  shall  lie  wasted. 
Till  vengeance  is  wreak'd  on  the  murderer's  head  ! 

Yes,  monarch  I  though  sweet  are  our  home  recollec- 
tions. 
Though  sweet  are  the  tears  that  from  tenderness 
fall; 
Though  sweet  are  our  friendships,  our  hopes,  our  af- 
fections. 
Revenge  on  a  tyrant  is  sweetest  of  all ! 


WHAT  THE  BEE  IS  TO  THE  FLOWEHET. 

Am — The  Yellow  Horse. 
He. — What  the  bee  is  to  the  floweret. 
When  he  looks  for  honey-dew 
Through  the  leaves  that  close  embower  it, 
That,  my  love,  I'll  be  to  you  ! 

She. — What  the  bank,  with  verdure  glowing, 
Is  to  waves  that  wander  near. 
Whispering  kisses,  while  they're  going, 
That  I'll  be  to  you,  my  dear ! 

She. — But  they  say,  the  bee  's  a  rover. 

That  he'll  fly  when  sweets  are  gone ; 
And,  when  once  the  kiss  is  over, 
Faithless  brooks  will  wander  on  ! 

He. — Nay,  if  flowers  will  lose  their  looks, 
If  sunny  banks  will  wear  away, 
'Tis  but  right  that  bees  and  brooks 
Should  sip  and  kiss  them,  while  they  may. 


LOVE  AND  THE  NOVICE. 

Air — Cean  Duhh  Deli.th. 

"IIkre  we  dwell,  in  holiest  bowers. 

Where  angels  of  light  o'er  our  orisons  bend  ; 
Where  sighs  of  devotion  and  breathings  of  flowers 
To  Heaven  in  mingled  odour  ascend  ! 
Do  not  disturb  our  calm,  oh  Love  ! 
So  like  is  thy  form  to  the  cherubs  above, 
ft  W(;ll  might  deceive  such  hearts  as  ours." 

upon  our  nationaliiv  if  tlin  Gaelic  rosearchf's  of  lliis  fioiith: 
Biin  ilid  ni'.  niect  with  iill  llie  liberal  encouragemotit  wliicli 
!li<;v  innrll. 

r  "  Oh  Naisi !  view  the,  cloud  that  I  here  see  in  the  sky  I  I 
neo  over  Eimin  sreeu  a  chilling  cloud  of  blood-tinged  red." 

-//rirdri's  Sung 
2  UUlur. 


Love  stood  near  the'Novice  and  listen'd, 

And  Love  is  no  novice  in  taking  a  hint ; 
His  laughing  blue  eyes  now  with  piety  giisten'd; 
His  rosy  wing  turn'd  to  heaven's  own  tint. 
"Who  would  have  thought,"  the  urchin  cries, 
"That  Love  could  so  well,  so  gravely  disguise 
His  wandering  wings  and  wounding  eyes  ?" 

Love  now  warms  thee,  waking  and  sleeping. 
Young  Novice ;  to  him  all  thy  orisons  rise  ; 
Hn  tinges  the  heavenly  fount  with  his  weeping, 
He  brightens  the  censer's  flame  with  his  sighs. 
Love  is  the  saint  enshrined  in  thy  breast. 
And  angels  themselves  would  adnul  such  a  guest 
If  he  came  to  them  clothed  in  Piety's  vest. 


THIS  LIFE  IS  ALL  CHEQUER'D  WITH 
PLEASURES  AND  WOES. 

Air — The  Bunch  of  Green  Rushes  that  grew  at  th» 
Brim. 

This  life  is  all  chequer'd  with  pleasures  and  woes. 

That  chase  one  another,  like  waves  of  the  deep, — 
Each  billow,  as  brightly  or  darkly  it  flows, 

Reflecting  our  eyes  as  they  sparkle  or  weep. 
So  closely  our  whims  on  our  miseries  tread. 

That  the  laugh  is  awaked  ere  the  tear  can  be  dried; 
And,  as  fast  as  the  rain-drop  of  Pity  is  shed. 

The  goose-feathers  of  folly  can  turn  it  aside. 
But  pledge  me  the  cup — if  existence  would  cloy. 

With  hearts  ever  happy,  and  heads  ever  wise, 
Be  ours  the  light  Grief  that  is  sister  to  Joy, 

And  the  short  brilliant  Folly  that  flashes  and  diea ! 

When  Hylas  was  sent  with  his  urn  to  the  fount. 

Through  fields  full  of  sun-shine,  with  heart  full  of 
play, 
Light  rambled  the  boy  over  meadow  and  inount, 

And  neglected  his  task  for  the  flowers  on  the  way.' 
Thus  some  who,  like  me,  should  have  drawn  and 
have  tasted 

The  fountain  that  runs  by  Philosophy's  shrine, 
Their  time  with  the   flowers  on  the  margin  have 
wasted. 

And  left  their  light  urns  all  as  empty  as  mine! 
But  pledge  me  the  goblet — while  Idleness  weaves 

Her  flowerets  together,  if  Wisdom  can  see 
One  bright  drop  or  two,  that  has  fallen  on  the  leaves 

From  her  fountain  divine,  't  is  suflicient  for  me  ! 


No.  V. 

It  is  but  fair  to  those  who  take  an  interest  in  thiis 
Work,  to  state  that  it  is  now  very  near  its  termination, 
and  that  the  Sixth  Number,  which  shall  speedily  ap- 
pear, will,  most  probably,  be  the  last  of  the  series. 

It  is  not  so  much  from  a  want  of  materials,  and 
still  less  from  any  abatement  of  zeal  or  industry,  thai 
wc  have  adopted  the  resolution  of  bringing  our  task 
to  a  close  ;  but  we  feel  so  proud,  for  our  country'* 


iio  llorcMii  |ii»;lulil  iillicio. —  J'rupcrt.  1.  i.elfir  '.!C 


IKISH   MICLODIES 


333 


sake  ind  our  own,  of  t'lie  interest  which  this  purely 
Irish  Worlt  has  excited,  and  so  anxious  lest  a  partic-lu 
of  that  interest  should  be  lost  by  any  ill-judged  pro- 
traction of  its  existence,  that  we  think  it  wiser  to  take 
uway  the  cup  from  the  lip,  while  its  flavour  is  yet, 
we  trust,  fresh  and  sweet,  than  to  risk  any  longer 
vfial  of  the  charm,  or  give  so  much  as  not  to  leave 
pome  wish  for  more.  In  speaking  thus  1  allude  cn- 
rircly  to  tlie  Airs,  which  are,  of  course,  the  main  at- 
traction of  these  voli.-mes  ;  and,  though  we  have  still 
many  popular  and  delightful  .'\Ielodies  to  produce,' 
yet  it  caimot  be  denied  that  we  should  soon  expe- 
rience some  dilficulty  in  equalling  the  richness  and 
novelty  of  the  earlier  Numbers,  for  which,  as  we  had 
the  choice  of  all  before  us,  we  naturally  selected  only 
the  most  rare  and  beautiful.  The  Poetry,  too,  would 
be  sure  to  sympathize  with  the  decline  of  the  Music, 
and,  however  feebly  my  words  have  kept  pace  with 
the  txrtUtnce  of  the  .\irs,  they  would  follow  their 
JdUiiifr  off,  I  fc.zT,  with  wonderful  alacrity.  So  that, 
altogether,  both  pride  aiid  prudence  counsel  us  to 
stop,  while  the  Work  is  yet.  we  believe,  flourishing 
and  attractive,  zrA,  in  'hs  imperii!  attitude,  ^^ stantes 
mori"  before;  we  incur  the  charge  either  of  altering 
J'or  the  w'>rie,  or,  what  is  equally  unpardonable,  con- 
tinuing too  long  the  same. 

We  beg,  however,  to  say,  it  is  only  in  the  event  of 
our  failing  to  find  .\irs  as  exquisite  as  most  of  those 
we  have  given,  thiit  we  mean  thus  to  anticipate  the 
natural  period  of  dissolution,  like  those  Indians  who 
put  their  rebtives  to  death  when  they  become  feeble. 

T    M. 

Mcli/field  Cottage,  Afhhourne, 
December,  1813. 


OH,  THE  SHAMROCK ! 

Air — Allei/  Croker. 

Through  Erin's  Isle, 

To  sport  awhile. 
As  Love  and  Valour  wander'd, 

With  Wit,  the  sprite, 

Whose  quiver  bright 
A  thousand  arrows  squander'd ; 

Where'er  they  pass, 

A  triple  grass^ 
Shoots  up,  with  dew-drops  streaming, 

As  softly  green 

As  emeralds,  seen 
Through  purest  crystal  gleaming  ! 
Oh,  the  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  Shamrock, 


1  .Anions  those  i.s  Savinirnn  Drdish,  which  I  havi' 
bithrru)  oiil)'  wi  hhelil,  trom  lh(!  iliffiilRnire  I  feel  in  treailin^ 
upiiii  til*!  same  ground  with  Mr  Campbell,  who.-se  beitiilirnl 
wcrrils  to  tliis  fine  air  h;ive  taken  too  =lron<j  possession  of  nil 
sirs  and  heails,  lor  me  to  thiiili  of  producing  ;uiy  iniprcssinn 
after  him.  I  suppose,  however,  I  must  attempt  it  for  the 
iie.vt  N'umher. 

2  Saint  Patrick  is  said  to  have  made  use  of  that  species 
of  the  trefoil,  in  Irehiml  called  the  Shamrock,  in  expl  lin  n? 
the  do'-trine  of  the  Trinity  to  the  pa!;an  Irish.  I  do  not 
Know  if  there  be  any  other  reason  fir  our  adoption  of  this 
plant  as  a  national  emblem.  Hope,  amoiis  the  ancients, 
was  sometimes  representeil  as  a  beautiful  child,  "stiindmj 
U|ion  tip-toes,  and  a  trefoil  or  three-coloured  grass  in  her 
hind." 


Chosen  leaf 
Of  bard  and  chief. 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock  ! 

Says  Valour,  "  See, 

They  spring  for  me, 
Those  leafy  gems  of  morning !" 

Says  Love,  "  No,  no, 

For  me  they  grow, 
My  fragrant  path  adorning !" 

But  Wit  perceives 

The  triple  leaves. 
And  cries,  "  Oh  !  do  not  sever 

A  type  that  blends 

Three  god-like  friends, 
Love,  Valour,  Wit,  for  ever  !" 
Oh,  the  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  Shamrock 

Chosen  leaf 

Of  bard  and  chief. 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock ! 

So,  firmly  fond 

May  last  the  bond 
They  wove  that  morn  together, 

And  ne'er  may  fall 

One  drop  of  gall 
On  Wit's  celestial  feather ! 

May  Love,  as  shoot 

His  flowers  and  fruit, 
Of  thorny  falsehood  weed  'em  ! 

May  V^alour  ne'er 

His  standard  rear 
Against  the  cause  of  Freedom  ! 
Oh,  the  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  Shamrock  ! 

Chosen  leaf 

Of  bard  and  chief. 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock  ! 


AT  THE  MID  HOUR  OF  NIGHT. 

Air — Molly,  my  Dear. 

At  the  mid  hour  of  night,  when  stars  are  weeping,  I .".» 

To  the  lone  vale  we  loved  when  life  was  warm  in 

thine  eye. 

And  I  think  that  if  spi'-its  can  steal  from  the  regions 

of  air 
To  revisit  past  scenes  of  deliglit,  thou  wilt  come  ^.^.. 
me  there. 
And  tell  me  our  love  is  remember'd,  even  in  the  sky ! 

Then  I  sing  the  wild  song  it  once  was  rapture  to  he.i 
When  our  voices,  commingling,  breathed  like  one  on 
the  ear. 
And,  as  Echo  far  off  through  the  vale  my  sad  ori 

son  rolls, 
I  think,  oh,  my  love  I  'tis  thy  voice  from  the  king 
dom  of  souls,' 
Faintly  answering  still  the  notes  that  once  were  sc 
dear. 


1  "There  are  coiiniries,"  savs  Montaigne,  "  wnere  ther 
bel'eve  the  souls  of  the  happy  live  in  all  manner  of  liber'.y 
in  delightful  tilds;  and  that  it  is  those  souls,  repeating  'hp 
words  wo  utter,  which  we  call  F.cho." 


334 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


ONE  BUJIPER  AT  PARTING. 

Air — Moll  Roe  in  the  Morning. 
One  bumper  at  parting  ! — though  many 

Have  circled  the  board  since  we  met, 
The  fullest,  the  saddest  of  any 

Remains  to  be  crown'd  by  us  yet. 
The  sweetness  that  pleasure  has  in  i 

Is  always  so  slow  to  come  forth, 
That  seldom,  alas,  till  the  minute 

It  dies,  do  we  know  half  its  worth! 
But  fill — may  our  life's  happy  measure 

Be  all  of  such  moments  made  up ; 
They're  born  on  the  bosom  of  pleasure. 

They  die  'midst  the  tears  of  the  cup. 
As  onward  we  journey,  how  pleasant 

To  pause  and  inhabit  awhile 
Those  few  sunny  spots,  like  the  present, 

That  'mid  the  dull  wilderness  smile  ! 
But  Time,  like  a  pitiless  master. 

Cries,  "  Onward  !"  and  spurs  the  gay  hears ; 
And  never  does  Time  travel  laster 

Than  when  his  way  lies  among  flowers. 
But,  come — may  our  life's  happy  measure 

Be  all  of  such  moments  made  up  ; 
They  're  born  on  the  bos'oni  of  pleasure. 

They  die  'midst  the  tCcMs  of  the  cup. 

This  evening  we  saw  the  sun  sinking 

In  waters  his  glory  made  bright — 
Oh  !  trust  me,  our  farewell  of  drinking 

Should  be  like  that  farewell  of  light. 
you  saw  how  he  finish'd,  by  darting 

His  beam  o'er  a  deep  billow's  brim — 
So  fill  up  ! — let 's  shine,  at  our  parting, 

In  full  liquid  glory,  like  him. 
And  oh!  may  our  life's  happy  measure 

Of  moments  like  this  be  made  up  ; 
'T  was  born  on  the  bosom  of  pleasure. 

It  dies  'mid  the  tears  of  the  cup ! 


riS  THE  LAST  ROSE  OF  SUMMER 

Air — Groves  of  Blarney. 
'T  IS  the  last  rose  of  summer. 

Left  blooming  alone ; 
All  her  lovely  companions 

Are  faded  and  gone  ; 
No  flower  of  her  kindred, 

No  rose-bud  is  nigh. 
To  reflect  back  her  blushes, 

Or  give  sigh  for  sigh  ! 

I  '11  not  leave  thee,  thou  lone  one 

To  pine  on  the  stem  ; 
Since  the  lov(;ly  are  sleeping. 

Go,  sloop  thou  with  them. 
Thus  kindly  I  scatter 

Thy  leaves  o'er  the  b"(l. 
Where  thy  mates  of  the  garden 

Lie  scentless  and  dead. 

So  soon  may  1  follow. 

When  fri(uidsliips  decay, 
\nd  from  Love's  shining  circle 

The  gems  <lrop  awav  ! 


When  true  hearts  lie  wither'd, 
And  fond  ones  are  flown, 

Oh  !  who  would  inhabit 
This  bleak  world  alone  ? 


THE  YOUNG  MAY-MOON 

AiK— The  Dandy  O ! 
The  young  May-moon  is  beaming,  love  . 
The  glow-worm's  lamp  is  gleaming,  love  ! 
How  sweet  to  rove 
Through  Morna's  grove,' 
While  the  drowsy  world  is  dreaming,  love  . 
Then  awake  ! — the  heavens  look  bright,  my  dear  J 
'T  is  never  too  late  for  delight,  my  dear ! 
And  the  best  of  all  ways 
To  lengthen  our  days. 
Is  to  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night,  my  dear  I 

Now  all  the  world  is  sleeping,  love ! 
But  the  sage,  his  star-watch  keeping,  love  i 
And  I,  whose  star, 
Slore  glorious  far. 
Is  the  e)'e  from  that  casement  peeping,  love . 
Then  awake ! — till  rise  of  sun,  my  dear! 
The  sage's  glass' we  'II  shun,  my  dear! 

Or,  in  watching  the  flight 

Of  bodies  of  light. 
He  might  happen  to  take  thee  for  one,  my  dear! 


THE  MINSTREL- BOY 

Air — The  Moreen. 
The  Minstrel-Boy  to  the  war  is  gone. 

In  the  ranks  of  death  you  'II  find  him  , 
His  father's  sword  he  has  girded  on, 

And  his  wild  harp  slung  behind  him.— . 
"Land  of  song!"  said  the  warrior-bard, 

"  Though  all  the  v/orid  betrays  thee, 
One  sword,  at  least,  thy  rights  shall  guard, 

One  faithful  harp  shall  praise  thee  '" 

The  Minstrel  fell ! — but  the  foeman's  chain 

Could  not  bring  his  proud  soul  under ! 
The  harp  he  loved  ne'er  spoke  again, 

For  he  tore  its  chords  asunder; 
And  said,  "  No  chains  shall  sully  thee, 

Tliou  soul  of  love  and  bravery  ! 
Thy  songs  were  made  for  the  pure  and  free 

'They  shall  never  sound  in  slavery  !" 


THE  SONG  OF  O'RUARK,  PRINCE  01 
HREFFNI.2 
Air — The  pretty  Girl  milking  her  Cow. 
The  valley  la)'  smiling  before  me, 
Where  lately  I  left  her  behind  ; 


1  "  Sti'als  silently  to  IN'orna's  grove." 

Sco  a  tinnslalioii  t'lotn  thi;  Irish,  in  Mr.  Hunting's  collec- 
tion, by  .Idhn  Hrown,  one  ol'niy  eiirliiist  (-ollige  compiinioiis 
and  friends,  whose  death  was  us  singularly  mclaneholy  and 
unfortimiilo  as  his  life  had  been  amiable,  honourable,  and 
e.\ciTi|)l:iry. 

2  Thiso  stanzas  are  founded  upon  an  event  of  most  mo- 
lancholy  imnortance  to  Ireland,  if,  as  we  are  told  ot  uni 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


335 


Yet  I  trembled,  and  something  hung  o'er  me, 
That  sadden'd  the  joy  of  my  mind. 

I  look'd  for  the  lamp,  which  she  told  me 
Shoidd  shine  when  her  pilgrim  retiirn'd; 

But,  though  darkness  bt'gan  to  infold  me. 
No  lamp  from  the  battlements  burn'd  ! 

I  flew  to  her  chamber — 't  was  lonely 

As  if  the  loved  tenant  lay  dead ! — 
Ah !  would  it  were  death,  and  death  only  ! 

But  no — the  young  fdse  one  had  fled. 
And  there  hung  the  lute,  that  could  soften 

My  very  worst  pains  into  bliss, 
While  the  hand  that  had  waked  it  so  often 

Now  throbb'd  to  a  proud  rival's  kiss 

There  xvas  a  time,  falsest  of  women  ! 

When  Breffni'sgood  sword  would  have  sought 
That  man,  through  a  milhon  of  foemen. 

Who  dared  but  to  doubt  thee  )'/(  thouglit! 
W^hile  now — oh,  degenerate  daughter 

Of  Erin  I — how  fall'n  is  thy  fame  ! 
And,  through  ages  of  bondage  and  slaughter, 

Our  country  shall  bleed  for  thy  shame. 

Already  the  curse  is  upon  her. 

And  strangers  her  vallies  profane ; 
They  come  to  divide — to  dishonour. 

And  tyrants  they  long  will  remain  ! 
But,  onward  ! — the  green  banner  rearing. 

Go,  flesh  every  sword  to  the  hilt ; 
On  our  side  is  Virtue  and  Erin  ! 

On  theirs  is  the  Saxon  and  Guilt. 


OH !  HAD  WE  SOME  BRIGHT  LITTLE  ISLE 
OF  OUR  OWN. 

Air — Sheela  na  Guira. 
Oh  !  had  we  some  bright  little  isle  of  our  own. 
In  a  blue  summer  ocean,  far  off  and  alone. 
Where  a  leaf  never  dies  in  the  still-blooming  bowers. 
And  the  bee  banquets  on  through  a  whole  year  of 
flowers  ; 
Where  the  sun  loves  to  pause 

With  so  fond  a  delay. 
That  the  night  only  draws 
A  thin  veil  o'er  the  day  ; 
Where  simply  to  feel  that  we  breathe,  that  we  live. 
Is  worth  the  best  joy  that  life  elsewhere  can  give  ! 


Irisli  historians,  it  gave  Ensliriil  tlio  firsl  oiipor'nnity  ot'  |iro- 
fitiiig  by  our  ilivisions  and  suhluini  iis.  Tin;  fi'llmvirig  are 
the  circumstances  as  relaied  by  O'llullornii.  "The  Kinj;  ol' 
Leinster  had  long  coneeived  a  violenl  atFection  Cor  Dearb- 
horgil,  daughter  to  ;he  King  of  Meath,  and  though  she  Ii.kI 
been  tor  some  time  married  to  O'Ruurk,  Prince  of  Bieftni, 
yet  it  couhl  not  restrain  his  passion.  Tliey  carried  on  a  pri- 
vate correspondence,  and  she  informed  hiiti  that  O'Riiark 
intended  soon  to  go  on  a  pilgrim  ige  (an  act  of  piety  frequent 
in  those  days,)  and  conjuied  him  to  embrace  that  opportu- 
nity of  conveying  her  fr<im  a  husband  she  detested  lo  a 
lover  she  adoreil.  Mac  Murchad  too  punctually  obeyed  the 
summons,  and  h:id  the  iady  conveyed  to  his  capital  nf 
Fern-s." — The  Monarch  Roderick  espoused  the  cause  of 
O'Ruark,  while  .Mac  JIurchad  fled  to  England,  and  obtain- 
ed the  assistance  of  Henry  II. 

"Such,"  adds  OiraMus  Cambrensis,  (as  I  find  him  in  an 
old  translation,)  "  is  the  variable  an<l  fickle  nature  of  wo- 
iiian,  by  whom  all  mischiet's  in  the  world  (tor  the  most  part) 
ilo  happen  and  come,  as  may  appear  by  Marcus  Antonius, 
ind  by  the  destruction  of  Troy." 


There,  with  souls  ever  .ardent  and  pure  as  the  clime, 
W^c  should  love,  as  they  loved  in  the  first  golden  time ; 
The  glow  of  the  sunshine,  the  balm  of  the  air, 
Would  steal  to  our  licarts,  and  make  all  summer  there  I 

With  alfcction,  as  free 

From  decline  as  the  bowers. 

And  with  Hope,  like  the  bee. 
Living  always  on  flowers. 
Our  life  should  resemble  a  long  day  of  light, 
And  our  death  come  on,  holy  and  calm  as  the  night 


FAREWELL !— BUT,  WHENEVER  YOU 
WELCO.ME  THE  HOUR. 

Air — Moll.  Rooite. 
Farewell  I — but,  whenever  you  welcome  the  hoiij 
That  awakens  the  night-song  of  mirth  in  your  bower. 
Then  think  of  the  friend  who  once  welcomed  it  too. 
And  forgot  his  own  griefs  to  be  happy  with  you. 
His  griefs  may  return — not  a  hope  may  remain 
Of  the  few  that  have  brighten'd  his  pathway  of  pain — 
But  he  ne'er  will  forget  the  short  vision,  that  threw 
Its  enchantment  around  him,  v\hile  lingering  with 
you ! 

And  still  on  that  evening,  when  pleasure  fills  up 
To  the  highest  top  sparkle  each  heart  and  each  cup, 
W^liere'er  my  path  lies,  be  it  gloomy  or  bright, 
My  soul,  happy  friends !  shall  be  with  you  that  night . 
Shall  join  in  your  revels,  your  sports,  and  your  wiles, 
And  return  to  me  beaming  all  o'er  with  your  smiles ! — 
Too  bless'd,  if  it  tells  me  that,  'mid  the  gay  cheer, 
Some  kind  voice  had  murmur'd,  "  I  wish  he  wer" 
here  !" 

Let  Fate  do  her  worst,  there  are  relics  of  joy, 
Briglit  dreams  of  the  past,  which  she  cannot  destroy 
Which  come,  in  the  night-time  of  sorrow  and  care. 
And  bring  back  the  features  that  joy  used  to  wear. 
Long,  long  be  my  heart  with  such  memories  fill'd  ' 
Like  the  vase  in  which  roses  have  once  been  distill'd- 
You  may  break,  you  may  ruin  the  vase,  if  you  will 
But  the  scent  of  the  iuax.i  w.J  hang  round  it  still 


OH !  DOUBT  ME  NOT. 

Air — YpUow  Wat  and  the  Fox. 
Oh  !  doubt  me  not — the  season 

Is  o'er  when  Folly  made  me  rove, 
And  now  the  vestal  Reason 
Shall  watch  the  fire  awaked  by  Love 
Although  this  heart  was  early  blown. 
And  fairest  hands  disturb'd  the  tree, 
They  only  shook  some  blossoms  down,^ 
Its  fruit  has  all  been  kept  fur  thee. 
Then  doubt  me  not — the  season 

Is  o'er  when  Folly  made  me  rove. 
And  now  the  vestal  Reason 
Shall  watch  the  fire  awaked  by  Love 

And  though  my  lute  no  longer 

May  sing  of  Pa.ssion's  ardent  spell, 

Yet,  trust  me,  all  the  stronger 
I  feel  the  bliss  I  do  not  tell 


336 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Tlie  bee  tlirough  many  a  garden  roves, 

And  hums  his  liy  of  courtship  o'er, 

But,  whfin  he  finds  the  flower  he  loves 

He  settles  there,  and  hums  no  more. 

Then  doubt  mo  not — the  season 

Is  o'er  when  Folly  kept  me  free, 
And  now  the  vestal  Reason 

Shall  guard  the  tlame  awaked  by  thee. 


■    YOU  REMEMBER  ELLEN.' 

Air — Were  la  Clerk. 
Yuv  remember  Ellen,  our  hamlet's  pride. 

How  meekly  she  bless'd  her  humble  lot, 
Wlien  the  stranger,  William,  had  made  her  his  bride. 

And  love  was  the  light  of  their  lowly  cot. 
Together  they  toil'd  through  winds  and  rains 

Till  William  at  length,  in  sadness,  said, 
"  We  must  seek  our  fortune  on  other  plains  ;" 

Then,  sighing,  she  left  lier  lowly  shed. 

They  roam'd  a  long  and  a  weary  way. 

Nor  mucii  was  the  maiden's  heart  at  ease, 
When  now,  at  close  of  one  stormy  day, 

They  see  a  proud  castle  among  the  trees. 
••  To-night,"  said  the  youth,  "  we'll  shelter  there  , 

The  wind  blows  cold,  the  hour  is  late:" — 
So  he  blew  the  horn  with  a  chieftain's  air. 

And  the  porter  bow'd  as  they  pass'd  the  gate. 

"  Now,  welcome,  Lady  !"  exclaim'd  the  youth, — 

"This  castle  is  thine,  and  these  dark  woods  all." 
She  believed  him  wild,  but  his  words  were  truth. 

For  Ellen  is  Lady  of  Rcsna  Hall  !— 
And  dearly  the  Lord  of  Rosna  loves 

What  VVilham  the  stranger  woo'd  and  wed; 
And  the  light  of  bliss,  in  these  lordly  groves, 

Is  pure  as  it  shone  in  the  lowly  shed. 


I'D  MOURN  THE  HOPES. 

Air— T/(e  Rose  Tree. 
I'd  mourn  the  hopes  that  leave  me, 

If  thy  smiles  had  left  me  too  ; 
I'd  weep  when  friends  deceive  me, 

If  thou  wert,  like  them,  untrue. 
But,  while  I've  thee  before  me, 

Witli  heart  so  warm  and  eyes  so  bright, 
No  clouds  can  linger  o'er  me, — 

That  smile  turns  them  all  to  light ! 

'T  is  not  in  fate  to  harm  me. 

While  fate  leaves  thy  love  to  me ; 
'T  is  not  in  joy  to  charm  me. 

Unless  joy  be  shared  with  thee. 
One  minute's  dream  about  thee 

Were  worlii  a  long,  an  endless  year 
Of  waking  bliss  without  thee. 

My  own  love,  my  oidy  dear! 

And.  though  the  hope  be  gone,  love, 
That  long  sparkled  o'er  our  way, 

Oh  !  we  shall  journey  on,  love. 
More  safely  without  its  ray. 


Far  better  lights  shall  wm  me 

Along  the  path  I've  yet  to  roam, — 

The  mind  that  burns  within  me. 

And  pure  smiles  from  thee  at  home. 

Thus,  when  the  lamp  that  lighted 

The  traveller,  at  Krst  goes  out. 
He  feels  awhile  benighted. 

And  looks  around,  in  fear  and  doubt. 
But  soon,  the  prospect  clearing. 

By  cloudless  star-light  on  he  treads, 
And  thinks  no  lamp  so  cheering 

As  that  light  which  Heaven  sheds ! 


No.   VI. 


In  presenting  this  Sixth  Number  as  our  last,  and 
bidding  adieu  to  the  Irish  Harp  for  ever,  we  shall  no' 
answer  very  confidently  for  the  strength  of  our  reso- 
lution, nor  feel  quite  sure  that  it  may  not  prove,  aftei 
all,  to  be  only  one  of  those  eternal  farewells  which  a 
lover  takes  of  his  mistress  occasionally.  Our  only 
motive  indeed  for  discontinuing  the  Work  was  a  fea' 
that  our  treasures  were  beginning  to  be  exhausted, 
and  an  unwillingness  to  descend  to  the  gathering  of 
mere  seed-pearl,  after  the  very  valuable  gems  it  h^a 
been  our  lot  to  string  together.  But  this  intention, 
which  we  announced  in  our  Fifth  Number,  has  ex- 
cited an  anxiety  in  the  lovers  of  Irish  Music,  not  oidy 
pleasant  and  flattering,  but  highly  useful  to  us ;  for 
the  various  contributions  we  have  received  in  con- 
sequence have  enriched  our  collection  with  so  many 
choice  and  beautiful  Airs,  that,  if  we  keep  to  out  re- 
solution of  publishing  no  more,  it  will  certainly  be  nn 
instance  of  forbearance  and  self-command  unexam 
pled  in  the  history  of  poets  and  musicians. 

Mayfield,  Ashbourne,  T.  M 

March,  1815. 


I  Tins  Biilliid  wiig  sU!,'i!i!.sio(l  by  a  well-known  iiml  inle 
restin''  siiiry  lolil  of  a  neriain  noble  family  in  Knglujitl. 


COME  O'ER  THE  SEA. 

Air — Cuishlih  ma  Chree. 

Come  o'er  the  sea, 

Maiden  !  with  me, 
Mine  through  sunshine,  storm,  and  snovtsi 

Seasons  may  roll. 

But  the  true  soul 
Burns  the  same,  where'er  it  goes. 
Let  fate  frown  on,  so  we  love  and  part  not ; 
'T  is  life  where  Ihou  art,  't  is  death  where  thou  art  n(K 

Then,  come  o'er  the  sea, 

Maiden !  with  me. 
Come  wherever  the  wild  wind  blow; 

Seasons  may  roll. 

But  the  true  soul 
Burns  the  same,  where'er  it  goes 

Is  not  the  sea 

3Iiide  for  the  free, 
Land  for  courts  and  chains  alone  T 

Here  we  are  slaves, 

Hut,  on  the  waves. 
Love  and  Liberly  's  all  our  own  ! 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


337 


So  eye  to  watch,  and  no  tongue  to  wound  us. 
^U  earth  forgot,  and  all  heaven  around  us !-  - 
Tlien,  come  o'er  the  sea, 
Maiden  !  with  me. 
Mine  through  sunshine,  storm,  and  snows ! 
Seasons  may  roll. 
But  the  true  soul 
Rums  the  same,  where'er  it  goes. 


PIAS  SORROW  TIIY  YOUNG  DAYS 
SHADED? 
Air — Sli/  Putrick. 
Has  sorrow  thy  young  days  shaded, 

As  clouds  o'er  the  morning  fleet? 
Too  fast  have  those  young  days  faded, 

That,  even  in  sorrow,  were  sweet  ? 
Does  Time  with  his  cold  wing  wither 

Each  feeling  that  once  was  dear  ? — 
Then,  cliild  of  misfortune  !  come  hither, 

I'll  weep  with  thee,  tear  foi  tear. 

Has  love  to  that  soul,  so  tender. 

Been  like  our  Lagenian  mine,' 
Where  sparkles  of  golden  splendour 

All  over  the  surfice  shine — 
But,  if  in  pursuit  we  go  deeper. 

Allured  by  the  gleam  that  shone, 
Ah  !  false  as  the  dream  of  the  sleeper, 

Like  Love,  the  bright  ore  is  gone. 

Has  Hope,  like  the  bird  in  the  story," 
That  flitted  from  tree  to  tree 

With  the  talisman's  glittering  glory- 
Has  Hope  been  that  bfi'd  to  thee? 

On  branch  after  branch  alighting. 
The  gem  did  she  still  display. 

And,  when  nearest  and  most  inviting. 
Then  waft  the  fair  gem  away  ! 

If  thus  the  sweet  hours  have  fleeted. 

When  Sorrow  herself  look'd  bright; 
If  thus  the  fond  hope  has  cheated. 

That  led  thee  along  so  light ; 
If  thus,  too,  the  cold  world  wither 

Each  feeling  that  once  was  dear  ; — 
Come,  child  of  misfortune  !  come  hither, 

I'll  weep  with  thee,  tear  for  tear. 


NO,  NOT  MORE  WELCOME. 

A I R — Lugirelaw. 
No,  not  more  welcome  the  fairy  numbers 

Of  music  fall  on  the  sleeper's  ear, 
V\'hcn,  half-awaking  from  l^irful  slumbers. 

He  thinks  the  full  quire  of  Heaven  is  near, — 
Than  came  that  voice,  when,  all  forsaken. 

This  heait  long  had  sleeping  kin. 


1  t)ur  Wicklow  (iold-Mines,  to  which  this  verso  alludes, 
deserve,  I  Icar,  the  ch;iracler  here  given  of  thorn. 

2  "  The  bird  having  got  its  prixc,  settled  not  far  off,  with 
the  tiilisinan  in  iiis  mouth.   The  Prince  drew  near  it,  hoping 

t  would  drop  it:  hot,  as  he  a;pr(ia''hed,  the  bird  took  wins, 
and  settled  again,"  etc. — Jlraliian  ..ViVAis,  Story  of  Ku'iiinir 
al  Zuinninun  and  ihe  Prinoe-s  oT China. 

w 


Nor  thought  its  cold  pulse  would  ever  waken 
To  such  benign,  bless'd  sounds  again. 

Sweet  voice  of  comfort !  't  was  like  the  stealing 

Of  summer  wind  through  some  wreathed  shell- 
Each  secret  winding,  each  inmost  feeling 

Of  all  my  soul  echoed  to  its  spell  ! 
'T  was  whisper'd  balm — 't  was  sunshine  spoken!— 

I'd  live  years  of  grief  and  pain. 
To  have  my  long  sleep  of  sorrow  broken 

By  such  benign,  bless'd  sounds  again! 


WHEN  FIRST  1  .MET  THEE. 
Air — O  Piitriik .'  Jli/  fro/n  me. 
When  first  I  met  thee,  warm  and  young, 

There  shone  such  truth  about  thee, 
And  on  thy  lip  such  promise  hung, 

I  did  not  dare  to  doubt  thee. 
I  saw  thee  change,  yet  still  relied. 
Still  clung  with  hope  the  fonder. 
And  thought,  though  false  to  all  beside, 
From  me  thou  couldst  not  wander. 
But  go,  deceiver  !  go, — 

The  heart,  whose  hopes  could  make  it 
Trust  one  so  false,  so  low. 

Deserves  that  thou  shouldst  break  it ! 

When  every  tongue  thy  follies  named, 

I  fled  the  unwelcome  story  ; 
Or  found,  in  even  the  faults  they  blamed. 

Some  gleams  of  future  glory. 
/  still  was  true,  when  nearer  friends 

Conspired  to  wrong,  to  slight  thee  ; 
The  heart  that  now  thy  falsehood  rends, 
Would  then  have  bled  to  right  thee. 
But  go,  deceiver  !  go, — 

Some  day,  perhaps,  thou'It  waken 
From  pleasure's  dream,  to  know 
The  grief  of  hearts  forsaken. 

Even  now,  though  youth  its  bloom  has  shea. 

No  lights  of  age  adorn  thee  ; 
The  few  who  loved  thee  once  have  fled. 

And  they  who  flatter  scorn  thee. 
Thy  midnight  cup  is  pledged  to  slaves. 

No  genial  ties  enwrcathe  it ; 
The  smiling  there,  like  light  on  graves. 
Has  rank,  cold  hearts  beneath  it ! 
Go — go — though  worlds  were  thine, 

I  would  not  now  surrender 
One  taintless  tear  of  mine  v 

For  all  thy  guilty  splendour! 

And  days  may  come,  thou  f.dse  one !  yei. 

When  even  those  ties  shall  sever; 
When  thou  wilt  call,  with  vain  regret. 

On  her  thou'st  lost  for  ever  ! 
On  her  who,  in  thy  fortune's  fa4., 

With  smiles  had  still  received  thee, 
And  gladly  died  to  prove  thee  all 
Her  fancy  first  believed  thee. 
Go — go — 't  is  vain  to  curse, 

'Tis  weakness  to  upbraid  thee , 
Hate  cannot  wish  thee  worse 

Than  guilt  and  shame  have  made  thee 


338 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


WHILE  HISTORY'S  MUSE. 

Air — Paddy  WJtack. 
While  History's  Muse  the  memorial  was  keeping 

Of  all  that  the  dark  hand  of  Destiny  weaves, 
Beside  her  the  Genius  of  Erin  stood  weeping, 

For  hers   was  the  story  that  blotted  the  leaves. 
Bj*  oh  I  how  the  tear  in  her  eyelids  grew  bright. 
When,  after  whole  pages  of  sorrow  and  shame, 
yhe  saw  History  write. 
With  a  pencil  of  light 
That  il.umed  all  the  volume,  her  Wellington's 
name ! 

"Hail,  Star  of  my  Isle  !"  said  the  Spirit,  all  sparkling 
With  beams,  such  as  break  from  her  own  dewy 
skies ; — 
••  Through  ages  of  sorrow,  deserted  and  darkling, 
I've  watch'd  for  some  glory  like  thine  to  arise. 
For,  though   heroes  I  've   number' d,  unbless'd  was 
their  lot. 
And  unhallow'd  they  sleep  in  the  cross-ways  of 
Fame ; — 

But,  oh  !  there  is  not 
One  dishonouring  blot 
On  the  wreath  that   encircles  my  Wellington's 
name  ! 

"Yet,  still  the  last  crown  of  thy  toils  is  remaining. 

The  grandest,  the  purest  even  thou  hast  yet  known  ; 
Thoug)i  proud  was  thy  task,  other  nations  unchaining. 

Far  prouder  to  heal  the  deep  wounds  of  thy  own. 
At  the  foot  of  that  throne,  fo'  whose  weal  thou  hast 
stood, 
Go,  plead  for  the  land  that  first  cradled  thy  fame — 
And,  bright  o'er  the  flood 
Of  her  tears  and  her  blood. 
Let  the   rainbow  of  Hope  be   her  Wellington's 
name !" 


THE  TIME  r  VE  LOST  IN  WOOING. 

Air — Peas  upon  a  Trenche'^. 
The  time  I  've  lost  in  wooing, 
In  watching  and  pursuing 

The  light  that  lies 

In  Woman's  eyes. 
Has  been  my  heart's  undoing. 
Though  Wisdom  oft  has  sought  me, 
I  scorn'd  the  lore  she  brought  me, 

My  only  books 

Were  Woman's  looks, 
And  folly 's  all  they  've  taught  me. 

Her  smile  when  Beauty  granted, 
I  hung  with  gaze  enchanted, 

Like  him,  the  Sprite,' 

Whom  maids  by  night 
Oft  meet  in  glen  that 's  haunted. 

1  Tills  alludes  to  a  kind  of  Irish  Fairy,  which  is  to  be  met 
with,  ihey  say,  in  th'^  fields,  at  dusk  i — as  lon;^  iis  you  kei!|) 
your  oyi'S  upon  him,  h<'  is  fixed  and  in  your  power;  Inil  the 
.-notnenl  you  look  iiway  (:ind  lie  is  ingenious  in  furnishiii!; 
Boir.e  inducement)  he  v:inislies.  'I  had  iliouglit  that  this  was 
'he  sprite  which  we  call  the  lieprecliaun ;  but  u  liif;h 
(l';lh'iriiy  u|)on  such  subjects,  Lady  Morgan  (in  a  note  upon 
|n>r  natinniil  and  interesling  Novel,  O'Donnel,)  hua  giver  a 
»orv  d'lferent  account  of  thai  golilin. 


Like  him,  too.  Beauty  won  me 
But  while  her  eyes  were  on  me— 

If  once  their  ray 

Was  turn'd  away. 
Oh  !  winds  could  iiot  outrun  me 

And  are  those  follies  going? 
And  is  my  proud  heart  growing 

Too  cold  or  wise 

For  brilliant  eyes 
Again  to  set  it  glowing  ? 
No — vain,  alas  !  the  endeavour 
From  bonds  so  sweet  to  sever  ;— 

Poor  Wisdom's  chance 

Against  a  glance 
Is  now  as  weak  as  ever  ! 


WHERE  IS  THE  SLAVE? 

Air — Sios  asus  sios  liom. 
Where  is  the  slave,  so  lowlv, 
Condemn'd  to  chains  unholy, 

Who,  could  he  burst 

His  bonds  at  first, 
Would  pine  beneath  them  slowly? 
What  soul,  whose  wrongs  degrade  it, 
Would  wait  till  time  decay'd  it, 

When  thus  its  wins; 

At  once  may  spring 
To  the  throne  of  Him  who  made  it  ? 
Farewell,  Erin  ! — flirewell  all 
Who  live  to  weep  our  fall ! 

Less  dear  the  laurel  growing, 
Alive,  untouch'd,  and  blowing, 

Than  that  \vhose  braid 

Is  pluck'd  to  shade 
The  brows  with  victory  glowing ! 
We  tread  the  land  that  bore  us. 
Her  green  flag  glitters  o'er  us, 

The  friends  we  've  tried 

Are  by  our  side. 
And  the  foe  we  hate  before  us ! 
Farewell,  Erin  ! — farewell  all 
Who  live  to  weep  our  fall ! 


COME,  REST  IN  THIS  BOSOM. 

Air — Lough  ShreUng. 
Come,  rest  in  this  bosom,  my  own  stricken  deer? 
Though  the  herd  have  fled  from  thee,  thy  home  is 

still  here  ; 
Here  still  is  the  smile,  that  no  cloud  can  o'ercast 
And  the  heart  and  the  hand  all  thy  own  to  the  last ! 

Oh !  what  was  love  made  for,  if 't  is  not  the  same 
Through  joy  and  through  torrents,  through  glory  anc 

shame  ? 
I  know  not,  I  ask  not,  if  guilt 's  in  that  heart, 
I  but  know  that  I  love  thee,  whatever  thou  art ! 

Thou  hast  call'd  me  thy  Angel  in  moments  of  bliss. 
And  thy  Angel  I'  11  be,  'mid  the  horrors  of  this, — 
Through  the  furnace,  unshrinking,  thy  steps  to  pur 

sue, 
And  shield  lliec,  and  save  thee,  or — perish  there  too 


IRISH  MELODIES 


339 


T  IS  GONE,  AND  FOR  EVER. 

Air — Savournah  Deelisk. 
T  IS  gone,  and  for  ever,  the  light  we  saw  breaking. 
Like   Heaven's  first  dawn   o'er  the  sleep  of  the 
dead — 
WThen  man,  from  the  slumber  of  ages  awaking, 
Look'd  upward,  and  bless'd  the  pure  ray,  ere  it 
fled !  . 

'T  is  gone — and  the  gleams  it  has  left  of  its  burning 
But  deepen  the  long  night  of  bondarrc  and  mourning. 
That  dark  o'er  the  kinsrdoms  of  earth  is  returning. 
And,  darkest  of  all,  hapless  Erin  !  o'er  thee. 

^  >r  high  was   thy  hope,  when  those  glories  were 
darting 

Around  thee,  through  all  the  gross  clouds  of  the 
world  ; 
When  Truth,  from  her  fetters  indignantly  starting. 

At  onec,  like  a  sun-burst,  her  banner  unfurl'd.' 
Oh,  never  shall  earth  sec  a  moment  so  splendid  ! 
Then,  then — had  one  Hymn  of  Deliverance  blended 
The  tongues  of  all  nations — how  sweet  had  ascended 

The  first  note  of  Liberty,  Erin  !  from  thee. 

But,  shame  on  those  tyrants  who  envied  the  blessing ! 

And  shame  on  the  light  race,  unworthy  its  good. 
Who,  at  Death's  reeking  altar,  like  furies,  caressing 

The  young  hope  of  Freedom,  baptized  it  in  blood  ! 
Then  vanish'd  for  ever  that  fair,  simny  vision. 
Which,  spite  of  the  slavish,  the  cold  heart's  derision. 
Shall  long  be  remember'd,  pure,  bright  and  elysian, 

As  first  it  arose,  my  lost  Erin  !  on  thee. 


I  SAW  FROM  THE  BEACH. 

Air — Mils  Molly. 
I  SAW  from  the  beach,  when  the  morning  was  shining, 

A  bark  o'er  the  waters  moved  gloriously  on; 
F  came,  when  the  sun  o'er  that  beach  was  declining, — 

The  bark  was  still  there,  but  the  waters  were  gone  ! 

Ah  !  such  is  the  fate  of  our  life's  early  promise. 
So  passing  the  spring-tide  of  joy  we  have  known  : 

Each  wave,  that  we  danced  on  at  morning  ebbs  from 
us, 
And  leaves  us,  at  eve,  on  the  bleak  shore  alone ! 

Ne'er  tell  me  of  glories,  serenely  adorning 

The  close  of  our  day,  the  calm  eve  of  our  nisrht; — 
Give  me  back,  give  me  back  the  wild  freshness  of 
Morning, 
Her  clouds  and  her  tears  are  worth  Evening's  best 
light. 

Oh,  who  would  not  welcomejthat  moment's  return- 
ing, 
Wlien  passion  first  waked  a  new  life  through  his 
frame. 

And  his  soul — like  the  wood  that  grows  precious  in 
burning — 

Gave  out  all  its  sweets  to  Love's  exquisite  flame  ! 


1  "The  Sun-burst"  was  thi'  fiinciful  name  given  by  the 
incient  Irish  to  the  royal  banner. 


FILL  THE  BUMPER  FAIR. 

Air — Bob  and  Juan. 
Fill  the  bumper  fair  ! 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 
O'er  tha  brow  of  Care 

Smooths  away  a  wrinkle. 
Wit's  electric  flame 

Ne'er  so  swiftly  passes. 
As  when  throu;:li  the  frame 

It  shoots  from  brimming  glasses. 
Fill  the  bumper  fair  ! 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 
O'er  the  brow  of  Care, 

Smooths  away  a  wrinkle. 

Sages  can,  they  say. 

Grasp  the  lightning's  pinions. 
And  bring  down  its  ray 

From  the  starr'd  dominions*  — 
So  we,  sages,  sit. 

And,  'mid  bumpers  bright'ning, 
From  the  heaven  of  wit 

Draw  down  all  its  lightning  ! 
Fill  the  bumper,  etc. 

Wouldst  thou  know  what  first 

Made  our  souls  inherit 
This  ennobling  thirst 

For  wine's  celestial  spirit? 
It  chanced  upon  that  day, 

Wlien,  as  bards  inform  us, 
Prometheus  stole  away 

The  living  fires  that  warm  us. 
Fill  the  bumper,  etc. 

The  careless  Youth,  when  up 

To  Glory's  fount  aspiring. 
Took  nor  urn  nor  cup 

To  hide  the  pilfer'd  fire  in  : — 
But  oh  his  joy  !  when,  round. 

The  halls  of  heaven  spying. 
Amongst  the  stars  he  found 

A  bowl  of  Bacchus  lying. 
Fill  the  bumper,  etc. 

Some  drops  were  in  that  bowl, 

Remains  of  last  night's  pleasure, 
With  which  the  .Sparks  ofsoul 

Mix'd  their  burning  treasure! 
Hence  the  goblet's  shower 

Hath  such  spells  to  win  us — 
Hence  its  mighty  power 

O'er  that  flame  within  us. 
Fill  the  bumper,  etc. 


DEAR  HARP  OF  HH'  COUNTRY 

Air — New  iMnisolee. 
Dear  Rarp  of  my  Country  !  in  darkness  I  founc' 
thee  ; 
The  cold  chain  of  silence  had  hungo'erthee  long,' 


1   In  thiit  nbclbiMis  liui  biMiiiil'ul  suns,  "When  Erip  firsi 
rose,"  there  IS,  it' I  ncollect  riglil,  tje  lullou  ing  line  > 
"The  (lark  cnainof  silence  was  tlirown  o'er  ihedeen!" 
The   chain  of  silence   was  a  sort   ut"  practical  fw:ure  o/ 
rhetoric  among  the  ancient  Irish.     Walker  tells  u8of  "a 


340 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Wlien   proudly,  my  own   Island  Harp!  I  unbound 
thee, 
And   gpve   all  thy  chords  to  light,  freedom,  and 
song ! 
The  warm  lay  of  love  and  the  light  note  of  gladness 

Have  waken'd  thy  fondest,  thy  liveliest  thrill ; 
But,  so  oft  hast   thou  echoed  the  deep  sigh  of  sad- 
ness, 
That  even  in  thy  mirth  it  will  steal  from  thee  still. 

Dear  Harp  of  my  Country !  farewell  to  thy  numbers, 
This  sweet   wreatli  of  song  is   the  last  we  shall 
twine  ; 
Go,  sleep,  with  the  sunshine  of  Fame  on  thy  slum- 
be  is, 
Till  touch'd  by  some  hand   less  unworthy  than 
mine. 
If  the  pulse  of  the  patriot,  soldier,  or  lover. 

Have  throbb'd  at  our  lay,  't  is  thy  glory  alone  ; 
I  WPS  hut  as  the  wind,  passing  heedlessly  over. 
And  all  the  wild  sweetness  I  waked  was  thy  own. 


No.  VI  I. 

If  I  had  constilted  only  my  own  judgment,  this 
Work  would  not  have  been  extended  beyond  the  Six 
Numbers  alrea<ly  published ;  which  contain,  perhaps, 
the  flower  of  our  National  Melodies,  and  have  at- 
tained a  rank  in  public  favour,  of  which  I  would  not 
willingly  risk  the  forfeiture  by  degenerating,  in  any 
way,  from  those  merits  that  were  its  source.  What- 
ever treasures  of  our  music  were  still  in  reserve  (and 
A  will  be  seen,  I  trust,  that  they  are  numerous  and 
valuable,)  I  would  gladly  have  left  to  future  poets  to 
glean  ;  and,  with  the  ritual  words  "tihi  trudo"  would 
have  delivered  up  the  torch  into  other  hands,  before 
It  had  lost  much  of  its  light  in  my  own.  But  the  call 
for  a  continuance  of  the  work  has  been,  as  I  under- 
stand from  the  Publisher,  so  general,  and  we  have 
received  so  many  contributions  of  old  and  beautiful 
airs,'  the  suppression  of  which,  for  the  enhancement 
of  those  we  have  published,  would  resemble  too 
much  the  policy  of  the  Dutch  in  burning  their  spices, 
that  I  have  been  persuaded,  though  not  without  con- 
siderable diffidence  in  my  success,  to  commence  a 
new  series  of  the  Irish  Melodies.  T.  M. 


MY  GENTLE  HARP! 

Air. — Tlie  Coina  or  Dirge. 
Mv  gentle  Harp !  once  more  I  waken 
The  sweetness  of  thy  slumbering  strain  ; 

ci'Itbralnd  conliMilinn  Tor  pri'Cidence  botwcfii  FJTin  and 
Gaul,  near  Finn's  [laliii'i!  iit  Alinliiiiin,  where  ihe  allondino' 
burds,  anxious,  if  i)ossll)le,  lo  produce  !i  cessation  of  hostili- 
ties, shook  the  chain  of  niience,  and  (iung  themselves  iimonj; 
till!  ranks."  See  al.-o  ihc  (Jde  lo  (^lul,  ijio  son  of  Morni,  in 
M.ds  Rrookk's  liclii/iifn  iif  Irish  I'uctry. 

I  One  afentlenTiin,  ni  pariicular,  whose  niimo  I  shall  feel 
happy  in  heinsr  allowed  to  nieniinn,  has  not  only  sent  us  near 
f(»'ty' ancient  airs,  Iml  has  r.oinnninii'aled  many  curious 
friiSmenls  of  Trish  poeliy,  and  some  mteresiini,'  fradiiions, 
current  in  tlin  roniitiy  wlieie  he  resides,  iiluslrnted  hy 
nkelches  of  .he '  romantic  si'eni'ry  to  which  ti.ev  reler; 
all  o  whien,  tliouL'li  too  InK!  for  liie  present  Nntnhor,  will 
or  ofinfiinte  servici-  to  us  m  (In:  iTosocutiuii  of  "ur  'usk 


In  tears  our  last  farewell  was  taken, 
And  now  in  tears  we  meet  again. 

No  light  of  joy  hath  o'er  thee  broken, 

But — like  those  harps,  whose  heavenly  skill 

Of  slavery,  dark  as  thine,  hath  spoken — 
Thou  hang'st  upon  the  willows  still. 

And  yet,  since  last  thy  chord  resounded, 

An  hour  of  peace  and  triumph  came, 
And  many  an  ardent  bosom  bounded. 

With  hopes — that  now  are  turn'd  to  shame. 
Yet  even  then,  while  Peace  was  singing 

Her  halcyon  song  o'er  land  and  sea, 
Though  joy  and  hope  to  others  bringing, 

She  only  brought  new  tears  to  thee. 

Then  who  can  ask  for  notes  of  pleasure, 

My  drooping  harp  !  from  chords  like  thine? 
Alas,  the  lark's  gay  morning  measure 

As  ill  would  suit  the  swan's  decline ! 
Or  how  shall  I,  who  love,  who  bless  thee. 

Invoke  tliy  breath  for  Freedom's  strains, 
When  even  the  wreaths  in  which  I  dress  thee, 

Are  sadly  mix'd — half  flowers,  half  chains 

But  come — if  yet  thy  frame  can  borrow 

One  breath  of  joy — oh,  breathe  for  me. 
And  show  the  world,  in  ciiains  and  sorrowr 

How  sweet  thy  music  still  can  be ; 
How  gaily,  even  'mid  gloom  surrounding. 

Thou  yet  canst  wake  at  pleasure's  thrill 
Like  jMemnon's  broken  image,  sounding, 

'Mid  desolation,  tuneful  still !' 


AS  SLOW  OUR  SHIP. 
Air — The  Girl  Haft  behind  me 
As  slow  our  ship  her  foamy  track 

Against  the  wind  was  cleaving. 
Her  trembling  pennant  still  look'd  back 

To  that  dear  isle  't  was  leaving. 
So  loth  we  part  from  all  we  love. 

From  all  the  links  that  bind  us  ; 
So  turn  our  hearts,  where'er  we  rove, 

To  those  we've  left  behind  us  ! 

When  round  the  bowl,  of  vanish'd  years 

We  talk,  with  joyous  seeming, — 
With  smUes,  that  mipht  ns  well  be  tears. 

So  faint,  so  sad  their  beaming; 
While  memory  brings  us  back  again 

Each  early  tie  that  twined  us. 
Oh,  sweet 's  the  cup  that  circles  then 

To  those  we  've  left  behind  us ! 

And  when,  in  other  climes,  we  meet 

Some  isle  or  vald  enchanting. 
Where  all  looks  flowery,  wild,  and  sweet, 

And  nought  but  love  is  wanting, 
We  think  how  great  had  been  our  bliss. 

If  Heaven  had  i)ut  assign'd  us 
To  live  and  die  in  scenes  like  this, 

With  some  we  've  left  behind  us  ! 


1    Dimidio  m:iiriea'  resonant  nhi  Metnnone  rhordcB, 
Atijuo  velus  Theho  centum  jacel  ohruia  portis. 

■fimeniU 


IRISH  MKLODIKS 


34] 


As  travellers  oft  look  br.ok,  at  eve, 

When  eastward  darkly  going, 
To  gaze  upon  that  liglit  llicy  leave 

Still  faint  behind  tlicni  glowing, — 
So,  when  the  elosc  of  plitasnre's  day 

To  gloom  hath  near  consign'd  us. 
We  turn  to  catch  one  fading  ray 

Of  joy  that's  left  behind  us. 


IN  THE  MORNING  OF  LIFE. 

Air — The  little  Harvest  Rote. 

In  the  morning  of  life,  when  its  cares  are  unknown, 

And  its  pleasures  in  all  their  now  lustre  begin. 
When  we  live  in  a  bright  beaming  world  of  ourownt 

And  the  light  tliat  surrounds  us  is  all  from  within  : 
Oh,  it  is  not,  believe  me,  in  that  happy  time 

We  can  love  as  in  hours  of  less  transport  we  may: — 
Of  our  smiles,  of  our  hopes,  'tis  the  gay  sunny  prime, 

But  alfection  is  warmest  when  those  fade  away. 

When  we  see  the  first  glory  of  youth  pass  us  by, 

Like  a  leaf  on  the  stream  that  will  never  return ; 
When  our  cup,  which  had  sparkled  with  pleasure  so 
high, 

Fir.st  tastes  of  the  other,  the  dark-flowing  urn  ; 
Then,  then  is  the  moment  affection  can  sway 

With  a  depth  and  a  tenderness  joy  never  knew; 
Love  nursed  among  pleasures  is  fiithless  as  they, 

But  the  Love  born  of  sorrow,  like  sorrow,  is  true  ! 

In  climes  full  of  sun-shine,  though  splendid  their  dyes. 

Vet  faint  is  the  odour  the  flowers  shed  about ; 
Tis  the  clouds  and  the  mists  of  our  own  weeping 
skies 

That  call  the  full  spirit  of  fragrancy  out. 
So  the  wild  glow  of  passion  may  kindle  from  mirth. 

But  't  is  only  in  grief  true  affection  appears; — 
And,  even  though  to  smiles  it  may  first  owe  its  birth. 

All  the  soul  of  its  sweetness  is  drawn  out  by  tears. 


WHEN  COLD  IN  THE  EARTH. 

Air — Limerick's  Lamentation. 

When  cold  in  the  earth  lies  the  friend  thou  hast 

loved. 

Be  his  faults  and  his  follies  forgot  by  thee  then ; 

Or,  if  from  their  slumber  the  veil  be  removed. 

Weep  o'er  them  in  silence,  and  close  it  again. 
And,  oh  !  if  'tis  pain  to  remember  how  far 
P'rom  the  pathways  of  light  he   was  tempted  to 
roam, 
Be  It  bliss  to  remember  that  thou  wert  the  star 
That  arose  on  his  darkness  and  guided  him  home. 

From  thee  and  thy  innocent  beauty  first  came 

The  revcalings,  that  taught  him  true  Love  to  adore, 
To  feci  the  briglit  presence,  and  turn  him  with  shame 

P'rom  the  idols  he  blindly  had  knelt  to  before. 
O'er  the  waves  of  a  life,  long  benighted  and  wild, 

Thou  camest,  like  a  soft  golden  calm  o'er  the  sea ; 
And,  if  happiness  purely  and  glowingly  smiled 

On  hi«  evening  horiyon,  the  light  was  fiom  rhee. 


And  though  sometimes  the  shade  of  past  folly  would 
rise. 

And  though  Falsehood  again  would  allure  lur-i  i 
stray. 
He  but  tiirn'd  to  the  glory  that  dwelt  in  those  eyes, 

And  the  folly,  the  filsehood  soon  vanished  away. 
As  the  I'sickts  of  the  Sun,  when  their  altar  grew  dim, 

At  the  day-beam  alone  could  its  lustre  repair. 
So,  if  virtue  a  moment  grew  languid  in  him, 

He  but  flew  to  that  smile,  and  rekindled  it  there. 


REMEMBER  THEE! 
AlR — Castle  Tir(AJ:eii. 

Rkmember  thoe  !  yes,  wliile  there's  life  in  this  heart. 
It  shall  never  forget  thee,  all  lorn  as  thou  art ; 
More  dear  in  thy  sorrow,  thy  gloom,  and  thy  showers, 
Than  the  rest  of  the  world  in  their  sunniest  hours. 

Wert  thou  all  that  I  wish  thee, — great,  glorious,  and 

free — 
First  flower  of  the  earth  and  fir.st  gom  of  the  sea,-  - 
I  might  hail  thee  with  prouder,  with  happier  brow 
But,  oh  !  could  I  love  thee  more  deeply  than  now  '' 

No,  thy  chains  as  they  rankle,  thy  blood  as  it  runs. 
But  make  thee  more  painfully  dear  to  thy  sons- 
Whose  hearts,  like  the  young  of  the  desert -bird's  neat. 
Drink    love   in   each   life-drop  that  flows  from  in» 
breast ! 


WREATH  THE  BOWL 

Air — Noran  Kista. 

Wreath  the  howl 

With  flowers  of  soul. 
The  brightest  wit  can  find  us  ; 

We'll  take  a  Might 

Towards  heaven  to-night. 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us  ! 

Should  Love  amid 

The  wreaths  be  hid 
That  Joy,  the  enchanter,  brings  us 

No  danger  fear. 

While  wine  is  near. 
We'll  drown  him  if  he  stings  us. 

Then  wreath  the  bowl 

With  flowers  of  soul. 
The  brightest  wit  can  find  us; 

We'll  take  a  flight 

Towards  heaven  to-night. 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us  ! 

'T  was  nectar  fed 

Of  old,  't  is  said. 
Their  Junos,  .Toves,  Apollos; 

And  man  may  brew 

His  nectar  too. 
The  rich  receipt 's  as  follows: 

Take  wine  like  this, 

Let  looks  of  bliss 
Around  it  well  be  blended, 

Then  bring  wit's  beam 

To  warm  the  stream. 
And  there  's  your  nectar  splendid  ' 


342 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


So,  wreath  the  bowl 
With  flowers  of  soul, 

The  brightest  wit  can  find  us  ; 
We'll  take  a  flight 
Towards  heaven  to-night. 

And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us ! 

Say,  why  did  Time 

His  glass  sublime 
Fill  up  with  sands  unsightly 

When  wine,  he  knew, 

Runs  brisker  through. 
And  sparkles  far  more  brightly  I 

Oh,  lend  it  us, 

And,  smiling  thus, 
The  glass  in  two  we'd  sever, 

Make  pleasure  glide 

In  double  tide. 
And  fill  both  ends  for  ever ! 

Then  wreath  the  bowl 

With  flowers  of  soul. 
The  brightest  wit  can  find  us  ! 

We'll  take  a  flight 

Towards  heaven  to-night, 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us ! 


WHENE'ER  I  SEE  THOSE  SMILING  EYES. 

Air — Father  Quia. 
Whene'er  I  see  those  smiling  eyes, 

All  fill'd  with  liope,  and  joy,  and  light, 
As  if  no  cloud  could  ever  rise. 

To  dim  a  heaven  so  purely  bright — 
I  sigh  to  think  how  soon  that  brow 

In  grief  may  lose  its  every  ray, 
And  that  light  heart,  so  joyous  now, 

Almost  forget  it  once  was  gay. 

For  Time  will  come  with  all  his  blights, 

The  ruin'd  hope — the  friend  unkind — 
The  love  that  leaves,  where'er  it  lights, 

A  cliill'd  or  burning  heart  behind  ! 
While  youth,  that  now  like  snow  appears, 

Ere  sullied  by  the  darkening  rain. 
When  once  't  is  touch'd  by  sorrow's  tears, 

Will  never  shine  so  bright  again  ! 


IF  THOU  'LT  BE  MINE. 
Am — The  Winnoimng  Sheet. 
If  ihou  'It  be  mine,  the  treasures  of  air. 
Of  earth  and  sea,  shall  lie  at  thy  feet ; 
Whatever  in  Fancy's  eye  looks  fair, 

Or  in  Hope's  sweet  music  is  most  sweet, 
Shall  be  ours,  if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love  ! 

Bright  flowers  shall  bloom  wherever  we  rove, 
A  voice  divine  shull  talk  in  each  stream. 

The  stars  shall  look  like  worlds  of  love. 
And  this  earth  be  all  one  beautiful  dream 
In  our  eyes — if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love ! 

And  thoughts,  whose  source  is  hidden  and  high. 
Like  streams  that  come  from  heavenward  hill: 


Shall  keep  our  hearts — like  meads,  that  lie 
To  be  bathed  by  those  eternal  rills— 
Ever  green,  if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love  • 

All  this  and  more  the  Spirit  of  Love 

Can  breathe  o'er  them  who  feel  his  spells; 

That  heaven,  which  forms  his  home  above. 
He  can  make  on  earth,  wherever  he  dwells 
And  he  will — if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  level 


TO  LADIES'  EYES. 

Air — Fague  a  Ballagh, 
To  ladies'  eyes  a  round,  boy. 

We  can't  refuse,  we  can't  refuse, 
Though  bright  eyes  so  abound,  boy, 

'T  is  hard  to  chuse,  't  is  hard  to  chuse. 
For  thick  as  stars  that  lighten 

Yon  airy  bowers,  yon  airy  bowers. 
The  countless  eyes  that  brighten 

This  earth  of  ours,  this  earth  of  ours. 
But  fill  the  cup — where'er,  boy, 

Our  choice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  fall. 
We  're  sure  to  find  Love  there,  boy. 

So  drink  them  all !  so  drink  them  all ! 

Some  looks  there  are  so  holy, 

They  seem  but  given,  they  seem  but  given. 
As  splendid  beacons  solely. 

To  light  to  heaven,  to  light  to  heaven. 
While  some — oh  !  ne'er  believe  them — 

With  tempting  ray,  with  tempting  ray, 
Would  lead  us  (God  forgive  them !) 

The  other  way,  the  other  way. 
But  fill  the  cup — where'er,  boy. 

Our  choice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  fall. 
We  're  sure  to  find  Love  there,  boy. 

So  drink  them  all  !  so  drink  them  all  1 

In  some,  as  in  a  mirror. 

Love  seems  portray'd.  Love  seems  portray  a 
But  shun  the  flattering  error, 

'T  is  but  his  shade,  't  is  but  his  shade 
Himself  has  fix'd  his  dwelling 

In  eyes  we  know,  in  eyes  we  know. 
And  lips: — but  this  is  telling. 

So  here  they  go  !  so  here  they  go  ! 
Fill  up,  fill  up — where'er,  boy. 

Our  choice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  fall, 
We  're  sure  to  find  Love  there,  boy, 

So  drink  them  all !  so  drink  them  all  ' 


FORGET  NOT  THE  FIELD. 

Air — The  Lcmmtadon  of  Aughrim, 
Forget  not  the  field  where  they  perish'd. 

The  truest,  the  last  of  the  brave, 
All  gone — and  the  bright  hope  they  cherish'd 

Gone  with  them,  and  quench'd  in  their  grave 

Oh !  could  we  from  death  but  recover 
Those  hearts,  as  they  bounded  before, 

In  the  face  of  high  Heaven  to  fight  over 
That  coiiihiit  for  fieedoni  once  more  • — 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


343 


Could  the  rhuii)  for  an  instant  be  riven 
Wliicli  Tjranny  (lung  round  us  then, 

Oh  !  't  is  not  in  Man  nor  in  Heaven,  • 
To  let  Tyranny  bind  it  again ! 

Bui  t  is  past — and,  though  bla'zon'd  in  story 
The  name  of  our  Victor  may  be, 

AccurKcd  is  the  march  of  tliat  glory 
Which  ireads  o'er  the  hearts  of  the  free. 

Far  dearer  the  grave  or  the  prison, 

Illumed  by  one  patriot  name. 
Than  the  tropliies  of  all  who  have  risen 

On  liberty's  laiiis  to  fame  ! 


THEY  MAY  RAIL  AT  THIS  LIFE. 

Air — Noch  bonin  shin  doe. 
They  may  rail  at  this  life — from  the  hour  I  began  it, 

I  've  found  it  a  life  full  of  kindness  and  bliss  ; 
And,  until  they  can  show  me  some  happier  planet. 

More  social  and  bright,  I  '11  content  me  with  this 
As  long  as  the  world  has  such  eloquent  eyes. 

As  before  me  this  moment  enraptured  I  see, 
They  may  say  what  they  will  of  their  orbs  in  the  skies. 

But  this  earth  is  the  planet  for  you,  love,  and  me. 

In  Mercury's  star,  where  each  minute  can  bring  them 

New  sunshine  and  wit  from  the  fountain  on  high. 
Though  the  nymphs  may  have  livelier  poets  to  sing 
them,' 

They  've  none,  even  there,  more  enamour'd  than  I. 
And,  as  long  as  this  harp  can  be  waken'd  to  love. 

And  that  eye  its  divine  inspiration  shall  be. 
They  may  talk  as  they  will  of  their  Edens  above, 

But  this  eai.V  is  the  planet  for  vou,  love,  and  me. 

In  that  star  of  the  west,  by  whose  shadowy  splendour, 

At  twilight  so  often  we  've  roam'd  through  the  dew, 
Tuere  are  maidens,  perhaps,  who  have  bosoms  as 
tender. 

And  look,  in  their  twilights,  as  lovely  as  you.^ 
But,  though  they  were  even  more  bright  than  the  queen 

Of  that  isle  they  inhabit  in  heaven's  blue  sea. 
As  1  never  those  fiir  young  celestials  have  seen. 

Why, — this  earth  is  the  planet  for  you,  love,  and  me. 

As  for  those  chilly  orbs  on  the  verge  of  creation, 

Where  sunshine  and  smiles  must  be  equally  rare, 
Did  they  want  a  supply  of  cold  hearts  for  that  station, 

Heaven  knows  we  have  plenty  on  earth  we  could 
spare. 
Oh  !  think  what  a  world  we  should  have  of  it  here. 

If  the  haters  of  peace,  of  affection,  and  glee. 
Were  to  fly  up  to  Saturn's  comfortless  sphere. 

And  leave  earth  to  such  spirits  as  you,  love,  and  me. 


OH  FOR  rilE  SWORDS  OF  FORMER  TIME ! 

Air — Name  Unknown. 
Oh  for  the  swords  of  former  time  ! 
Oh  for  the  men  who  bore  them, 

1  Toys  les  Habilaiis  de  Mercure  sont  vifs. — Pluraliti  dcs 
Jilondes. 

2  Fju  Tcrre  poutra  ctre  pour  Vemis  I'^toile  d-i  berger  et 
la  mere  >lt's  amours,  comme  Venus  Test  pour  nous. — lb. 


When,  arm'd  for  Right,  they  stood  subUiue, 

And  tyrants  crouch'd  before  them  ! 
When  pure  yet,  ere  courts  began 

With  honours  to  enlave  hiin. 
The  best  lionours  worn  by  Man 

Were  those  which  Virtue  gave  him. 
Oh  for  the  swords  of  former  time ! 

Oh  for  the  men  who  bore  them, 
Wlicn,  ann'd  for  Right,  they  stood  subhme, 

And  tyrants  crouch'd  before  them  ! 

Oh  for  the  kings  who  flourish'd  then  ! 

Oh  for  the  pomp  that  crown'd  them, 
When  hearts  and  hands  of  frecborn  men 

Were  all  the  ramparts  round  them  ! 
When,  safe  built  on  bosoms  true. 

The  throne  was  but  the  centre. 
Round  which  Love  a  circle  drew, 

That  Treason  durst  not  enter. 
Oh  for  the  kings  who  flourish'd  then! 

Oh  for  the  pomp  that  crown'd  them. 
When  hearts  and  hands  of  freeborn  men 

Were  all  the  ramparts  round  them ! 


No.  VIII. 

NE'ER  ASK  THE  HOUR. 

Air — J\Iy  Husband's  a  Journey  to  Portugal  gone 
Ne'er  ask  the  hour — what  is  it  to  us 
How  Time  deals  out  his  treasures  ? 
The  golden  moments  lent  us  thus 
Are  not  his  coin,  but  Pleasure's. 
If  counting  them  over  could  add  to  their  blisses, 

I  'd  number  eacii  glorious  second  ; 
But  moments  of  joy  are,  like  Lesbia's  kisses, 
Too  quick  and  sweet  to  be  reckon'd. 
Then  fill  the  cup — what  is  it  to  us 
How  Time  his  circle  measures  ? 
The  fary  hours  we  call  up  thus 
Obey  no  wand  but  Pleasure's ! 

Young  Joy  ne'er  thought  of  counting  hours, 

Till  Care,  one  summer's  morning, 
Set  up  among  his  smiling  flowers 

A  dial,  by  way  of  warning. 
But  Joy  loved  better  to  gaze  on  the  sun, 

As  long  as  its  light  was  glowing. 
Than  to  watch  with  old  Care  how  the  shadow  stole  on 
And  how  fast  that  light  was  going. 
So  fill  the  cup — what  is  it  to  us 

How  Time  his  circle  measures  ? 
The  fairy  hours  we  call  up  thus 

Obey  no  wand  but  Pleasure's. 


SAIL  ON,  SAIL  ON 
Air — The  Humming  of  the  Ban, 
Sail  on,  sail  on,  thou  fearless  bark — 

Wherever  blows  the  welcome  wind. 
It  cannot  lead  to  scenes  more  dark. 
More  sad,  than  tliose  we  leave  behind 


314 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Each  wavcj  that  passes  seems  to  say, 
"  Though  death  beneath  our  smile  may  be, 

Less  cold  we  are,  less  false  than  they 
Whose  smihng  v/reck'd  thy  hopes  and  thee." 

Sail  on.  sail  on — through  endless  space — 

Through  calm — through  tempest — stop  no  more ; 
The  stormiest  sea  's  a  resting-place 

To  him  who  leaves  such  hearts  on  shore. 
Or — if  some  desert  land  we  meet, 

Where  never  yet  f  ilse-hearted  men 
Profaned  a  world  that  else  were  sweet — 

Then  rest  thee,  bark,  but  not  till  then. 


THE  PARALLEL. 

Air — I  would  rather  than  Ireland. 
4'es,  o>ad  one  of  Sion,' — if  closely  resembling, 

In  shame  and  in  sorrow,  thy  wither'd-up  heart — 
if  drini<'ng,  deep,  deep,  of  the  same  "cupoftrembling" 

Could  make  us  thy  children,  our  parent  thou  art. 

Like  thee  doth  our  nation  lie  conquer'd  and  broken. 
And  fallen  from  her  head  is  the  once  royal  crown  ; 

Id  ber  streets,  in  her  ha!'-;.  Desolation  hath  spoken. 
And   "  while   it   is   day  yet,   her  sun   hath    gone 
down.'"^ 

jke  thine  doth  the  exile,  'mid  dreams  of  returning. 
Die  far  from  the  homa  it  were  life  to  behold  ; 

ike  thine  do  her  sons,  in  the  day  of  their  mourning, 
R(  member  the  bright  things  that  bless'd  them  of  old! 

Ah,  well  may  we  call  her,  like  thee,  "  the  Forsaken,"' 
Her  boldest  are  vanquisli'd,  her  proudest  are  slaves; 

And  the  harps  of  her  minstrels,  when  gayest  they 
waken, 
Have  breathings  as  sad  as  the  wind  over  graves ! 

yet  hadst  thou  thy  vengeance — yet  came  there  the 
morrow, 
Tliat  shines  out  at  last  on  the  longest  dark  night, 
When  the  sceptre  that  smote  thee  with  slavery  and 
sorrow 
Was  shiver'd  at  once,  like  a  reed,  in  thy  sight. 

When  that  cup,  which  for  others  the  proud  Golden 
City^ 

Had  brimm'd full  <)fhitterncss,drench'dherown lips. 
And  the  world  she  had  trampled  on  heard,  without  pity. 

The  howl  in  her  halls  and  the  cry  from  her  ships. 

V^Tien  the  curse  Heaven  keeps  for  the  haughty  came 
over 

Her  merchants  rapacious,  her  rulers  unjust. 
And — a  ruin,  at  last,  for  the  earth-worm  to  cover — ' 

The  Lady  of  Kingdoms"  lay  low  in  the  dust. 


1  Tiiise  versi's  wore  wrillen  ul'ter  the  perusal  of  a  treatise 
by  Mr.  Hainilioii,  professing  to  prove  that  the  Irish  were 
onciiiiilly  Jews. 

2  '■  Her  sun  is  gone  clown  while  it  was  yet  day." — Jer. 
IV.  !). 

'A  '•  Thou  shah  no  more  be  terined  Forsaken." — Isainh, 
Uii.  4. 

4  "  How  hath  iho  oppressor  ecaseil  !  the  Golden  City 
joaaeil." — Isaiah,  ,\iv.  4. 

5  "Tliy  pomp  is  hroiiL'I'l  down  lo  the  grave — and  the 
woinriH  i-i)vi:r  ll.ee." — Isaiah,  xiv.  II. 

6  "Thnii  sliiili  no  more  be  called  the  Lady  of  Kingdoms." 
suiali,  xK'ii.  ,'>. 


DRINK  OF  THIS  CUP. 

Air — Paddij  O'Rafferty. 
Drink  of  this  cup — you  '11  find  there 's  a  spell  ii. 

Its  every  drop  'gamst  the  ills  of  mortality — 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen, 

Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality. 
Would  you  forget  the  dark  world  we  are  in. 

Only  taste  of  the  bubble  that  gleams  on  the  top 
of  it; 
But  would  you  rise  above  earth,  till  akin 

To   immortals  themselves,  you  must  drain  every 
drop  of  it. 
Send  round  the  cup — for  oh  !  there 's  a  spell  in 

Its  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality — 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen, 

Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality. 

Never  was  pliiltre  form'd  with  such  power 

To  charm  and  bewilder  as  this  we  are  quaffing ' 
Its  magic  began,  when,  in  Autumn's  rich  hour. 

As  a  harvest  of  gold  in  the  fields  it  stood  laughmg 
There,  having,  by  Nature's  enchantment  been  fill'd 

With  the  balm  and  the   bloom   of  her  kindliest 
weather. 
This  wonderful  juice  from  its  core  was  distill'd. 

To  enliven  such  hearts  as  are   here  brought  to- 
gether !  ■ 
Then  drink  of  the  cup — you  Ml  find  there  's  a  spell  in 

Its  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality — 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen, 

Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality. 

And  though,  perhaps — but  breathe  it  to  no  one — 

Like   cauldrons   the  witch   brews  at  midnight  so 
awful. 
In  secret  this  philtre  was  first  taught  to  flow  on, 

Yet — 't  is  n't  less  potent  for  being  unlawful. 
What  though  it  may  taste  of  the  smoke  of  that  flama 

Which  in  silence  extracted  its  virtue  forbidden — 
Fill  up — there's  a  fire  in  some  hearts  1  could  name, 

Which  may  work  to  its  charm,  though  now  law 
less  and  hidden. 
So  drink  of  the  cup— for  oh !  there  's  a  spell  in 

Its  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality — 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen, 

Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality 


THE  FORTUNE-TELLER. 

Air — Open  the  Door  softly. 

Down  in  the  valley  come  meet  me  to-night, 
And  I'll  tell  you  your  fortune  truly 

As  ever  't  was  told,  by  the  now  moon's  light. 
To  young  maidens  shining  as  newly. 

But,  for  the  world,  let  no  one  be  nigh, 
Lost  hap'y  the  stars  should  deceive  me; 

These  secrets  between  you  and  me  and  the  sky 
Should  never  go  farther,  believe  me. 

If  at  that  hour  the  heavens  be  not  dim, 
3Iy  science  shall  call  up  before  you 

A  male  apparition — the  image  of  him 
Whoso  destiny  'tis  to  adure  vou 


IRISH  MELODIES 


345 


Then  to  the  phantom  be  thou  but  kind, 
And  round  you  so  fondly  he'll  hover, 

Vou  '11  lianlly,  my  dear,  any  diti'erence  find 
'Twixt  him  and  a  true  living  lover. 

Down  at  your  feet,  in  the  pale  moon-light. 
He'll  kneel,  with  a  warmth  of  emotion — 

A.n  ardour,  of  which  such  an  innocent  sprite 
You'd  scarcely  believe  had  a  notion. 

What  other  thoughts  and  events  may  arise, 
As  in  Destiny's  book  I've  not  seen  them, 

Musi  oidy  be  left  to  the  stars  and  your  eyes 
To  settle,  ere  morning,  between  them. 


on,  YE  DEAD. 

Air — Plough  Tune. 
On  ye  dead  !  oh,  ye  dead  !  whom  we  know  by  the 

light  you  give 
From  your  cold  gleaming  eyes,  though  you  move 
like  men  who  live. 
Why  leave  ye  thus  your  graves. 
In  far  oSf  fields  and  waves, 
Where  the  worm  and  the  sea-bird  only  know  your  bed. 
To  haunt  this  spot  where  all 
Those  eyes  that  wept  your  fall. 
And  the  hearts  that  bewail'd  you,  like  your  own,  lie 
dead  ! 

It  is  true — it  is  true — we  are  shadows  cold  and  wan  ; 
It  is  true — it  is  true — all  the  friends  we  loved  are  gone. 

But,  oh !  thus  even  in  death. 

So  sweet  is  still  the  breath 
Of  the  fields  and  the  tiowers  in  our  youth  we  wan- 
der'd  o'er, 

That,  ere  condemn'd  we  go 

To  freeze  'mid  Hecla's'  snow. 
We  would  taste  it  awhile,  and  dream  we  live  once 
more! 


O'DONOHUE'S  MISTRESS.^ 
Air — The  Little  and  the  Greut  Mountain. 
Of  all  the  fair  months,  that  round  the  sun 
In  light-link'd  dance  their  circles  run. 

Sweet  May,  sweet  3Iay,  shine  thou  for  me  ! 
For  still,  when  thy  earliest  beams  arise. 


1  Paul  Zelatid  mentions  ihiit  there  is  a  iniuiritain  hi  some 
part  of  Ireland,  where  tlie  ghosts  of  per.-ons  "h  >  have  died 
in  foreign  lands  walk  alioiit  and  c<)nvi:rse  with  those  they 
meet,  like  living  people.  If  asked  why  tiiey  do  not  return  to 
their  homes,  they  say  they  are  obliged  to  go  to  Alount  He- 
cla,  and  disappear  immediately. 

2  The  prirticidars  of  the  traditions  res[iecting  O'Donohue 
and  his  white  horse,  miv  he  found  in  Mr.  Weld's  Account 
ol  Killarney,  or  more  fu'ly  detailed  in  Derrick's  Letters. 
For  many  years  after  his  death,  thes|)irit  of 'his  hero  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  seen,  on  the  morning  of  May-day, 
gliding  over  the  lake  on  his  favouriie  white  horse,  to  the 
Bound  of  swoet,  unenrihlv  music,  and  preceded  hy  groups 
of  youths  and  maidens,  who  flung  wreaths  of  delicate  spring- 
flowers  in  his  path. 

.•\mong  oilier  stories,  ronnoctcd  with  this  Legend  of  the 
Lakes,  it  is  said  that  there  was  a  young  am'  hcanlifid  girl, 
whose  ima-T'n.ition  was  so  impressed  with  th  idea  of  this 
visionnrv  chieftain,  that  she  fancied  herself  in  love  with  him, 
and  at  last,  in  a  fit  of  insanity,  on  a  May-morning,  threw 
herself  into  the  lake. 


That  youth  who  beneath  the  blue  lake  lies, 
fc^weet  .May,  sweet  May,  returns  to  me. 

Of  all  the  smooth  lakes,  where  daylight  leaves 
His  lingering  smile  on  golden  eves. 

Fair  lake,  fair  lake,  thou  'rt  dear  to  me  ; 
For  when  the  last  April  sun  grows  dim, 
Thy  Naiads  prepare  his  steed  for  him 

Who  dwells,  who  dwells,  bright  lake,  in  thee 

Of  all  the  proud  steeds  that  ever  bore 
Young  plumed  chiefs  on  sea  or  shore. 

White  steed,  while  steed,  most  joy  to  thee, 
Who  still,  when  the  first  young  glance  of  spring 
From  under  that  glorious  lake  dost  bring, 

Proud  steed,  proud  steed,  my  love  to  me. 

While,  white  as  the  sail  some  bark  unfurls. 
When  newly  launch'd,  thy  long  mane''  curls 

Fair  steed,  fair  steed,  as  white  and  free  ; 
And  spirits,  from  all  the  lake's  deep  boweis, 
Glide  o'er  the  blue  wave  scattering  flowers. 

Fair  steed,  around  my  love  and  thee. 

Of  all  the  sweet  deaths  that  maidens  die, 
Whose  lovers  beneath  the  cold  wave  lie, 

3Iost  sweet,  most  sweet,  that  death  will  be, 
Which  under  the  next  3Ia}'-evening's  light. 
When  thou  and  thy  steed  are  lost  to  sight, 

Dear  love,  dear  love,  I  '11  die  for  thee. 


ECHO. 

Air — The  Wren. 
How  sweet  the  answer  Echo  ma^es 

To  Music  at  night, 
WTien,  roused  by  lute  or  horn,  she  wakes. 
And  far  away,  o'er  lawns  and  lakes, 

Goes  answering  light. 

Yet  Love  hath  echoes  truer  far, 

And  far  more  sueet. 
Than  e'er,  beneath  the  moon-light's  star, 
Of  horn,  or  lute,  or  soft  guitar, 

The  songs  repeat. 

'Tis  when  the  sigh  in  youth  sincere, 

And  only  then, — 
The  sigh  that 's  breathed  for  one  to  hea  , 
Is  by  that  one,  that  onlv  dear, 

Breathed  hack  again  ' 


Oil!  BANQUET  NOT. 
Air — Planxly  Irwine. 
Oh  !  banqtiet  not  in  those  shining  bowers 

Where  youth  resorts — but  come  to  me, 
For  mine  's  a  garden  of  faded  flowers. 

More  fit  for  sorrow,  for  age,  and  thee 
And  there  we  shall  have  our  feast  of  teaio 

And  many  a  cup  in  silence  pour — 
Our  guests,  the  shades  of  former  years— 

Our  toasts,  to  lips  that  bloom  no  more. 

3  The  boatmen  at  Killarney  call  those  waves  whlcn  i^mw 
on  a  windy  day,  crested  with  foam.  "O'llmiohuc  8  hjii* 
horses." 


346 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Tli'jre,  while  the  myrtle's  withering  boughs 

Their  lifeless  leaves  around  u»  ■  'led, 
We'll  brim  the  bowl  to  broken  vows, 

To  friends  long  lost,  the  changed,  the  dead. 
Or,  as  some  blighted  laurel  waves 

Its  branches  o'er  the  dreary  spot, 
We  '11  drink  to  those  neglected  graves 

Where  valour  sleeps,  unnamed,  forgot ! 


THEE,  THEE,  ONLY  THEE. 

Air— T/ie  Market  Stake. 
The  dawning  of  morn,  the  day-light's  sinking, 
The  night's  long  hours  still  find  me  thinking 

Of  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 
When  friends  are  met,  and  goblets  crown'd. 
And  smiles  are  near  that  once  enchanted, 
Unreach'd  by  all  that  sunshine  round, 
My  soul,  like  some  dark  spot,  is  haunted 
By  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 

Whatever  in  fame's  high  path  could  waken 
My  spirit  once,  is  now  forsaken 
For  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 
Like  shores,  by  which  some  headlong  bark 

To  the  ocean  hurries — resting  never — 
Life's  scenes  go  by  me,  bright  or  dark, 
I  know  not,  heed  not,  hastening  ever 
To  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 

I  have  not  a  joy  but  of  thy  bringing. 

And  pain  itself  seems  sweet,  when  springing 

From  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 
Like  spells  that  nought  on  earth  can  break. 

Till  lips  that  know  the  charm  have  spoken, 
This  heart,  howe'er  the  world  may  wake 
Its  grief,  its  scorn,  can  but  be  broken 
By  thee,  thee,  only  thee 


SHALL  THE  HARP  THEN  BE  SILENT  ? 

Air — Macfarlcme' s  Lamentation. 

Shall  the  Harp  then  be  silent  when  he,  who  first 

gave 
To  our  country  a  name,  is  withdrawn  from  all  eyes  ? 
Shall  a  minstrel  of  Erin  stand  mute  by  the  grave, 
Where  the  lirst,  where  the  last  of  her  patriots  lies  ?' 

No — faint  though  the  death-song  may  fall  from  his 
lips. 
Though  his  harp,  like  his  soul,  may  with  shadows 
be  cross' d. 
Yet,  yet  shall  it  sound,  'mid  a  nation's  eclipse. 

And  proclaitn  to  the  world  what  a  star  hath  been 
lost'' 

What  a  union  of  all  the  affections  ard  powers, 
By  which  life  is  exalted,  cmbellish'd,  refined, 

vVas  embra(;ed  in  that  spirit — whose  centre  was  ours. 
While  its  mighty  circumference  circled  mankind. 

1  'J'lie  cclohrulcd  Irish  orator  and  patriot,  Grattan. — 
Editor. 

'J  It  is  only  iItsk  two  first  versos,  that  are  either  fitted  or 
kolijnded  i.o  be  snug. 


Oh,  who  that  loves  Erin — or  who  that  can  see. 
Through  the  waste  of  her  annals,  that  epoch  su>) 
lime — 

Like  a  pyramid  raised  in  the  desert — where  he 
And  his  glory  stand  out  to  the  eyes  of  all  time  !— 

That  one  lucid  interval  snatch'd  from  the  gloom 
And  the  madness  of  ages,  when,  fill'd  with  his  soul-, 

A  nation  o'erleap'd  the  dark  bounds  of  her  doom. 
And,  for  07ie  sacred  instant,  touch'd  liberty's  goa 

Who,  that  ever  hath  heard  him — hath  drank  at  the 
source 
Of  that  wonderful  eloquence,  all  Erin's  own. 
In  whose  high-thoughted   daring,  the  fire,  and  the 
force, 
And  the  yet  untamed  spring  of  her  spirit  are  shown. 

An  eloquence,  rich — wheresoever  it  wave 

Wander'dfree  and  triumphant— with  thoughts  that 
shone  through 

As  clear  as  the  brook's  "  stone  of  lustre,"  and  gave, 
With  the  flash  of  the  gem,  its  solidity  too. 

Who,  that  ever  approach'd  him,  when,  free  from  the 
crowd, 
In  a  home  full  of  love,  he  delighted  to  tread 
'Mong  the  trees  which  a  nation  had  given,  and  which 
bow'd. 
As  if  each  brought  a  new  civic  crown  for  his  head — 

That  home,  where — like  him  who,  as  fable  hath  told,' 
Put  the  rays  from  his  brow,  tliat  his  child  might 
come  near — 

Every  glory  forgot,  the  most  wise  of  the  old 
Became  all  that  the  simplest  and  youngest  hold  dear. 

Is  there  one  who  has  thus,  through  his  orbit  of  hie. 
But    at   distance    observed    him — through    glory 
through  blame. 

In  the  calm  of  retreat,  in  the  grandeur  of  strife, 
Whether  shining  or  clouded,  still  high  and  the  same 

Such  a  union  of  all  that  enriches  life  s  hour, 

Of  the  sweetness  we  love  and  the  greatness  vi^e 
praise, 

As  that  type  of  simplicity  blended  with  pov\-er, 
A  child  with  a  thunderbolt,  only  portrays. — 

Oh  no — not  a  heart  that  e'er  knew  him  but  mourns, 
Deep,  deep,  o'er  the  grave  where  such  glory  is 
shrined — 

O'er  a  monument  Fame  will  preserve  'mong  the  u-ns 
Of  the  wisest,  the  bravest,  the  best  of  mankind  ' 


OH,  THE  SIGHT  ENTRANCING. 

Air — Planxfy  Sudley, 
On,  the  sight  entrancing. 
When  morning's  beam  is  glancmg 

O'er  files,  array'd 

With  helm  and  blade, 
And  plumes  in  the  gay  wind  dancing! 
When  hearts  are  all  high  beating. 
And  the  trumpet's  voice  repeatinu 


1  Apollo,  in  Ilia  interview  with  PhaiUon,  as  describe* 
Ovid ; — "  Dcposuit  radius  prupiu.^quc  acccdcrc  jussit. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


347- 


That  song  whose  breath 

May  lead  to  death, 
Tim  never  to  retreating  ! 
Oil,  tlie  sight  entrancing. 
When  morning's  beam  is  glancing 

O'er  files,  array'd 

With  helm  and  blade, 
And  plumes  in  the  gay  wind  dancing. 

Yet 't  is  not  helm  or  feather — 
For  ask  yon  despot  whether 

His  plumed  bands 

Could  bring  such  hands 
And  hearts  as  ours  together. 
Leave  pomps  to  those  who  need  'em — 
Adorn  but  Man  with  freedom, 

And  proud  he  braves 

The  gaudiest  slaves 
That  crawl  where  monarchs  lead  'em. 
The  sword  may  pierce  the  beaver, 
Stone  walls  in  time  may  sever; 

'T  is  heart  alone. 

Worth  steel  and  stone, 
That  keeps  men  free  for  ever ! 
Oh,  that  sight  entrancing. 
When  morning's  beam  is  glancing 

O'er  files,  array'd 

With  helm  and  blade, 
And  in  Freedom's  cause  advancing  ! 


NO.  IX. 

SWEET  INNISFALLEN. 

Air — The  Captivating  Youth. 
Sw'EET  Innisfallen,  fare  thee  well, 

May  calm  and  sunshine  long  be  thine 
How  fair  thou  art  let  others  tell, 

While  but  to  feel  how  fair  is  mine  ! 

Sweet  Innisfallen,  fare  thee  well. 
And  long  may  light  around  thee  smile, 

As  soft  as  on  that  evening  fell 
When  first  I  saw  thy  fairy  isle ! 

Thou  wert  too  lovely  then  for  one 
Who  had  to  turn  to  paths  of  care — 

Who  had  through  vulgar  crowds  to  run, 
And  leave  thee  bright  and  silent  there : 

No  more  along  thy  shores  to  come, 
But  on  the  world's  dim  ocean  tost, 

Dream  of  thee  sometimes  as  a  home 
Of  sunshine  he  had  seen  and  lost ! 

Far  better  in  thy  weeping  hours 
To  part  from  thee  as  I  do  now. 

When  mist  is  o'er  thy  blooming  bowers. 
Like  Sorrow's  veil  on  Beauty's  brow 

For,  though  unrivall'd  still  thy  grace. 
Thou  dost  not  look,  as  then,  too  blest, 

But,  in  thy  shadow's,  secm'st  a  place 
Where  wearv  man  might  hope  to  rest- 


Might  hope  to  rest,  and  find  in  thee 
A  gloom  like  Eden's,  on  the  day 

He  left  its  shade,  when  every  tree, 

Like  thine,  hung  weeping  o'er  his  way! 

Weeping  or  smiling,  lovely  isle  I 
And  still  the  lovelier  for  thy  tears — 

For  though  Ixit  rare  thy  sunny  smile, 
'T  is  heaven's  own  glance,  when  it  appears 

Like  feeling  hearts,  whose  joys  are  few, 
But,  when  indeid  they  come,  divine — 

The  steadiest  light  the  sun  e'er  threw 
Is  lifeless  to  one  gleam  of  thine  ! 


'T  WAS  ONE  OF  THOSE  DREAMS. 

Air — The  song  of  the  Woods. 
'T  WAS  one  of  those  dreams  that  by  music  are  brought 
Like  a  light  summer  haze,   o'er  the  poet's  warn: 

thought — 
When,  lost  in  the  future,  his  soul  wanders  on. 
And  all  of  this  life,  but  its  sweetness,  is  gone. 

The  wild  notes  he  heard  o'er  the  water  were  those 
To  which  he  had  sung  Erin's  bandage  and  woes, 
And  the  breath  of  the  bugle  now  wafted  them  o'er 
From  Dinis'  green  isle  to  Ciena's  wooded  shore. 

He  listen'd — while  high  o'er  the  eagle's  rude  nest. 
The  lingering  sounds  on  their  way  loved  to  rest ; 
And  the  echoes  sung  back  from  their  full  mountain 

quire. 
As  if  loth  to  let  song  so  enchanting  expire. 

It  seem'd  as  if  every  sweet  note  that  died  here 
Was  again  brought  to  life  in  some  airier  sphere. 
Some  heaven  in  those  hills  where  the  soul  of  the  strain. 
That  had  ceased  upon  earth,  was  awaking  again  ! 

Oh  forgive  if,  while  listening  to  music,  whose  breath 
Seem'd  to  circle  his  name  with  a  charm  against  death. 
He  should  feel  a  proud  spirit  within  him  proclaim — 
"Even  so  shalt  thou  live  in  the  echoes  of  Fame 

"  Even  so,  though  thy  memory  should  now  die  a  wa? 
'T  will  be  caught  up  again  in  some  happier  day, 
And  the  hearts  and  the  voices  of  Erin  prolong. 
Through  the   answering  future,  thy  name  and  thj 
song !" 


FAIREST  !  PUT  ON  AWHILE. 

Air — Cnmmilum. 
Fairest  !  put  on  awhile 

These  pinions  of  light  I  bring  thee, 
And  o'er  thy  own  green  isle 

In  fancy  lei  me  wing  thee. 
Never  did  .Vriel's  plume. 

At  golden  sunset,  hover 
O'er  such  scenes  of  bloom 

As  I  :'hall  waft  thee  over. 

Fields,  where  the  Spring  delays, 
And  fearlessly  meets  the  ardour, 

Of  the  warm  Summer's  gaze. 
With  but  her  tears  to  guard  her 


348 


3100KE'b  WORKS. 


Rocks,  through  myrtle  boughs, 

(n  grace  majesiic  frowning — 
Like  some  warrior's  brows, 

That  Love  hath  just  been  crowning. 

Jslets  so  freshly  fair 

That  never  hath  bird  come  nigh  them, 
But,  from  his  course  through  air. 

Hath  been  won  downward  by  them — ' 
Types,  sweet  maid,  of  thee, 

Whose  look,  whose  blush  inviting, 
Never  did  Love  yet  see 

From  heaven,  without  alighting. 

Lakes  where  the  pearl  lies  hid,'' 

And  caves  where  the  diamond  's  sleeping 
Bright  as  the  gems  that  lid 

Of  thine  lets  fall  in  weeping. 
Glens,'  where  Ocean  comes. 

To  'scape  the  wild  wind's  rancour, 
And  harbours,  worthiest  homes 

Where  Freedom's  sails  could  anchor. 

Then  if,  while  scenes  so  grand, 

So  beautiful,  shine  before  thee. 
Pride  for  thy  own  dear  land 

Should  haply  be  stealing  o'er  thee. 
Oh,  let  grief  come  first, 

O'er  pride  itself  victorious — 
To  think  how  man  hath  curst 

WTiat  Heaven  had  made  so  glorious  ! 


QUICK!  WE  HAVE  BUT  A  SECOND. 

Air — Paddy  Snap. 
Quick  !  we  have  but  a  second, 

Fill  round  the  cup,  while  you  may, 
For  Time,  the  churl,  hath  beckon'd. 

And  we  must  away,  away  ! 
Grasp  the  pleasure  that 's  flying. 

For  oh  I  not  Orpheus'  strain 
Could  keep  sweet  hours  from  dying, 
Or  charm  them  to  life  again. 
Then  quick  I  wo  have  but  a  seconu. 

Fill  round,  fill  round,  while  you  may  ; 
For  Time,  the  churl,  hath  beckon'd, 
And  we  must  away,  away  ! 

•see  the  glass,  how  its  flushes. 

Like  some  young  Hebe's  lip. 
And  half  meets  thine,  and  blushes 

That  thou  shouldst  delay  to  sip. 
Shame,  oh  shame  unto  thee. 

If  ever  thou  seest  the  day. 


1  In  di.'soribin};  llic  Hkrligs  (isl  uids  of  the  Raroiiy  of 
Forlli)  Dr.  Keating  says,  "  iIk.tc  is  !i  certain  atliaciive  viruu; 
in  lliij  soil,  vvli.c.li  draws  down  all  llio  birds  thai  atlonipt  to 
fly  ovrr  it,  anil  obli^'i'S  tlicrn  to  li>;lil  upon  the  rook." 

'J  "  NiMiiiius,  a  Tirilisli  writer  of  tlje  !)ih  century,  mentions 
Ihi!  almndaiice  of  pearls  in  rrcland.  Tlieir  princes,  lie  says, 
hiiri^  tlii'in  hrdiind  llicir  ears,  and  this  we  find  confirmed  by 
t  preeeiil  in  ide  A.  r.  10i)l,  by  GilliiMt,  Bishop  of  Limerick,  to 
Aimelin,  Arclibisliop  of  ranlerbnry,  of  a  considerable 
tuiiiility  of  [risli  pearls." — O' Halloran. 

1  Clengaritf. 


When  a  cup  or  a  lip  shall  woo  thee. 
And  turn  uniouch'd  away  ! 

Then,  quick !  we  have  but  a  second. 

Fill  round,  fill  round,  while  you  may; 
For  Time,  the  churl,  hath  beckon'd, 
And  we  must  away,  away  ! 


AND  DOTH  NOT  A  MEETING  LIKE  TH1& 

Air  —  Unkn  own 
And  doth  not  a  meeting  like  this  make  amends 

For  all  the  long  years  I'  ve  been  wandering  away  i 
To  see  thus  around  me  my  youth's  early  friends. 

As  smiling  and  kind  as  in  that  happy  day! 
Though  haply  o'er  some  of  your  brows,  as  o'ermme 

The  snow-fall  of  time  may  be  stealing — what  then 
Like  Alps  in  the  sun-sot,  thus  lighted  by  wine, 

We'll  wear  the  gay  tinge  of  youth's  roses  again. 

Wliat  soften'd  remembrances  come  o'er  the  heart. 

In  gazing  on  those  we  've  been  lost  to  so  long ! 
The  sorrows,  the  joys,  of  which  once  they  were  part 

Still  round  them,  like  visions  of  yesterday,  throng 
As  letters  some  hand  hath  invisibly  traced. 

When  held  to  the  flame  will  steal  out  on  the  sight 
So  many  a  feeling,  that  long  seem'd  effaced. 

The  warmth  of  a  meeting  like  this  brings  to  light. 

And  thus,  in  Memory's  bark  we  shall  glide 

To  visit  the  scenes  of  our  boyhood  anew — 
Though  oft  we  may  see,  looking  down  on  the  tide. 

The  wreck  of  full  many  a  hope  shining  through— 
Yet  still,  as  in  fancy  we  point  to  the  flowers, 

That  once  made  a  garden  of  all  the  gay  shore. 
Deceived  for  a  moment,  we  '11  think  them  still  ours, 

And  breathe  the  fresh  air  of  Life's  morning  once 
more.' 

So  brief  our  existence,  a  glimpse,  at  the  most. 

Is  all  we  can  have  of  the  few  we  hold  dear; 
And  oft  even  joy  is  unheeded  and  lost. 

For  want  of  some  heart,  that  could  echo  it,  near. 
Ah,  well  may  we  hope,  when  this  short  life  is  gone, 

To  meet  in  some  world  of  more  permanent  bliss  ; 
For  a  smile,  or  a  grasp  of  the  hand,  hastening  on. 

Is  all  we  enjoy  of  each  other  in  this.^ 

But  come — the  more  rare  such  delights  to  the  heart. 
The  more  we  should  welcome,  and  bless  them  the 
more: 
They  're  ours  when  we  me*!t — they  are  lost  when  we 
part. 
Like  birds  that  bring  summer,  and  fly  when  't  is 
o'er. 


1  .lours  charmans,  qiiand  je  sohkb  a  vos  heureux  instans. 
.In  pense  remonli^r  le  lleiive  de  mes  nns, 

Ft  nion  caMir  encbante  snr  la  rive  (leurie, 
Dcspire  encore  fair  pnr  du  matin  de  la  vie. 

2  The  same  thonubt  bns  been  happily  expressed  by  my 
friend,  Mr.  WasbiiiKlon  Irvinir,  in  bis  rmcrhridgc  Unl'., 
V(d.  i.  p.  21X  The  ploHSiire  wbiih  I  feel  in  calling  this  gen- 
tleman my  friend,  is  enhanced  by  llie  rcflecliim  that  he  ia 
too  good  an  American  to  have  admilled  me  so  readily  to 
such  a  distinction,  if  ho  had  not  known  Ibal  my  feelings  to- 
wards the  great  and  free  cnnnlry  that  gave  him  birth  have 
long  been  such  as  every  real  lover  of  the  liberty  and  happi- 
ness of  the  himiaii  race  must  entertain. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


349 


I  has  circling  the  cup,  hand  in  hand,  ere  we  drink, 
Let  sympathy  pledge  us,  through  pleasure,  through 
pain. 

That  fast  as  a  fooling  hut  touches  one  link. 
Her  magic  shall  send  it  direct  through  tiie  chain. 


THE  SPRITE. 

Am  -TIte  MounUiin  Sprite. 
In  yonder  valley  there  dwelt,  alone, 
A  youth,  whose  life  all  had  calmly  flown. 
Till  spells  came  o'er  him,  and,  day  and  night. 
He  was  haunted  and  watch'il  by  a  Mountain  Sprite. 

As  he,  by  moonlight,  went  wandering  o'er 
The  golden  sands  of  that  island  shore, 
A  foot-print  sparkled  before  his  sight, 
'Twas  the  fairy  foot  of  the  Mountain  Sprite. 

Beside  a  fouiLtain,  one  sunny  day. 

As,  looking  down  on  the  stream,  he  lay, 

IJehind  him  stole  two  eyes  of  light, 

And  he  saw  in  the  clear  wave  tlie  Mountain  Sprite. 

He  turn'd — but  lo,  likr;  a  startled  bird, 

The  Spirit  lied — and  he  only  heard 

Sweet  music,  such  as  marks  the  flight 

Of  a  journeying  star,  from  the  Jlountain  Sprite. 

One  night,  pursued  by  that  dazzling  look, 
The  youth,  bcwildcr'd,  his  pencil  took, 
And,  guided  only  by  memory's  light. 
Drew  the  fairy  form  of  the  Mountain  Sprite 

"  Oh  thou,  wlio  lovest  the  shadow,"  cried, 
A  gentle  voice,  whispering  by  his  side, 
"  Now  turn  and  see,'" — here  the  youth's  delight 
Seal'd  the  rosy  lips  of  the  Mountain  Sprite 

"  Of  all  the  Spirits  of  land  and  sea," 
Fxclaim'd  he  then,  "there  is  none  like  thee; 
And  oft,  oh  oft,  may  thy  shape  alight 
\ix  this  lonely  arbour,  sweet  Mountain  Sprite." 


AS  VANQUISH'D  ERIN. 
Air — The  Doyne  Water. 
As  vanquish'd  Erin  wept  beside 

The  Boyne's  ill-fated  river. 
She  saw  where  Discord,  in  the  tide, 
Had  dropp'd  his  loaded  quiver. 
Lie  hid,"  she  cried,  "ye  venom'd  darts. 
Where  mortal  eye  may  shun  you  ; 
Lie  hid — for  oh  I  the  stain  of  hearts 
That  bled  for  me  is  on  you." 

But  vain  her  wish,  her  weeping  vain — 

As  Time  too  well  hath  taught  her : 
Each  year  the  fiend  returns  again, 

And  dives  into  that  water: 
And  brings  triumphant,  from  beneath, 

His  shafts  of  desolation. 
And  sends  them,  wing'd  with  worse  than  death, 

Throughout  her  maddening  nation. 


Alas  for  her  who  sits  and  mourns, 

Even  now  beside  that  river — 
Unwearied  still  the  fiend  returns, 

And  stored  is  still  his  quiver. 
"When  will  tliis  end  ?  ye  Powers  of  Good  '" 

She  weeping  asks  for  ever  ; 
But  only  hears,  from  out  that  flood, 

The  demon  answer,  "  Never !" 


DESMOND'S  SONG,' 
A  J II —  Uiiknovm.'^ 
Bv  the  Feal's  wave  benighted. 

Not  a  star  in  the  skies. 
To  thy  door  by  Love  lighted, 

I  first  saw  those  eyes. 
Some  voice  whisper'd  o'er  me, 

As  the  threshold  I  cross'd. 
There  was  ruin  before  me, 

If  I  loved,  I  was  lost. 

Love  came,  and  brought  sorrow 

Too  soon  in  his  train; 
Yet  so  sweet,  that  to-morrow 

'T  would  be  welcome  again. 
Were  misery's  full  measure 

Pour'd  out  to  me  now, 
I  would  drain  it  with  pleasure. 

So  the  Hebe  were  thou. 

You  who  call  it  dishonour 

To  bow  to  this  flame, 
If  you  've  eyes,  look  but  on  her, 

And  blush  while  you  blame. 
Hath  the  pearl  less  whiteness 

Because  of  its  birth  1 
Hath  the  violet  less  brightness 

For  growing  near  earth  ? 

No — Man,  for  his  glory, 

To  history  flies ; 
Wliile  Woman's  bright  story 

Is  told  in  her  eyes. 
While  the  monarch  but  traces 

Through  mortals  his  line, 
Beauty,  born  of  the  (iraces, 

Ranks  nc.\t  to  divine  ! 


THEY  KNOW  NOT  3IY  HEART 
Air — Coolon  Das. 
TiiEY  know  not  my  heart,  who  beiieve  there  car  ue 
One  stain  of  this  earth  in  its  feelings  for  thee; 


1  "Tlioiims,  ihe  hi'ir  of  the  DiSMond  family,  had  acci 
ileiitiilly  I'C.  n  so  eiiLM^ed  In  the  chiicj,  lliiit  he  was  hcjiiieln- 
«'  I  tusir  Tialce,  niid  ol)iigr<l  lo  take  sholter  at  the  .Mibey  ol 
Foal,  in  the  lioiise  of  one  of  his  di'iendenls,  callid  M.icCor 
mac.  Calhoriini,  ii  lieaulifiil  daiighti-r  of  his  huA,  ins'aiitlj: 
iiispirfiil  Ihr  Karl  with  a  violent  jiassion,  which  he  could  nol 
suhiJue.  He  marriel  her,  and  l)y  this  inferior  alliance  alien 
aled  his  followers,  whose  brutal  pride  regarded  this  inJu!- 
gencc  of  his  love  as  iin  unpardonahle  degradation  of  hii 
liinidy."— /,f/(j7K/,  viil.  2. 

2  This  air  has  heen  already  bo  successfully  supplied  with 
wr.rds  liy  i\!r.  15ayly,  thai  I  should  have  left  it  untouched 
if  we  ciiiild  have  .snared  so  interesting  a  melody  nut  of  ouj 
colIi!Clion 


350 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Who  think,  while  I  see  ihee  in  beauty's  young  hour, 
As  pure  as  the  morning's  first  dew  on  the  flower, 
I  could  harm  what  I  love — as  the  sun's  wanton  ray 
But  smiles  on  the  dew-drop  to  waste  it  away  ! 

No— beam'ng  with  light  as  those  young  features  are. 
There  's  a  light  round  thy  heart  which  is  lovelier  far  : 
It  is  not  that  cheek — 't  is  the  soul  dawning  clear 
Tlirough  its   innocent  blush   makes  thy  beauty  so 

dear — 
As  the  sky  we  look  up  to,  though  glorious  and  fair, 
Is  look'd  up  to  the  more,  because  heaven  is  there ! 


I  WISH  I  WAS  BY  THAT  DIM  LAKE. 

Air — /  ivish  I  was  on  yonder  Hill 
I  WISH  I  was  by  that  dim  lake,' 
Where  sinful  soufs  their  farewells  take 
Of  this  vain  world,  and  half-way  lie 
In  Death's  cold  shadow,  ere  they  die. 
There,  there,  tar  from  thee, 
Deceitful  world,  my  home  should  be — 
Where,  come  what  might  of  gloom  and  pain, 
False  hope  should  ne'er  deceive  again ! 

The  lifeless  sky,  the  mournful  sound 
Of  unseen  waters,  falling  round — 
The  dry  leaves  quivering  o'er  my  head, 
Like  man,  unquiet  even  when  dead — 
These — ay — these  should  wean 
My  soul  from  Life's  deluding  scene, 
And  turn  each  thought,  each  wish  I  have, 
Like  willows,  dow  nward  towards  the  grave. 

As  they  who  to  their  couch  at  night 
Would  welcome  sleep,  first  qu(!nch  the  light, 
So  must  the  hopes  that  keep  this  breast 
Awake,  be  quench'd.  ere  it  can  rest. 
Cold,  cold,  my  heart  must  grow, 
Unchanged  by  either  joy  or  woe. 
Like  freezing  founts,  where  all  that 's  thrown 
Within  their  current  turns  to  stone. 


SHE  SUNG  OF  LOVE. 
Air — The  Munster  Man. 
She  sung  of  love — while  o'er  her  lyre 
The  rosy  rays  of  evening  fell, 

1  Tliese  versos  are  inc^ant  to  aUudu  to  that  ancient  haunt 
kf  superstition,  called  Patrick's  Purgatory.  "In  the  miilst 
•if  these  gloomy  regions  of  nonncgull  (siiys  Dr.  Camphfll) 
lay  a  lake,  which  was  to  become  the  mystic  theatre  of  this 
ahled  and  intermediate  state.  In  the  lake  was  several 
islunils;  but  one  of  them  was  dignified  with  that  called  the 
Moiiili  of  Purgatory,  which,  during  the  diirk  ages,  attracted 
the  notice  of  all  Christemlom,  and  was  the  resort  of  peni- 
Uifils  u.\\  pilgrims,  from  almost  every  country  in  Europe." 

"  It  was,"  as  the  same  writer  tells  us,  "  one  of  the  moat 
.lismal  and  dreary  spots  in  the  North,  almost  inaccessible, 
ihroiigh  ileep  glens  and  rugged  mounluins,  frightful  with 
im|)(Mid,ns  locks,  and  the  hollow  murrruirs  of  the  western 
winds  in  dark  caverns,  peopled  only  with  suidi  fantastic 
beings  as  the  mind,  however  gay,  is  from  strange  association 
wont  to  appiopriate  to  such  gloomy  scenes. — Strictures  an 
t/ie  Etc.UsiokJJeal  and  lAlcrary  liistury  of  Ireland 


As  if  to  feed  with  their  soft  fire 

The  soul  within  that  trembling  sliell. 

The  same  rich  light  hung  o'er  her  cheek, 
And  play'd  around  those  lips  that  sung 

And  spoke,  as  flowers  would  sing  and  speak. 
If  love  could  lend  their  leaves  a  tongue. 

But  soon  the  West  no  longer  burn'd. 

Each  rosy  ray  from  heaven  withdrew ; 
And,  when  to  gaze  again  I  turn'd, 

The  minstrel's  form  seem'd  fading  too. 
As  if  her  light  and  heaven's  were  one, 

The  glory  all  had  left  that  frame ; 
And  from  her  glimmering  lips  the  tone, 

As  from  a  parting  spirit,  came.' 

Who  ever  loved,  but  had  the  thought 

That  he  and  all  he  loved  must  part? 
Fill'd  with  this  fear,  I  flew  and  caught 

That  fading  image  to  my  heart — 
And  cried,  "  Oh  Love  !  is  this  thy  doom? 

Oh  light  of  youth's  resplendent  day  ! 
Must  ye  then  lose  your  golden  bloom, 

And  thus,  hke  sunshine,  die  away?" 


SING— SING— MUSIC  WAS  GIVEN. 

Air — The  Humours  of  Ballnmaguiry ;  or,  the  Ola 

Langolee. 
Sing — sing — Music  was  given 
To  brighten  the  gay,  and  kindle  the  loving; 

Souls  here,  like  planets  in  heaven, 
By  harmony's  laws  alone  are  kept  moving. 
Beauty  may  boast  of  her  eyes  and  her  cheeks, 

Bill  love  from  the  lips  his  true  archery  wings ; 
And  she  who  but  feathers  the  dart  when  she  speaks 
At  once  sends  it  home  to  the  heart  when  she  sings 
Then  sing — sing — Music  was  given 
To  brighten  the  gay,  and  kindle  the  loving; 

Souls  here,  like  planets  in  heaven, 
By  harmony's  laws  alone  are  kept  moving. 

When  Love,  rock'd  by  his  mother. 
Lay  sleeping  as  calm  as  slumber  could  make  him 

"  Hush,  hush,"  said  Venus,  "  no  other 
Sweet  voice  but  his  own  is  worthy  to  wake  him." 
Dreaming  of  music  he  slumber'd  the  while, 

Till  flint  from  his  lips  a  soft  melody  broke. 
And  Venus,  enchanted,  look'd  on  with  a  smile, 
While  Love  to  his  own  sweet  singing  awoke ! 
Then  sing — sing — 3Iusic  was  given 
To  brighten  the  gay,  and  kindle  the  loving, 

Souls  here,  like  planets  in  heaven. 
By  harmony's  laws  alone  are  kept  moving. 


1  The  thought  here  was  suggested  by  some  beautiful  linei 
in  Mr.  Rogers's  Poem  of  Human  JJfe,  beginning: 

"  Now  in  the  glimmering,  dying  light  she  grows 
Less  and  less  earthly." 

I  would  quote  the  entire  passage,  but  that  I  fear  to  put  m^ 
own  humble  imitation  of  it  out  of  countenance. 


NATIONAL,  AIRS. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


Ir  is  Cicero,  I  believe,  who  says  "natura  ad  mo- 
des ducimur ;"  and  tlie  abuiulanrc  of  wild  indigenous 
a.rs,  which  almost  every  country  except  England 
possesses,  sulTiciently  proves  the  truth  of  his  asser- 
lion.  The  lovers  of  this  simple  but  interesting  kind 
of  music  are  here  presented  with  the  first  number  of 
a  collection,  which  I  trust  their  contributions  will 
enable  us  to  continue.  A  pretty  air  without  words 
resembles  one  of  those  A/z//' creatures  of  Plato,  which 
are  described  as  wandering,  in  search  of  the  remain- 
der of  themselves,  through  the  world.  To  supply 
this  other  half,  by  uniting  with  congenial  words  the 
many  fugitive  melodies  which  have  hitherto  had  none, 
or  only  such  as  are  unintelligible  to  the  generality  of 
their  hearers,  is  the  object  and  ambition  of  the  pre 
sent  work.  Neither  is  it  our  intention  to  confine 
ourselves  to  what  are  strictly  called  National  Melo- 
dies, but,  wherever  we  meet  with  any  wandering  and 
oeautiful  air,  to  which  poetry  has  not  yet  assigned  a 
worthy  home,  we  shall  venture  to  claim  it  as  an  estray 
swan,  and  enrich  our  humble  Hippocrene  with  its 
song. 

*  ***** 

T.  M. 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 

No.  I. 


A  TEMPLE  TO  FRIENDSHIP.' 

Spanish  Air. 
"  A  TEMPLE  to  Friendship,"  said  Laura,  enchanted, 

"  I  MI  build  in  this  garden — the  thouirht  is  divine  !" 
Her  temple  was  built,  and  she  now  oiily  wanted 

An  image  of  friendship  to  place  on  the  shrine. 
She  flew  to  a  sculptor,  who  set  down  before  her 

A  Friendship,  the  fairest  his  art  could  invent, 
But  so  cold  and  so  dull,  that  the  youthful  adorer 

Saw  plainly  this  was  not  the  idol  she  meant. 

'Oh!  never,"  she  cried,  "could  I  think  of  enshrining 

An  image  whose  looks  are  so  joyless  and  dim  ! 
But  yon  little  god  upon  roses  reclining, 

We'll  make,  if  you  please.  Sir,  a  Friendship  of  him." 
So  the  bargain  was  struck  ;  with  the  little  god  laden 

She  joyfully  flew  to  her  shrine  in  the  grove: 
"Farewell,"  said  the  sculptor,  "you 're  not  the  first 
maiden 

Who  came  but  for  Friendship,  and  took  away  Love." 


1  The  thoi!»lit  is  (i'ken  from  a  song  by  Lo  Priiur   called 
'  Tj«  Statue  <)e  lAmUie." 


FLOW  ON,  THOU  SHINING  RIVER 
Portxifruese  Air. 
Flow  on,  thou  shining  river; 
But,  ere  thou  reach  the  sea, 
Seek  Ella's  bower,  and  give  her 
The  wreaths  I  (ling  o'er  thee. 
And  tell  her  thus,  if  she'll  be  mine, 
The  current  of  our  lives  shall  be, 
With  joys  along  their  course  to  shine. 
Like  those  sweet  flowers  on  thee. 

But  if,  in  wandering  thither. 

Thou  find'st  she  mocks  my  prayer, 
Then  leave  those  wreaths  to  wither 
Upon  the  cold  bank  there. 
And  tell  her — thus,  when  youth  is  o'er 

Her  lone  and  loveless  charms  shall  oe 
Thrown  by  upon  life's  weedy  shore. 
Like  those  sweet  flowers  from  thr.c 


ALL  THAT 'S  BRIGHT  MUST  FADE. 
Indian  Air. 
All  that 's  bright  must  fade,— 

The  brightest  still  the  fleetest; 
All  that 's  sweet  was  made 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest. 
Stars  that  shine  and  fall ; — 

The  flower  that  drops  in  springing 
These,  alas  !  are  types  of  all 

To  which  our  hearts  are  clinging 
All  that 's  bright  must  fade, — 

The  brightest  still  the  fleetest; 
All  that 's  sweet  was  made 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest! 

Who  would  seek  or  prize 

Delights  that  end  in  aching  ? 
Who  would  trust  ti  ties 

That  every  hour  are  breaking? 
Better  far  to  be 

In  utter  darkness  lying, 
Than  be  blest  with  light,  and  see 

That  light  for  ever  flying. 
All  that 's  bright  must  fade, — 

The  brightest  still  the  fleetest; 
All  that 's  sweet  was  made 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest ! 


SO  WARMLY  WE  MET. 

Hungarian  Air. 
So  warmly  we  met  and  so  fondly  we  parted, 

That  which  was  the  sweeter  even  I  could  no*  tell  — 
That  first  look  of  welcome  her  simny  eyes  dar»°d. 

Oj  'hat  tear  of  passion  which  bicss'c'  our  tarewej 

351 


352 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  meet  was  a  heavon,  nnd  to  part  thus  another, — 
Our  joy  ana  our  sorrow  senin'd  rivals  in  bliss; 

Oh  !  Cupid's  two  eyes  are  not  liker  each  other 
In  smiles  and  in  tears,  than  that  moment  to  this. 

The  first  was  like  day-break — new,  sudden,  delicious. 

The  dawn  of  a  pleasure  scarce  kindled  up  yet — 
The  last  was  th:it  farewell  of  daylight,  more  precious. 

More  glowing  and  deep,  as  't  is  nearer  its  set. 
Our  meeting,  tliough  happy,  was  tinged  by  a  sorrow 

To  think  that  such  happiness  could  not  remain  ; 
While  our  parting,  though  sad,  gave  a  hope  that  to- 
morrow 

Would  bring  back  the  blest  hour  of  meeting  again. 


THOSE  EVENING  BETXS. 

Air— The  Bellx  of  St.  Petershurfrh. 
Those  evening  bells  !  those  evening  bells  ! 
How  many  a  tale  their  music  tells, 
Of  youth,  and  home,  and  that  sweet  time, 
When  last  I  heard  their  soothing  chime ! 

Those  joyous  hours  are  past  away  ! 
And  many  a  heart  that  then  was  gay, 
Within  the  tomb  now  darkly  dwells. 
And  hears  no  more  those  evening  bells  ! 

And  so  't  will  be  when  T  am  gone  ; 
That  tuneful  peal  will  still  ring  on. 
While  other  bards  shall  walk  these  dells, 
And  sing  your  praise,  sweet  evening  bells  ! 


SHOULD  THOSE  FOND  HOPES. 
Portuguese  Air. 
'SnoTiLn  those  fond  hopes  e'er  forsake  thee, 

Which  now  so  sweetly  thy  heart  employ ; 
Should  the  cold  world  come  to  wake  thee 

From  all  thy  visions  of  youth  and  joy  ; 
Should  the  gay  friends  for  vvhom  thou  wouldst  banish 

Him  who  once  thought  thy  young  heart  his  own, 
All  like  spring  birds,  falsely  vanish. 

And  leave  thy  winter  unheeded  and  lone ; — 

Oh  !  't  is  then  he  thou  hast  slighted 

Would  come  to  cheer  thee,  when  all  secm'd  o'er  ; 
Then  the  truant,  lost  and  blighted. 

Would  to  his  bosom  be  taken  once  more. 
Like  that  dear  bird  we  both  can  remember, 

Who  left  us  while  summer  shone  round, 
I5ut,  when  chill'd  by  bleak  December, 

Upon  our  threshold  a  welcome  still  found. 


The  bell  of  his  cap  rung  merri'y  out; 

While  Reason  lOok 

To  his  sermon-book — 
Oh  !  which  was  the  plcasantor  no  one  need  doubi 

Beauty,  who  likes  to  be  thought  very  sage, 
Turn'd  for  a  moment  to  Reason's  dull  p;ige, 

Till  Folly  said, 

"  Look  here,  sweet  maid  !" — 
The  sight  of  his  cap  brought  her  back  to  herself, 

While  Reason  road 

His  leaves  of  lead, 
W^itli  no  one  to  mind  him,  poor  sensible  elf! 

Then  Reason  grew  jealous  of  Folly's  gay  cap; 
Had  he  that  on,  he  her  heart  might  entrap — 

"Tliere  it  is," 

Quoth  Folly,  "old  quiz  !" 
But  Reason  the  head-dress  so  awkwardly  wore, 
That  Beauty  now  liked  him  still  less  than  before ; 

WHiile  Folly  took 

Old  Reason's  book. 
And  twisted  the  leaves  in  a  cap  of  such  Ton, 

That  Beauty  vow'd 

(Though  not  aloud,) 
She  liked  him  still  better  in  that  than  his  own ' 


FARE  THEE  WELL,  THOU  LOVELY  ONE 

Sicilian  Air. 
Fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one  ! 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more; 
Once  his  soirl  of  truth  is  gone, 

Love's  sweet  lite  is  o'er. 
Thy  words,  whate'er  their  flattering  spelJ, 

Could  scarce  have  thus  deceived  ; 
But  eyes  that  acted  truth  so  well 

Were  sure  to  be  believed. 
Then,  fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one . 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more; 
Once  his  soul  of  truth  is  gone, 

Love's  sweet  life  is  o'er. 

Yet  those  eyes  look  constant  still, 

True  as  stars  they  keep  their  light; 
Still  those  cheeks  their  pledge  fulfil 

Of  blushing  always  bright. 
'T  is  only  on  thy  changeful  heart 

The  blame  of  falsehood  lies  ; 
Love  lives  in  every  other  part, 

But  there,  alas!  he  dies. 
Then  fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one! 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more  ; 
Once  his  soul  of  truth  is  gone, 

Love's  sweet  life  is  o'er. 


REASON,  FOLLY,  AND  BEAUTY. 

rtalian  Air. 
Reason,  Folly  and  Beauty,  they  say, 
Went  on  a  party  of  pleasure  one  day: 

Folly  play'd 

Aroui  d  ttie  maid, 


1  Ttip 


fire  1  Ttlin  words  is  here  pecesaarily  sncrificed  to 


DOST  THOU  REME3IBER. 

Portuguese  Air. 
Dost  thou  remember  that  place  so  lonely 
A  place  for  lovers  and  lov(;rs  only. 

Where  first  I  told  thee  all  my  secret  sighs  ? 
When  as  the  moon-beam,  that  trembled  o'er  tnee. 
Illumed  thy  blushes,  I  knelt  before  thee. 

Ami  road  my  hope's  sweet  triumph  in  th(,se,  eyes 


NATIONAL  AIRS 


3.53 


Then,  thon,  while  closely  heart  was  drawn  to  heart, 
Love  bound  iis — never,  never  more  to  part ! 

'And  wh(>n  1  call'd  tliee  by  names  the  dearest 
Ttiat  love  could  fancy,  the  fondest,  nearest — 

"  .'My  life,  my  only  life  !"  amoiis;  the  rest; 
In  those  sweet  accents  that  still  enthral  ine, 
Thou  saidst,  "  Ah  !  wherefore  thy  hfe  thus  call  me  ? 

Thy  soul,  thy  soul  "s  the  name  that  I  love  best ; 
'^or  life  soon  passes,  but  how  blest  to  be 
That  soul  which  never,  never  parts  from  thee  !" 


OH !  COME  TO  ME  WHf:N  DAYLIGHT 
SETS. 

Venetian  Air. 
On  !  romc  to  me  when  daylight  se*« ; 

Sweet !  then  come  to  me, 
When  smoothly  go  our  gondolets 

O'er  the  moonlight  sea. 
When  3Iirth  's  awake,  and  Love  begins, 

Beneath  that  glancing  ray, 
With  sound  of  flutes  and  mandolins, 

To  steal  young  hearts  away. 
Oh  I  come  to  me  when  daylight  sets; 

Sweet !  then  come  to  me. 
When  smoothly  go  our  gondolets 

O'er  the  mjonlight  sea. 

Oh !  then  's  the  hour  for  those  who  love. 

Sweet !  like  thee  and  me  ; 
When  all 's  so  calm  below,  above. 

In  heaven  and  o'er  the  sea. 
When  maidens  sing  sweet  barcarolles,' 

And  Echo  sings  again 
So  sweet,  that  all  with  ears  and  souls 

Should  love  and  listen  then. 
So,  come  to  me  when  daylight  sets ; 

Sweet !  then  come  to  me, 
When  smoothly  go  our  gondolets 

O'er  the  moonlight  sea. 


OFT,  IN  THE  STILLY  NIGHT 

Scotch  Air. 
Oft,  in  the  stilly  night. 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Fond  I\Iemory  brings  the  light 
01  other  days  around  me  ; 
The  smiles,  the  tears. 
Of  boyhood's  years. 
The  words  of  love  then  spoken  ; 
The  eyes  that  shone. 
Now  dimm'd  and  gone. 
The  cheerful  hearts  now  broken  ! 
Thus,  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me. 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 


^Mien  I  remember  all 

The  friends,  so  hnk'd  together 
I've  seen  around  me  fall, 

Like  leaves  in  wintry  weather; 
I  feel  like  one 
Who  treads  alone 
Some  banquet-hall  deserted. 
Whose  lights  are  fled, 
Whose  garland  's  dead, 
And  all  but  he  departed! 
Thus,  in  the  stilly  ni^ht. 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  IMemory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 


'."lie  thought  in  ihia  verse  is  borrowed  fnnn  tlio  original 
f  fimisuese  words. 

2  Barcarolles,  sorle  de  chansons  en  langiie  VSnitienne, 
que  rliantiMil  les  gondoliers  a  Venise.-  -Rousseau,  Diction- 
ta>Tr  dc  J\Iii<ique. 

X 


HARK!  THE  VESPER  H^  MN  IS  STEALING 

Riix.tian  Air. 
Hark  !  the  vesper  hymn  is  stealing 

O'er  the  waters,  sofl  and  clear  ; 
Nearer  yet  and  nearer  pealing. 

Jubilate,  .\men. 
Farther  now,  now  farther  stealing, 
Sofl  it  fades  upon  the  ear. 
Jubilate,  Amen. 

Now,  like  moonlight's  waves  retreatirg 

To  the  shore,  it  dies  along; 
Now,  like  angry  .surges  mcetinir, 
Breaks  the  mingled  tide  of  song. 
Jubilate,  Amen. 
Hush  !  again,  like  waves,  retreating 
To  the  shore,  it  dies  along. 
Jubilate,  Amen. 


No.  II. 

LOVE  AND  HOPE. 

5' »;■/.'!,■?  air. 
At  morn,  beside  yon  summer  sea. 

Young  Hope  and  Love  reclined  ; 
But  scarce  hati  noon-tide  come,  when  lia 
Into  his  bark  leap'd  smilingly, 

And  left  poor  Hope  behind. 

"I  go,"  said  Love,  "to  sail  awhile 

Across  this  sunny  main  ;" 
And  then  so  sweet  his  parting  smile, 
That  Hope,  who  never  dream'd  of  gni'lc. 

Believed  he  'd  come  again. 

She  linger'd  there  till  evening's  beam 

Along  the  waters  lay, 
And  o'er  the  sands,  in  thoughtful  dreaiu, 
on  traced  his  name,  which  still  the  streatn 

As  often  wash'd  away. 

At  length  a  sail  appears  in  sight, 
And  toward  the  maiden  moves 
'T  is  Wealth  that  comes,  and  eray  and  bright. 
His  golden  bark  reflects  the  light. 
But  ah  !  It  is  not  Love''» 


354 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Anotner  sail — 't  was  Fnendsh-p  show'd 

Her  night-lamp  o'er  the  sea  ; 
And  calm  the  light  that  lamp  bestow'd  • 
But  Love  had  lights  that  warmer  glow'd, 

And  where,  alas  !  was  he  ? 

Now  fast  around  the  sea  and  shore 
Night  threw  her  darkling  chain. 
The  sunny  sails  were  seen  no  more, 
Hope's  morning  dreams  of  bliss  were  o'er- 
Love  never  came  again ! 


THERE  COMES  A  TIME. 

German  Air. 
There  comes  a  time,  a  dreary  time, 

To  him  whose  heart  hath  flown 
O'er  all  tlie  fields  of  youth's  sweet  prime, 

And  made  each  flower  its  own. 
'Tis  when  his  soul  must  first  renounce 

Those  dreams  so  bright,  so  fond  ; 
Oh  !  then  's  the  time  to  die  at  once, 

For  life  has  nought  beyond. 
There  comes  a  time,  etc. 

^Tien  sets  the  sun  on  Afric's  shore, 

That  instant  all  is  night ; 
And  so  should  life  at  once  be  o'er, 

When  Love  withdraws  his  light — 
Nor,  like  our  northern  day,  gleam  on 

Through  twilight's  dim  delay 
The  cold  remains  of  lustre  gone. 

Of  fire  long  pass'd  away. 

Oh  !  there  comes  a  time,  etc. 


MY  HARP  HAS  ONE  UNCHANGING 
THEME. 

SwedJKh  Air, 
My  harp  has  one  unchanging  theme, 

One  strain  that  still  comes  o'er 
Its  languid  chord,  as  'twere  a  dream 

Of  joy  that 's  now  no  more. 
In  vain  I  try,  with  livelier  air, 

To  wake  the  breathing  string; 
That  voice  of  other  times  is  there, 

And  saddens  all  I  sing. 

Breathe  or.  breathe  on,  thou  languid  strain, 

Henceforth  be  all  my  own  ; 
Though  thou  art  oft  so  full  of  pain, 

Few  hearts  can  bear  thy  tone. 
Yet  oft  llinu'n  sweet,  as  if  the  sigh. 

The  brei'th  that  Pleasure's  wings 
Mave  n  :t.  ^vhen  last  thoy  wantou'd  by. 

Were  still  u))oii  thy  strings. 


OH!  NO— NOT  E'EN  WHEN  FIRST  WE 
LOVED. 

Cnshmcriaji  Air. 

Oh  I  no — not  e'en  when  first  we  loved, 
Wert  thou  as  dear  as  now  thou  art ; 


Thy  beauty  then  my  senses  moved, 
But  now  thy  virtues  bind  my  heart. 

^Vhat  was  but  Passion's  sigh  before. 
Has  since  been  turn'd  to  Reason's  vow 

And,  though  I  then  might  love  tiiee  more 
Trust  me,  I  love  thee  better  now  . 

Although  my  heart  in  earlier  youth 

Might  kindle  with  more  wild  desire. 
Believe  me,  it  has  gain'd  in  truth 

Much  more  tlian  it  has  lost  in  fire. 
The  flame  now  warms  my  inmost  core, 

That  then  but  sparkled  o'er  my  brow; 
And,  though  I  seem'd  to  love  thee  more, 

Yet,  oh  !  I  love  thee  better  now. 


PEACE  BE  AROUND  THEE. 

Scotch  Air. 
Peace  ^e  rrojnd  thee,  wherever  thou  revest 

May  life  be  for  thee  one  summer's  day. 
And  all  that  thou  wishest,  and  all  that  thou  lovesi 

Come  smiling  around  thy  sunny  way ! 
If  sorrow  e'er  this  calm  should  break, 

May  even  thy  tears  pass  off  so  lightly; 
Like  spring-showers,  they'll  only  make 

The  smiles  that  follow  shine  more  brightly. 

May  Time,  who  sheds  his  blight  o'er  all, 

And  daily  dooms  some  joy  to  death, 
O'er  thee  let  years  so  gently  fall. 

They  shall  not  crush  one  flower  beneath  ! 
As  half  in  shade  and  half  in  sun, 

This  world  along  its  path  advances, 
May  that  side  the  sun  's  upon 

Be  all  that  e'er  shall  meet  thy  glances ! 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  GENIUS 

Frenrh  Air. 
While  I  touch  the  siring. 

Wreath  my  brows  with  laurel, 
For  the  tale  I  sing. 

Has,  for  once,  a  moral. 
Common  Sense,  one  night, 

Though  not  used  to  gambols, 
Went  out  by  moonlight, 

With  Genius  on  his  rambles. 

While  I  touch  the  string,  etc. 

Common  Sense  went  on. 

Many  wise  things  saying, 
While  the  light  that  shone 

Soon  set  Genius  straying. 
Oiif  his  eye  ne'er  raised 

From  the  path  before  him, 
'T  (il.her  idly  gazed 
On  each  night-cloud  o'er  him. 

While  I  touch  the  string,  eto 

So  they  came,  at  last. 

To  a  shady  river ; 
Common  Sense  soon  pass'd, 

Safe,  as  he  doth  ever  ; 
While  the  boy,  whose  look 

Was  in  heaven  that  minute. 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


855 


Never  paw  the  brook, 

But  tumbled  headlong  in  it  I 

While  I  touch  the  string,  etc. 

How  the  wise  one  smiled. 

When  safe  o'er  the  torrent, 
At  that  youth,  so  wild. 

Dripping  from  the  current ! 
Sense  went  home  to  bed  ; 

Genius,  left  to  shiver 
On  the  bank,  't  is  said, 

Died  of  that  cold  river ! 

While  I  touch  the  string,  etc. 


THEN,  FARE  THEE  WELL! 

Old  English  Air. 
Then,  fare  thee  well !  my  own  dear  love, 

Thi*  world  has  now  for  us 
No  greater  grief,  no  pain  above 
The  pain  of  parting  thus,  dear  love!  the  pain  of  part- 
ing thus  ' 

Had  we  but  known,  since  first  we  met, 

Some  few  short  hours  of  bliss. 
We  might,  in  numbering  them,  forget 
The  deep,  deep  pain  of  this,  dear  love !  the  deep,  deep 
pain  of  this  ! 

But,  no,  alas  !  we've  never  seen 
One  glimpse  of  pleasure's  ray, 
But  still  there  came  some  cloud  between, 
And  chased  it  all  away,  dear  love!  and  chased  it  all 
away ! 

Vet,  e'en  cou;d  those  sad  moments  last, 

Far  dearer  to  n;y  heart 
Were  hours  of  grief,  together  past. 
Than  years  of  mirth  apart,  dear  love  !  than  years  of 
mirth  apart ! 

Farewell !  our  hope  was  born  in  fears. 

And  nursed  'mid  vain  regrets  ! 
Like  winter  suns,  it  rose  in  tears, 
like  them  in  tears  it  sets,  dear  love !  like  them  in 
tears  it  sets  ' 


GAILY  SOUNDS  THE  CASTANET. 

Maltese  Air. 
Gaily  sounds  the  castanet. 

Beating  time  to  bounding  feet. 
When,  after  daylight's  golden  set, 

Maids  and  youths  by  moonlight  meet. 
Oh  !  then,  how  sweet  to  move 

Through  all  that  maze  of  mirth, 
Lighted  by  those  eyes  we  love 

Beyond  all  eyes  on  earth. 

Then,  the  joyus  banquet  spread 

On  the  cool  and  fragrant  ground. 
With  night's  bright  eye-beams  overhead, 

And  still  brighter  sparkling  round. 
Oh  !  then,  how  sweet  to  say 

Into  the  loved  one's  ear. 
Thoughts  reserved  through  many  a  day 

To  be  thus  whisper'd  here. 


When  the  dance  and  feast  are  done, 

Arm  in  arm  as  home  we  stray. 
How  sweet  to  see  the  dawning  sun 

O'er  her  checks'  warm  blushes  play 
Then,  then  the  farewell  kiss. 

And  words  whose  parting  tone 
Lingers  still  in  dreams  of  bliss. 

That  haunt  young  hearts  alone. 


LOVE  IS  A  HUNTER-BOY 

Languedocian  Air. 
Love  is  a  hunter-boy, 

Who  makes  young  hearts  his  prey, 
And  in  his  nets  of  joy 

Ensnares  thorn  night  and  dav 
In  vain  conceal'd  they  lie — 

Love  tracks  thom  every  where ; 
In  vain  aloft  they  fly — 

Love  shoots  them,  flying  there 

But 't  is  his  joy  most  sweet. 

At  early  dawn  to  trace 
The  print  of  Beauty's  feet. 

And  give  the  trembler  chase. 
And  most  he  loves  through  snow 

To  trace  those  footsteps  fair. 
For  then  the  boy  doth  know 

None  track  d  before  him  there. 


COME,  CHASE  THAT  STARTING  TEAE 
AWAY. 

French  Air. 
Come,  chase  that  starting  tear  away, 

Ere  mine  to  meet  it  springs  ; 
To-night,  at  least,  to-night  be  gay, 

Whate'er  to-morrow  brings  I 
Like  sunset  gleams,  that  linger  late 

When  all  is  dark'ning  fast. 
Are  hours  like  these  we  snatch  from  Fate — 

The  brightest  and  the  last. 

Then,  chase  that  starting  tear,  etc. 

To  gild  our  dark'ning  life,  if  Heaven 

But  one  bright  hour  allow. 
Oh  !  think  that  one  bright  hour  is  given, 

In  all  its  splendour,  now  ! 
Let's  live  it  out — then  sink  in  night, 

Like  waves  tliat  from  the  shore 
One  minute  swell — arc  touch'd  with  light 

Then  lost  for  evt^more. 

Then,  chase  that  starting  tear,  etc 


JOYS  OF  YOUTH,  HOW  FLEETING 

Pnrlugufse  Air. 
Whisp'rings,  heard  by  wakeful  maid&<. 

To  whom  the  night-stars  euide  us — 
Stolen  walks  through  moonlight  shade* 
With  those  we  love  beside  us. 
Hearts  beating,  at  meeting, — 
Tears  startnig,  at  parting; 
Oh  !  sweet  youth,  how  soon  it  fades '. 
Sweet  joys  of  youth,  how  fleetiwr 


356 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


HEAR  ME  BUT  ONCE. 

French  Air. 
Hear  me  but  once,  while  o'er  the  grave, 

In  which  our  love  lies  cold  and  dead, 
I  count  each  flatt'ring  hope  he  gave. 

Of  joys  now  lost  and  charms  now  fled. 
Who  could  have  thought  the  smile  he  wore. 

When  first  we  met,  would  fade  away? 
Or  that  a  chill  would  e'er  come  o'er 

Those  eyes  so  bright  through  many  a  day  ? 


No.  III. 

WHEN  LOVE  WAS  A  CFHLD. 

Swedish  Air. 
Whe.v  Love  was  a  child,  and  went  idling  round 

'Mong  flowers  the  whole  summer's  day, 
One  morn  in  the  valley  a  bower  he  found, 

So  sweet,  it  allured  him  to  stay 

O'erhead,  from  the  trees,  hung  a  garland  fair 

A  fountain  ran  darkly  beneath — 
T  was  Pleasure  that  hung  the  bright  flowers  up  there; 

Love  knew  it,  and  jump'd  at  the  wreath. 

But  Love  didn't  know — and  at  his  weak  years 

Wiiat  urchin  was  likely  to  know? — 
That  Sorrow  had  made  of  her  own  salt  tears 

Tiiat  fountain  which  murmur'd  below. 

He  caught  at  the  wreath — but  with  too  much  haste, 

As  boys  when  impatient  will  do — 
It  fell  in  those  waters  of  briny  taste, 

And  the  flowers  were  all  wet  through. 

Vet  this  is  the  wreath  he  wears  night  and  day, 

And,  though  it  all  sunny  appears 
vVith  Pleasure's  own  lustre,  each  leaf,  they  say, 

Still  tastes  of  the  Fountain  of  Tears. 


SAY,  WHAT  SHALL  BE  OUR  SPORT 
TO-DAY? 

Sicilian  Air. 
S\Y  what  shall  be  our  sport  to-day  ? 

There  's  nothing  on  earth,  in  sea,  or  air, 
Too  bright,  too  bold,  too  high,  too  gay, 

For  spirits  like  mine  to  dare  ! 
'T  is  like  the  returning  bloom 

Of  those  days,  alas  !  gone  by. 
When  I  loved  each  hour — I  scarce  knew  whom, — 

And  was  blcss'd — 1  scarce  knew  why. 

Ay,  those  were  days  when  life  had  wings, 

And  flew — oh,  flew  so  wild  a  height, 
That,  like  the  lark  which  sunward  springs, 

'T  was  giddy  with  too  much  light; 
And,  though  of  some  plumes  bereft, 

With  that  sun,  too,  nearly  set, 
''ve  enough  of  light  and  wing  still  left 

Ft  a  few  gay  soarings  yet. 


BRIGHT  BE  THY  DREAMS  • 

Welch  Air. 
Bright  be  thy  dreams — may  all  thy  weepinq 
Turn  into  smiles  while  thou  art  sleeping : 
Those  by  death  or  seas  removed. 
Friends,  who  in  thy  spring-time  knew  thee. 

All  thou  'st  ever  prized  or  loved, 
In  dreams  come  smiling  to  thee  ! 

There  may  the  child,  whose  love  lay  deepest, 
Dearest  of  all,  come  while  thou  sleepest ; 
Still  the  same — no  charm  forgot — 
Nothing  lost  that  life  had  given  • 

Or,  if  changed,  but  changed  to  what 
Thou  'It  find  her  yet  in  Heaven  . 


GO,  THEN— 'TIS  VAIN. 

Sicilian  Air. 
Go,  then — 't  is  vain  to  hover 

Thus  round  a  hope  that's  dead ! 
At  length  my  dream  is  over, 

'T  was  sweet — 't  was  false — 't  is  fled 
Farewell ;  since  nought  it  moves  thee. 

Such  truth  as  mine  to  see, — 
Some  one,  who  far  less  loves  thee, 

Perhaps  more  bless'd  will  be. 

Farewell,  sweet  eyes,  whose  brightness 

New  life  around  me  shed  ! 
Farewell,  false  heart,  whose  lightness 

Now  leaves  me  deatn  instead  . 
Go,  now,  those  charms  surrender 

To  some  new  lover's  sigh. 
One  who,  though  far  less  tender. 

May  be  more  bless'd  than  I. 


THE  CRYSTAL  HUNTERS. 

Swiss  Air. 

O'er  mountains  bright  whh  snow  and  light 

We  Crystal  Hunters  speed  along, 
While  grots  and  caves,  and  icy  waves, 

Each  instant  echo  to  our  song  ; 
And,  when  we  meet  with  stores  of  gems. 
We  grudge  not  kings  their  diaaems. 
O'er  mountains  bright  with  snow  and  light. 

We  Crystal  Hunters  speed  along. 
While  grots  and  caves,  and  icy  waves, 

Each  instant  echo  to  our  song. 

No  lover  half  so  fondly  dreams 
Of  sparkles  from  his  lady's  eyes. 

As  we  of  those  refreshing  gleams 
That  tell  where  deep  the  crystal  lies ; 

Though,  next  to  crystal,  we  too  grant 

That  ladies'  eyes  may  most  enchant. 
O'er  mountains,  etc. 

Sometimes,  when  o'er  the  Alpine  rose, 
The  gol(l(>n  sunset  l(!avos  its  ray. 

So  like  a  gem  the  llow'n^t  glows. 
We  thither  bend  our  headlong  way; 


NATIONAL  AIRS 


337 


And,  though  we  find  no  treasure  there, 
We  bless  the  rose  that  shines  so  fair. 
O'er  mountains,  etc. 


ROW  GENTLY  HERE 

Venetian  Air. 

Row  gently  here,  my  goudohcr;  so  softly  wake  the 

tide. 
That  not  an  ear  on  earth  mrv  hear,  but  hers  to  whom 

we  glide 
Had  Heaven  but  tongues  to  speakj  as  well  as  starry 

eyes  to  sec. 
Oh !  think  what  tales  't  would  h:a-e  to  tell  of  wand'ring 

youths  like  me ! 

Now  res'  thee  here,  my  gondolier;  hush,  hush,  for 

up  I  go. 
To   climb  yon   light  balcony's   height,  while   thou 

keep'st  watch  below. 
Ah  I    did  we  take  for  heaven  above  but  half  such 

pains  as  we 
Take  day  and  night  for  woman's  love,  what  angels 

we  should  be  ! 


OH!  DAYS  OF  YOUTH. 

French  Air. 

On  !  days  of  youth  and  joy,  long  clouded, 

\Miy  thus  for  ever  haunt  my  view  ? 
When  in  the  grave  your  light  lay  shrouded. 

Why  did  not  Memory  die  there  too? 
Vainly  doth  Hope  her  strain  now  sing  me, 

Whispering  ol'joys  that  yet  remain — 
No,  no,  never  can  this  lil'e  bring  me 

One  joy  ^hat  equal's  youth's  sweet  pain. 

Dim  lies  the  way  to  death  before  me. 

Cold  winds  of  Time  blow  round  mj'  brow  ; 
Sunshine  of  youth  that  once  fell  o'er  me, 

Where  is  your  warmth,  your  glory  now  ? 
'T  is  not  that  then  no  pain  could  sting  me — 

'T  is  not  that  now  no  joys  remain  ; 
Oh  !  it  is  that  life  no  more  can  bring  me 

One  joy  so  sweet  as  that  worst  pain. 


WHEN  FIRST  THAT  SMILE. 

Venetian  Air. 

When  first  that  smile,  like  sunshine,  bless'd  my  sight. 

Oh  !  what  a  vision  then  came  o'er  me  ! 
Long  years  of  love,  of  calm  and  pure  delight, 

Secm'd  in  that  smile  to  pass  before  me.« 
Ne'er  did  the  peasant  dream,  ne'er  dream  of  summer 
skies. 

Of  golden  fruit  and  harvests  springing. 
With  fonder  hope  than  I  of  those  sweet  eyes. 

And  of  the  joy  their  light  was  bringing. 

Where  now  are  all  those  fondly  promised  hours  ? 

Oh  I  woman's  faith  is  like  her  brightness, 
Fading  as  fast  as  rainbows  or  day-flowers. 

Or  auglii  that 's  known  for  grace  and  lightness. 


Short  as  the  Persian's  prayer,  his  prayer  at  closo  at 
day, 
Must  be  each  vow  of  Love's  repeating ; 

Quick  let  him  worship  Beauty's  precious  ray- 
Even  while  he  kneels  that  ray  is  fleeting ! 


PEACE  TO  THE  SLU3IBERERS ! 

Culaloninn  Air. 

Peace  to  the  slumberers  ! 

They  lie  on  the  battle  plain. 
With  no  shroud  to  cover  I  hem  ; 

The  dew  and  the  sJimmer  rain 
Are  all  that  weep  over  them. 

Vain  was  their  bravery  ! 

The  fallen  oak  lies  where  it  lay, 
Across  the  wintry  river; 

But  brave  hearts,  once  swept  away, 
Are  gone,  alas  !  for  ever. 

Woe  to  the  conqueror! 

Our  limljs  shall  lie  as  cold  as  tlieirs 
Of  whom  his  sword  bereft  us, 

Ere  we  forget  the  deep  arrears 
Of  vengeance  they  have  left  us  ! 


WHEN  THOU  SHALT  WANDER 

Siciliati  Air. 
When  thou  shalt  wander  by  that  sw-eet  light 

We  used  to  gaze  on  so  many  an  eve. 
When  love  was  new  and  hope  was  bright, 

Ere  I  could  doubt  or  thou  deceive — 
Oh  !  then,  remembering  how  swift  went  b}- 
Those  iiours  of  transport,  even  thou  may'st  sigU 

Yes,  proud  one  !  even  thy  heart  may  own 
That  love  like  ours  was  far  too  sweet 

To  be,  like  summer  garments  thrown  aside 
When  past  the  summer's  heat ; 

And  wish  in  vain  to  know  again 

Such  days,  such  nights,  as  bless'd  thee  then. 


WHO'LL  BUY  MY  LOVE-KNOTS t 

Portuguese  Air. 
Hymen  late,  his  love-knots  selling, 
Call'd  at  many  a  maiden's  dwelling  : 
None  could  doubt,  who  saw  or  knew  them, 
Hymen's  call  was  welcome  to  them. 

"  Who  '11  buy  my  love-knots  ? 

Who  '11  buy  my  love-knots  ?" 
Soon  as  that  sweet  cry  resounded. 
How  his  baskets  were  surrounded  ! 

Maids  who  now  first  dream'd  of  trymj. 
These  gay  knots  of  Hymen's  tying ; 
Dames,  who  long  had  sat  to  watch  him 
Passing  by,  but  ne'er  could  catch  him  ;- 

"Who  '11  buy  my  love-knots  ? 

Who  '11  buy  my  love-knots  ?" 
All  at  that  sweet  cry  assembled  ; 
Some  laugh'd,  some  hlush'd.  and  some  tremMed 


358 


"MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"  Here  are  knots,"  said  Hymen,  taking 
Some  loose  flowers,  "  of  Love's  own  making ; 
Here  are  gold  ones — you  may  trust  'em" — 
^Tne»e,  of  course,  found  ready  custom.) 

"  Come  buy  my  love-knots  ! 

Come  buy  my  love-knots  ! 
Some  are  labell'd  '  Knots  to  tie  men' — 
'Love  the  maker' — '  Bought  of  Hymen.'  " 

Scarce  their  bargains  were  completed. 
When  the  nymphs  all  cried,  "  We  're  cheated  ! 
See  these  flowers — they  're  drooping  sadly ; 
This  gold-knot,  too, -ties  but  badly — 

Who  'd  buy  such  love-knots  ? 

Who  'd  buy  such  love-knots  ? 
Even  this  tie,  with  Love's  name  round  it — 
All  a  sham — he  never  bound  it." 

Love,  who  saw  the  whole  proceeding. 
Would  have  laugh'd,  but  for  good-breeding; 
While  Old  Hymen,  who  was  used  to 
Cries  like  that  these  dames  gave  loose  to — 

"Take  back  niir  love-knots  ! 

Take  back  our  love-knots  !" — 
Coolly  said,  "  There  's  no  returning 
Wares  on  Hymen's  hands — Good  morning  !" 


SEE,  THE  DAWN  FROM  HEAVEN, 
Sung  at  Rome,  mi  Christmas  Eve. 

See,  the  dawn  from  heaven  is  breaking  o'er  our  sight, 

And  Earth,  from  sin  awaking,  hails  the  sight ! 

See,  those  groups  of  Angels,  winging  from  the  realms 

above. 
On  their  sunny  brows  from  Eden  bringing  wreaths 

of  Hope  and  Love. 

Hark — their  hymns  of  glory  pealing  through  the  air, 

To  mortal  ears  revealing  who  lies  there  ! 

(n  that  dwelling,  dark  and  lowly,  sleeps  the  heavenly 

Son, 
He.  whose  home  is  in  the  skies, — the  Holy  One ! 


No.  TV. 


NETS  AND  CAGES. 
Swedish  air. 
Come,  listen  to  my  story,  while 

Your  needle's  task  you  ply  ; 
At  what  I  sing  some  maids  will  smile, 

While  some,  perhaps,  may  sigh. 
Though  Love's  the  theme,  and  Wisdom  blames 

Such  florid  songs  as  ours, 
Yet  Truth,  sometimes,  like  eastern  dames, 

Can  speak  her  thoughts  by  flowers. 
Then  listen,  maids,  come  listen,  while 

Your  needle's  task  you  ply  ; 
At  what  I  sing  there  's  some  may  smile, 

While  some,  perhaps,  will  sigh. 

Young  Cloe,  bent  on  catchinjj  Loves, 
Such  nets  had  loarn'd  to  frame, 


That  none,  in  all  our  vales  and  groves 

Ere  caught  so  much  small  game . 
While  gentle  Sue,  less  given  to  roam, 

When  Cloe's  nets  were  taking 
These  flights  of  birds,  sat  still  at  home, 

One  small,  neat  Love-cage  making. 
Come,  listen,  maids,  etc. 

Much  Cloe  laugh'c"  ^t  Susan's  task; 

But  mark  how  things  went  on: 
These  hght-caught  Loves,  ere  you  could  ask 

Their  name  and  age,  were  gone  ! 
So  weak  poor  Cloe's  nets  were  wove, 

That,  though  she  charm'd  into  them 
New  game  each  hour,  the  youngest  Love 

Was  able  to  break  through  them. 
Come,  listen,  maids,  etc. 

Meanwhile,  young  Sue,  whose  cage  was  w  rough 

Of  bars  too  strong  to  sever. 
One  Love  with  golden  pinions  caught, 

And  caged  him  there  for  ever ; 
Instructing  thereby,  all  coquettes, 

Whate'er  their  looks  or  ages. 
That,  though  't  is  pleasant  weaving  Nets, 

'T  is  wiser  to  make  Cages. 
Thus,  maidens,  thus  do  I  beguile 

Tlie  task  your  fingers  ply — 
May  all  who  hear,  like  Susan  smQe, 

Ah  !  not  like  Cloe  sigh ! 


WHEN  THROUGH  THE  PlAZZETTA 

Venetian  Air. 
When  through  the  Piazzetta 

Night  breathes  her  cool  an. 
Then,  dearest  Ninetta, 

I  '11  come  to  thee  there. 
Beneath  thy  mask  shrouded, 

I  '11  know  thee  afar. 
As  Love  knows,  though  clouded. 

His  own  Evening  Star. 

In  garb,  then,  resembling 

Some  gay  gondolier, 
I  '11  whisper  thee  trembling, 

"Our  bark,  love,  is  near  : 
Now,  now,  while  there  hover 

Those  clouds  o'er  the  moon, 
'T  will  waft  thee  safe  over 

Yon  silent  Lagoon." 


GO,  NOW,  AND  DREAM. 

Sicilia7i  Air. 
Go,  now,  and  dream  o'er  that  joy  in  thy  slumber 
Moments  so  sweet  again  ne'er  shalt  thou  number 
Of  Pain's  bitter  draught  the  flavour  never  flies. 
While  Pleasure's  scarce  touches  the  lip  ere  it  dies 

That  moon,  which  hung  o'er  your  parting,  so  splendid, 
Often  will  shine  again,  bright  as  she  then  did — 
Hut,  ah  !  never  more  will  the  beam  she  saw  burn 
In  those  happy  eyes  at  your  meeting  itturn 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


859 


TAKE  HENCE  THE  BOWL. 

Ncapolilati  Air, 
Takk  henoe  the  bowl ;  though  beamiii| 

Brightly  as  bowl  e're  shone, 
Oh !  it  but  sets  me  dreaming 

Of  days,  of  nights  now  gone. 
There,  in  its  clear  reflection, 

As  in  a  wizard's  glass. 
Lost  hopes  and  dead  affection. 

Like  shades,  before  me  pass. 

Each  cup  I  drain  brings  hither 

Some  friend  who  once  sat  by — 
Bright  lips,  too  bright  to  wither, 

Warm  hearts,  too  warm  to  die  ! 
Till,  as  the  dream  comes  o'er  me 

Of  those    ~ng  vanish'd  years. 
Then,  then  the  cup  before  me 

Seems  turning  all  to  tears. 


FAREWELL,  THERESA. 

Venetian  Air. 

Farewell,  Theresa!  that  cloud  which  over 
Von  moon  this  moment  gath'riiig  we  see, 

Shall  scarce  from  her  pure  path  have  pass'd,  ere  thy 
lover 
Swift  o'er  the  wide  w-ave  shall  wander  from  thee. 

Long,  like  that  dim  cloud,  I  "ve  hung  around  thee, 

Dark'ning  thy  prospects,  sadd'niiig  tliy  brow ; 
With  gay  heart,  Theresa,  and  bright  cheek  i  found 
thee ; 
Oh!  think  how  changed,  love,  how  changed  art 
thou  now ! 

6ut  here  I  free  thee:  like  onp  awaking 
From  fearful  slumber,  this  dream  thou'lt  tell ; 

The  bright  moon  her  spell  too  is  tireaking. 
Past  are  the  dark  clouds  ;  Theresa,  farewell ! 


HOW  OFT  WHEN  WATCHING  STARS 

Savoyard  Air. 

How  oft,  when  watching  stars  grow  pale. 

And  round  me  sleeps  the  moonlight  scene. 
To  hear  a  flute  through  yonder  vale 

I  from  my  casement  lean. 
"Oh!  come,  my  love !"  each  note  it  utters  seems  to 

say; 
"  Oh !  come,  my  .ove  '  the  night  wears  fast  away ! 
No,  ne'er  to  mortal  car 

Can  words,  though  warm  they  be. 
Speak  Passion's  language  half  so  clear 
As  do  those  notes  to  me  ! 

Then  quick  my  own  light  lute  1  seek. 

And  strike  the  chords  with  loudes  swell ; 
4nd,  though  they  nought  to  others  speak, 

He  knows  their  language  well 


"  1  come,  my  love !"  each  sound  they  utter  seems  lo 

say ; 
"  1  conic,  my  love  !  thine,  thine  till  break  of  diy  *■ 
Oh  !  weak  the  power  of  words. 

The  hues  of  painting  dim. 
Compared  to  wliat  those  simple  chords 
Then  say  and  paint  to  him. 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SUM.MKR  BEE 
German  Air. 
When  the  first  summer  bee 

O'er  the  young  rose  shall  hover. 
Then,  like  tliat  gay  rover, 
I'll  come  to  thee. 
He  to  flowers,  I  to  lips,  full  of  sv/oets  to  the  Lriro— 
What  a  meeting,  what  a  meeting  for  me  and  him  '. 

Then,  to  every  bright  tree 
In  the  garden  ht  '11  wander 
W'hilc  I,  oh  !  much  fonder. 
Will  stay  with  thee. 
In  search  of  new  sweetness  through  thousands  he  '' 

run. 
While  I  find  the  sweetness  of  thousands  in  one. 


THOUGH  'T  IS  ALL  BUT  A  DREAM 

French  Air 
Though  't  is  all  but  a  dreim  at  the  besi, 

And  still  when  happiest  soonest  o'er, 
Yet,  even  in  a  dream  to  be  bless'd 

Is  so  sweet,  that  I  ask  for  no  more. 
The  bosom  that  opes  with  earliest  hopes, 

The  soonest  finds  those  hopes  untrue. 
As  flowers  that  first  in  spring-time  burst. 

The  earliest  wither  too  ! 

Ay — 't  is  all  but  a  dream,  etc. 

By  friendship  we  oft  arc  deceived, 

And  find  the  love  we  clung  to  past; 
Yet  friendship  will  still  be  believed. 

And  love  trusted  on  to  the  last. 
The  web  in  the  leaves  the  spider  weaves 

Is  like  the  charm  Hope  hangs  o'er  men  j 
Though  often  she  sees  it  broke  by  the  breeze, 

She  spins  the  bright  tissue  again. 
Ay — 't  is  all  but  a  dream,  etc. 


•T  IS  WHEN  THE  CUP  IS  SMILING. 

Italian  Air. 
'T  IS  when  the  cup  is  smiling  before  us. 

And  we  pledge  round  to  liearts  that  are  true,  ooj 
true, 
That  the  sky  of  this  life  opens  o'er  us, 

And  Heaven  gives  a  glimpse  of  its  blue. 
Talk  of  Adam  in  Eden  reclining. 

We  are  better,  far  better  oft"  thus,  b<)y,  tntis; 
For  him  but  tvo  bright  eyes  were  shining — 

See  what  numbers  are  soarkling  for  us ' 


360 


MOoRf'S  WORKS 


Wr.eii  on  ore  side  tlie  grape-juice  is  dancing, 

Aad  on  t'  other  a  blue  eye  beams,  boy,  beams, 
T  IS  enougli,  t'vvixt  the  wine  and  the  glancing, 

To  disturb  even  a  saint  from  his  dreams. 
Tiiough  this  life  like  a  river  is  flowing, 

!  care  not  how  fast  it  goes  on,  boy,  on, 
VMjle  the  grape  on  its  bank  still  is  growing. 

And  such  eyes  light  the  waves  as  they  run. 


WHERE  SHALL  WE  BURY  OUR 
SHA3IE? 

Neapolitan  Air. 

Where  shall  we  bury  our  ehame  ? 

Where,  in  what  desohte  place, 
Hide  the  last  wreck  of  a  name 

Broken  and  stain'd  by  disgrace? 
Death  may  dissever  the  chain, 

Oppression  will  cease  when  we're  gone : 
But  the  dishonour,  the  stain. 

Die  as  we  may,  will  live  on 

Was  it  for  this  we  sent  out 

Liberty's  cry  from  our  shore? 
Was  it  for  this  that  her  shout 

Thrill'd  to  the  world's  very  core  ? 
Thus  to  live  cowards  and  slaves. 

Oh  !  ye  free  hearts  that  lie  dead ! 
Do  you  not,  e'en  in  your  graves. 

Shudder,  as  o'er  >ou  we  ;;-?ad? 


NE'ER  TALK  OF  WISDOM'S  GLOOMY 
SCHOOLS. 

Mahratta  Air. 
Ne'er  talk  of  Wisdom's  gloomy  schools; 

Give  me  the  sage  who  's  able 
To  draw  his  moral  thoughts  and  rules 

From  the  sunshine  of  the  table  ; — 
Who  learns  how  lightly,  fleetly  pass 

This  world  and  all  that 's  in  it, 
From  the  bumper  that  but  crowns  his  glass, 

And  is  gone  again  next  minute. 

The  diamond  sleeps  within  the  mine, 

The  pearl  beneath  the  water, — 
While  Truth,  more  precious,  dwells  in  wine, 

The  grape's  own  rosy  daughter ! 
And  none  can  prize  her  charms  like  hini, 

Oh !  none  like  him  obtain  her, 
Who  thus  can,  like  Leander,  swim 

Throrgh  sparkUng  floods  to  gain  her  ! 


HERE  SLEEPS  THE  BARD! 

Highland  Air. 
Here  sleeps  the  Bard  who  knew  so  well 
All  the  sweet  windings  of  Apollo's  shell, 
Whether  its  music  roH'd  like  torrents  near 
Or  died,  like  distant  streamlets,  on  the  ear  ! 
Sleep,  mute  Bard  !  unheeded  now, 
The  storm  and  zephyr  sweep  thy  lifeless  brow  ;-- 
That  storm,  whose  rush  is  like  thy  martial  lay  ; 
That  breeze  which,  like  thy  love-song,  aics  awaf 


SACRED  SONGS. 


TO  THE  REV.  THOMAS  PARKINSON,  D.  D. 

4RCHtEACO.V  OF  LEICESTER,    CHANCELLOR    OF  CHESTER,  AND  RECTOR  OF  KEGWORTIl 


BV  HIS  OBLIGED  AND  FAITHFUL  FRIEND, 


Sloperton  Cottage,  Devizes,  May  22,  1824. 


TII03IAS  MOORE 


No.   I. 

THOU  ART,  OH  GOD! 

Air — Unknown.' 

"The  clay  is  thine ;  t!>e  nignt  also  is  thine :  thou  hiist  pre- 
Oiirod  the  light  and  the  sun. 

"Thou  hast  set  all  the  borders  of  the  earth;  thou  hast 
madesuiiiiiier  and  winter." — Psalm  Ixxiv.  16,  17. 

Tnoa  art,  oh  God  !  the  life  and  light 
Of  all  this  wondrous  world  we  see  ; 

Its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night, 
Are  but  reflections  caught  from  thea 

Where'er  we  turn  thy  glories  shine, 

And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  Thine  ! 

When  Day,  with  farewell  beam,  delays 
Among  the  opening  clouds  of  Even, 

\nd  we  can  almost  think  we  gaze 
Through  golden  vistas  into  heaven — 

Those  hues,  that  make  the  sun's  decline 

So  soft,  so  radiant,  Lord  !  are  Thine. 

When  Night,  with  wings  of  starry  gloom, 
O'ershadows  all  the  earth  and  skies, 

Like  some  dark,  beauteous  bird,  whose  plume 
Is  sparkling  with  unnumbered  eyes — 

That  sacred  gloom,  those  fires  divine, 

So  grand,  so  countless,  Lord  !  are  Thine. 

When  youthful  Spring  around  us  breathes, 
Thy  Spirit  warms  her  fragrant  sigh  ; 

And  every  flower  the  Summer  wreathes 
Is  born  beneath  that  kindling  eye. 

Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shine. 

And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  Thine  ! 


THIS  WORI D  IS  ALL  A  FLEETING  SHOW. 

Air — Stevenson. 
This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show, 
For  man's  illusion  given  ; 

I  1  have  hoard  that  this  air  is  hy  iho  late  Mrs.  Sheridan. 
It  is  sun;;  to  the  beautiful  old  words,  "I  do  confess  Ihou'rt 
smoilli  and  fair." 


The  smiles  of  Joy,  the  tears  of  Woe, 
Deceitful  shine,  deceitful  flow — 
There 's  nothing  true  but  heaven  ! 

And  false  the  light  on  Glory's  plume, 

As  fading  hues  of  Even ; 
And  Love,  and  Hope,  and  Beauty's  bloutn 
Are  blossoms  gather'd  for  the  tomb, — 

There 's  nothing  bright  but  heaven  ! 

Poor  wanderers  of  a  stormy  day. 

From  wave  to  wave  we're  driven, 
And  fancy's  flash,  and  Reason's  ray. 
Serve  but  to  light  the  troubled  way — 
There  's  nothing  calm  but  heaven ! 


FALLEN  IS  THY  THRONE 

Air — Martini. 
Fallen  is  thy  throne,  oh  Israel ! 

Silence  is  o'er  thy  plains  ; 
Thy  dwellings  all  lie  desolate, 

Thy  children  weep  in  chains. 
Where  are  the  dews  that  fed  thee 

On  Etham's  barren  shore  ? 
That  fire  from  heaven  which  led  thee, 

Now  lights  thy  path  no  more. 

Lord  !  thou  didst  love  Jerusalem — 

Once  she  was  all  thy  own ; 
Her  love  thy  fairest  heritage,' 

Her  power  thy  glory's  throne  :* 
Till  evil  came,  and  blighted 

Thy  long-loved  olive-tree;' 
And  Salem's  shrijies  were  lighted 

For  other  Gods  than  Thee  ! 

Then  sunk  the  star  of  Solyma — 
Then  pass'd  her  glory's  day, 

Like  heath  that,  in  the  wilderness,* 
The  wild  wind  whirls  away. 


1  "I  have  left  mine  heritage;  I  have  given  the  dearlvM 
loved  of  my  soul  into  the  bunds  of  her  enemies." — JeremiaX 
.\ii.  7. 

2  "  Do  not  disgrace  the  throne  of  thy  glory." — Jc^  xiv.  21. 

3  "The  Loid  c:ilhd  thy  name  a  green  olive-tree;  fa'' 
and  of  goodly  fruit,"  etc. — Jfr.  .\i.  Ifi. 

4  "For  he  shall  be  like  the  heath  in  the  doscr'.' — Jf 
xvii.  6. 

3G1 


362 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


**iient  and  waste  her  bowers, 
Where  once  the  mighty  trod. 

And  Slink  those  glibly  towers, 
While  Baal  reign'd  as  God ! 

"Go," — said  the  Lord — "Ye  conquerors! 

Steep  in  her  blood  your  swords. 
And  rase  to  earth  her  battlements,' 

For  they  are  not  the  Lord's  ! 
Till  Zion's  mournful  daughter 

O'er  kindred  bones  shall  tread, 
And  Hinnom's  vale  of  slaughter^ 

Shall  hide  but  half  her  dead !" 


WHO  IS  THE  MAID? 

ST.  JEROME'S  LOVE.3 
Air — Beethoven. 

Who  is  the  maid  my  spirit  seeks, 

Through  cold  reproof  and  slander's  blight? 
Has  she  Love's  roses  on  her  cheeks  ? 

Is  her's  an  eye  of  this  world's  light? 
No, — wan  and  sunk  with  midnight  prayer 

Are  the  pale  looks  of  her  I  love  ; 
Or  if,  at  times,  a  light  be  there. 

Its  beam  is  kindled  from  above. 

I  chose  not  her,  my  soul's  elect, 

From  those  who  seek  their  Maker's  shrine 
In  gems  and  garlands  proudly  deck'd, 

As  if  themselves  were  things  divine! 
No — Heaven  but  faintly  warms  the  breast 

That  beats  beneath  a  broider'd  veil ; 
And  she  who  comes  in  glittering  vest 

To  mourn  her  frailty,  still  is  frail.* 

Not  so  the  faded  form  I  prize 

And  love,  because  its  bloom  is  gone  ; 
The  glory  in  those  sainted  eyes 

Is  all  the  grace  her  brow  puts  on. 
And  ne'er  was  Beauty's  dawn  so  bright, 

So  touching  as  that  form's  decay, 
\Vhich,  like  the  altar's  trembling  light, 

In  holy  lustre  wastes  away  ! 


THE  BIRD,  LET  LOOSE. 

Air — Beethoven. 
The  bird,  let  loose  in  eastern  skies. 
When  hastening  fondly  home, 


Ne'er  stoops  to  earth  her  wing,  nor  flies 

Where  idle  warblers  roam. 
But  high  she  shoots  through  air  and  light, 

Above  all  low  delay, 
Where  nothing  earthly  bounds  her  flight. 

Nor  shadow  dims  her  way. 

So  grant  nie,  God  !  from  every  care 

And  stain  of  passion  free, 
Aloft,  through  Virtue's  purer  air, 

To  hold  my  course  to  Thee  ! 
No  sin  to  cloud — no  lure  to  stay 

My  Soul,  as  home  she  springs  ; — 
Thy  sunshine  on  her  joyful  way, 

Thy  freedom  in  her  wings  ! 


1  "Take  away  her  balllRmenls;  for  they  are  not  the 
Li>rd's." — Jer.  v.  10. 

2  "  Therefore,  behiild,lhe  diiy.s  come,  snilli  the  Lonl,  that 
t  shall  no  more  bo  called  Tophet,  nor  the  Valley  of  the  Son 

of  Ilinnom,  but  the  Viilley  of  Slaughter ;  for  they  shall  bury 
in  Tophet  till  there  bo  no  place." — Jer.  vii.  32. 

3  These  lines  were  suggested  by  a  passage  in  St.  .lerome's 
reply  to  some  caluiTinioiis  remarks  that  had  been  circulated 
upon  his  intimacy  with  the  niatrim  Patda  : — "  Numquid  me 
vo-!tPs  sericiB,  nitentcH  gemmiK,  picta  facies,  aut  auri  rapuit 
umbitio  ?  Nulla  fiiit  alia  Romie  matronanitn,  qua:  meam 
poBsit  edomare  mentein,  nisi  hi!»ens  atque  jejununs,  Hetu 
nene  cajcata."—  ICpisl.  "  ■S;  liln  pui/tm." 

4  Ou  yctf)  5jpu<r(i?op!ii'T>|i/  J«xpu3u(r«v  Sti. —  Chrysost. 
Homil.  8  in  Epist.  ad  Tim. 

.*)  The  carrier-pigeon,  it  is  well  known,  flies  at  an  elevated 
pitrh,  in  order  to  surmount  every  obstacle  between  her  and 
Oi»  idR.ee  to  which  she  is  destined. 


OH !  THOU  WHO  DRY'ST  THE  MOURN- 
ER'S TEAR ! 

Air — Haydn. 

"  He  healeth  the  broken  in  heart,  and  bindeth  up  ihor 
wounds." — Psalm  c.xlvii.  3. 

Oh  !  Thou  who  dry'st  the  mourner's  tear 

How  dark  this  world  would  be. 
If,  when  deceived  and  wounded  here, 

We  could  not  fly  to  Thee. 
The  friends  who  in  our  sunshine  live, 

When  winter  comes,  are  flown ; 
And  he  who  has  but  tears  to  give, 

3Iust  weep  those  tears  alone. 
But  Thou  wilt  heal  that  broken  heart, 

Wliich,  like  the  plants  that  throw 
Their  fragrance  from  the  wounded  part, 

Breathes  sweetness  out  of  woe. 

When  joy  no  longer  soothes  or  cheers. 

And  even  the  hope  tnat  threw 
A  moment's  sparkle  o'er  our  tears, 

Is  dimm'd  and  vanish'd  too  ! 
Oh  !  who  would  bear  life's  stormy  doom, 

Did  not  thy  wing  of  love 
Come,  brightly  wafting  through  the  gloom 

Our  peace-branch  from  above  ? 
Then  sorrow,  touch'd  by  Thee,  grows  bright 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray  ; 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 

We  never  Saw  by  day  ! 


WEEP  NOT  FOR  THOSE. 

Air — AvisoN. 
Weep  not  for  those  whom  the  veil  of  the  tomb. 

In  life's  happy  morning,  hath  hid  from  our  i-yes 
Ere  sin  throw  a  blight  o'er  the  spirit's  young  bloom, 

Or  earth  had  profaned  what  was  born  for  the  skies 
Death  chill'd  the  Oiir  fountain  ere  sorrow  had  stain'd  it, 

'Twas  frozen  in  all  the  pure  light  of  its  course, 
And  but  sleeps  till  the  sunshine  of  heaven  has  un- 
chain'd  it. 

To  water  that  Eden  whore  first  was  its  source! 
Weep  not  for  those  whom  the  veil  of  the  tomb. 

In  life's  liajijiy  morning,  liath  hid  from  oui  cye» 


SACRED  SONGS. 


363 


Ere  sin  inrcw  a  blight  o'er  the  spirit's  young  bloom, 
Or  eanh  had  profaned  what  was  born  for  the  skies. 

Mourn  not  for  her,  the  young  Bride  of  the  Vale,' 

Our  gayest  and  loveliest,  lost  to  us  now. 
Ere  life's  early  lustre  had  time  to  grow  pale. 

And  the  garland  of  love  was  yet  fresh  on  her  brow ! 
Oh  !  then  was  her  moment,  dear  spirit,  for  flying 

From  tliis  gloomy  world,  while  its  gloom  was  un- 
known— 
And  the  wild  hymns  she  warbled  so  sweetly,  in  dying. 

Were  echoed  in  heaven  by  lips  like  her  own  ! 
Weep  not  for  her, — in  her  spring-time  she  flew 

To  that  land  where  the  wings  of  the  soul  are  un- 
furl'd, 
And  now,  like  a  star  beyond  evening's  cold  dew. 

Looks  radiantly  down  on  the  tears  of  this  world. 


THE  TURF  SHALL  BE  MY  FRAGRANT 
SHRINE. 

Air — Stevenson. 
The  turf  shall  be  my  fragrant  shrine ; 
My  temple,  I-ord  !  tliat  Arch  of  thine  ; 
My  censer's  breath  the  mountain  airs. 
And  silent  thoughts  my  only  prayers.^ 

My  choir  shall  be  the  moonlight  waves, 
When  murmuring  homeward  to  their  caves, 
Or  when  the  stillness  of  the  sea. 
Even  more  than  music,  breathes  of  Thee  ! 

I  '11  seek,  by  day,  some  glade  unknown, 
All  light  and  silence,  like  thy  throne  ! 
And  the  pale  stars  shall  be,  at  night, 
The  only  eyes  that  watch  my  rite. 

Thy  heaven,  on  which  't  is  bliss  to  look, 
Shall  be  my  pure  and  shining  book. 
Where  I  shall  read,  in  words  of  flame, 
The  glories  of  thy  wondrous  name. 

I  '11  read  thy  anger  in  the  rack 

That  clouds  awhile  the  day-beam's  track ; 

Thy  mercy  in  the  azure  hue 

Of  sunny  brightness  breaking  through  ! 

There  's  nothing  bright,  above,  below. 
From  flowers  that  bloom  to  stars  that  glow, 
But  in  its  light  my  soul  can  see 
Some  feature  of  the  Deity  ! 

There  's  nothing  dark,  below,  above, 
But  in  its  gloom  I  trace  thy  love. 
And  meekly  wait  that  moment  when 
Thy  touch  shall  turn  all  bright  again  ! 


1  This  seconil  versf,  which  [  wrote  lung  after  the  first, 
Hlliiiles  to  the  fate  of  a  very  lovely  and  ainiublo  girl,  tin: 
daughtei  of  the  late  t^'oloiii'l  Bainbrigge,  who  was  married 
m  Ashbourne  church,  Oi:tober  31,  Idio,  and  died  of  a  fever 
in  a  lew  weeks  after:  the  sound  of  her  marriage-bells  seem- 
ed scarcely  out  of  our  ears  when  we  heard  of  her  death. 
Iiuring  her  last  delirium  shu  »ui.ij  several  hymns,  in  a  voice 
even  clearer  and  sweeter  than  usual,  and  among  them  were 
some  from  the  present  collection  (()articularly,  "There  "s 
nothinj  hrialit  but  lieaven,")  which  this  very  interesting 
girl  hail  often  heard  during  the  summer. 

'2  Pii  orant  tacite. 


SOUND  THE  LOUD  TIMBREL. 

MIKIAM'S  SONG. 

Air — AvisoN.' 

"  And  Miriam,  the  Prophetess,  the  sister  of  Aaron,  took  • 
timbrel  in  her  hand  ;  and  all  the  women  went  oat  aPer  her 
with  timbrels  and  with  dancer." — F.xod.  xv.  20. 

Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea! 
Jehovah  has  tritimph'd, — his  people  arc  free. 
Sing — for  the  pride  of  the  tyrant  is  broken, 

Ilis  chariots,  his  horsemen,  all  splendid  and  brave — 
How  vain  was  their  boasting ! — The  Lord  hath  but 
spoken. 

And  chariots  and  horsemen  are  sunk  in  the  wave. 
Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Eerypt's  dark  sea ! 
Jehovah  has  triumph'd, — his  people  are  free. 

Praise  to  the  Conqueror,  praise  to  the  Lord ! 

His  word  was  our  arrow,  his  breath  was  our  uword  !— 

Who  shall  return  to  tell  Egypt  the  story 

Of  those  she  sent  forth  in  the  hour  of  her  pride  T 
For  the  Lord  hath  look'd  out  from  his  pillar  of  glory,* 

And  all  her  brave  thousands  are  dash'd  in  the  tide 
Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Eijypt's  dark  sea ! 
Jehovah  has  triumph'd, — his  people  are  free. 


GO,  LET  ME  WEEP! 

Air — Stevenson. 
Go,  let  me  weep !  there  's  bliss  in  tears, 

When  he  who  sheds  them  inly  feels 
Some  lingering  stain  of  early  years 

Effaced  by  every  drop  that  steals. 
The  frtiitless  showers  of  worldly  woe 

Fall  dark  to  earth,  and  never  rise ; 
While  tears  that  from  repentance  flow 

In  bright  exhalement  reach  the  skies 
Go,  let  me  weep !  there  's  bliss  in  tears 

When  he  who  sheds  them  inly  feels 
Some  lingering  stain  of  early  years 

Eflaced  by  every  drop  that  steals. 

Leave  me  to  sigh  o'er  hours  that  flew 

More  idly  than  the  summer's  wind, 
And,  while  they  pass'd,  a  fragrance  thre 

But  left  no  trace  of  sweets  behind. — 
The  warmest  sigh  that  pleasure  heaves 

Is  cold,  is  faint  to  those  that  swell 
The  heart  where  ptire  repentance  grieves 

O'er  hours  of  pleasure  loved  too  well ! 
Leave  me  to  sigh  o'er  days  that  flew 

More  idly  than  the  sununer's  wind. 
And,  while  they  pass'd,  a  fragrance  threw 

But  left  no  trace  of  sweets  behind. 


1  I  have  so  altered  the  character  of  this  air,  w^lch  i« 
from  the  beginning  of  one  of  Avison's  old-fasliiontil  con- 
certos, that,  without  this  acknowledgment,  it  could  hurdlr 
I  think,  be  recognised. 

2  "  And  it  came  to  pas*,  that,  in  the  morning-watch,  Iho 
Lord  looked  uiuo  the  host  of  the  Egyptians,  through  tne 
pillar  of  lire  and  of  the  cloud,  and  trou'jled  the  host  of  lh« 
Kgyptians." — EzoU.  xiv.24. 


3G4 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


COME  NOT,  OH  LORD! 

Air — Haydn. 
Come  not,  oh  Lo>d  !  in  tbti  dr^ad  robe  of  splendour 

Thou  worest  on  the  ]\Iount,  in  the  day  of  thine  ire  ; 
Come  veil'd  in  those  shadow  s,  deep,  awful,  but  tender, 

Which  Mercy  flings  over  thy  features  ol  fire  ! 

Lord !  thou  rememberest  the  night,  when  thy  nation 
ytood  fronting  her  foe  by  the  red-rolling  stream  ; 

On  Egypt-  thy  pillar  frown'd  dark  desolation, 
While  Israel  bask'd  all  the  night  in  its  beam. 

So,  when  the  dread  clouds  of  anger  enfold  thee. 

From  us,  in  thy  mercy,  the  dark  side  remove ; 
Whde  shrouded  in  terrors  the  guilty  behold  thee, 

Oh !  turn  upon  us  the  mild  light  of  thy  Love ! 


WERE  NOT  THE  SINFUL  MARY'S  TEARS. 

Air — Stevemson. 
Were  not  the  sinful  3iary's  tears 

An  offering  worthy  heaven. 
When  o'er  the  faults  of  former  years 

She  wept — and  wis  forgiven  ? — 

When,  bringing  every  balmy  sweet 

Her  day  of  luxury  stored. 
She  o'er  her  Saviour's  hallo w'd  feet 

The  precious  perfumes  pour'd ; — 

And  wiped  them  witli  that  golden  hair, 

Where  once  the  diamond  shone. 
Though  now  those  gems  of  grief  were  there 

Which  shine  for  God  alone  ! 

Were  not  those  sweets  so  humbly  shed, — 
That  hair — those  weeping  eyes, — 

And  the  sunk  heart,  that  inly  bled, — 
Heaven's  noblest  sacrifice  ? 

Thou  that  hast  slept  in  error's  sleep. 
Oh  wouldst  thou  wake  in  heaven, 

Like  Mary  kneel,  like  Mary  weep, 
"  Love  much"^ — and  be  forgiven  ! 


AS  DOWN  IN  THE  SUNLESS   RETREATS. 

Air — Haydn. 

As  down  in  the  sunless  retreats  of  the  ocean, 

Sweet  flowers  are  springing  no  mortal  can  sec, 

S'',  deep  in  my  soul  the  still  prayer  of  devotion, 

Unheard  by  the  world,  rises  silent  to  thee. 

My  God  !  silent  to  thee — 

Pure,  warm,  silent,  to  thee  : 

So,  deep  in  my  soul  the  still  prayer  of  devotion, 

Unheard  bv  the  world,  rises  silent  to  thee ! 

1  '■  And  it  f;:inii'  bclw(M!n  the  cam|>  of  the  Kgyptians  nnci 
the  cam))  of  Israel;  iir)il  it  was  a  cloiui  and  darkness  to 
them,  1)111  it  save  light  by  iiij.'hl  to  these;."— Kxo(i.  xiv.  20. 
My  appliciiliiin  of  this  passiiije  is  linivowed  from  some  laie 
pr<"iO  writer,  whose  niiine  I  am  ungriitel'ul  enough  to  forget. 

2  Iiisloiid  of"  On  Fijiypt"  hi^ri',  it  will  suit  the  music  hot- 
ter to  sing  "On  these;"  and  in  the  third  line  of  the  next 
»orse,  "  VVhile  shruiided"  may,  with  the  same  view,  be  ul- 
(■rcd  to  "  While  wrapp'd." 

.?  "  Iler  sins,  which  are  many,  are  forgiven  ;  for  she  loved 
ou'ih." — St.  Luke  vii.  47. 


As  still  to  the  -"t:.-  c*"  its  worship,  though  clouded, 

The  needle  points  faithfully  o'er  the  dim  sea. 

So,  dark  as  I  roam,  in  this  wintry  world  shrouded 

The  hope  of  my  spirit  ti-nis  trembling  to  thee. 

My  God  !  trembling  to  thee — 

True,  fond,  tremblii!^,  to  ihce  : 

So,  dark  as  I  roam,  in  this  wintry  \\orld  s^-ouded. 

The  hope  of  my  spirit  turns  trembling  t^  tii^c ! 


BUT  WHO  SHALL  SEE. 

Air — Stevenson. 
But  who  shall  see  the  glorious  day ; 

When,  throned  on  Zion's  brow, 
The  Lord  shall  rend  that  veil  away 

WTiich  hides  the  nations  now  I' 
When  earth  no  more  beneath  the  fear 

Of  his  rebuke  shall  lie;^ 
When  pain  shall  cease,  and  every  tear 

Be  wiped  from  every  eye  !' 

Then,  Judah  !  thou  no  more  shalt  mourL 

Beneath  the  heathen's  chain  ; 
Thy  days  of  splendour  shall  return, 

And  all  be  new  again.'' 
The  Fount  of  Life  shall  then  be  quaff'd 

In  peace,  by  all  who  come  !^ 
And  every  wind  that  blows  shall  waft 

Some  long-lost  exile  home! 


ALMIGHTY  GOD ! 

CHORUS  OF  PRIESTS. 
Air — Mozart. 
Almightv  God  !  when  round  thy  shrine 
The  palm-tree's  heavenly  branch  we  twine,^ 
(Emblem  of  Life's  eternal  ray. 
And  Love  that  "  fiideth  not  away,") 
We  bless  the  flowers,  expanded  all,' 
We  bless  the  leaves  that  never  fall, 
And  trembling  say,  "  In  Edon  I'^us 
The  Tree  of  Lit'e  may  flower  for  us !" 

When  round  thy  cherubs,  smiling  calm 
Without  their  flames,^  we  wreath  the  palm, 


1  "  ,\nd  he  will  destroy  in  this  mountain  the  face  of  the 
covering  cast  over  all  people,  and  the  veil  that  is  spread 
over  all  nations  " — Isaiah  xxv.  7. 

2  ■'  The  rebuke  of  his  people  shall  he  take  away  from  ofl 
all  the  earth." — Isaiah  xxv.  8. 

3  "  And  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  llieir  eyes  , 
neither  sliiill  there  be  any  more  pain." — licv.  xxi.  4. 

4  "  And  he  that  sat  upon  ihe  throne  said,  Beliold,  1  makt 
all  things  new." — Hev.  xxi.  .5. 

5  "And  whosoever  wdl,  let  him  take  the  water  of  life 
fieily." — lirv.  xxii.  17. 

(i  "The  Scriptures  having  declared  that  the  Temple  of 
,Iorus:ili'm  was  a  type  of  the  Messiah,  it  is  na'ural  to  con- 
clude that  the  Palms,  which  made  so  consjiicuous  a  figure 
in  that  struftnre,  represented  that  f.ifc  and    [mniurtaliHj 

'  icli  were  brought  to  light  by  the  Gospel." — Obscrvationn 
on  t/ii;  P/ilrn,  as  a  sacred  ICiiildrm,  by  W.  Tiglie. 

7  "  And  he  carved  all  the  walls  of  Ihe  house  round  about 
ith  carved  figures  of  cherubims,  and  palm-trees,  and  open 

ftdwrrs." — 1  Kinirs  vi.  29. 

8  "  When  llie  passoverof  the  taberniirles  was  revealed  to 
the  great  law-giver  in  Ihe  mount,  then  the  cherubic  imiigos 
wliii'h  appeared  in  that  strut-lure  wore  no  longer  surrounded 
by  flames;  for  the  tabernacle  was  a  type  of  the  dispensation 
of  mercy,  by  which  Ji^hovah  confirmed  his  gracious  covh 
n-iiil  to  redeem  mankind." — Obscrvatiuns  on  the  Palm 


SACRED  SONGS. 


aoo 


Oh  (iod!  we  (eel  the  emblem  true, — 
Thy  mercy  is  etPrnal  too  ! 
Tlio.se  cheriil)s  wiiii  tlioir  smiling  eyes, 
That  crown  of  palm  which  never  dies, 
Are  but  the  types  of  thee  above — 
Eternal  Life,  and  Peace,  and  Love ! 


OH  FAIR!  OH  PUREST! 

SAINT  AUGUSTINK  TO  FlIS  SISTER.J 
Air — Moore. 
Oh  fair!  oh  purest!  be  thou  the  dove 
That  flies  alone  to  some  sunny  grove. 
And  lives  unseen,  and  batlies  her  wing, 
All  vestal  white  in  the  limpid  spring. 
There,  if  the  hovering  hawk  be  near 
That  limpid  spring  in  its  mirror  clear 
Reflects  him  ere  he  can  reach  his  prey 
And  warns  the  timorous  bird  away. 

Oh  !  be  like  this  dove; 
Oh  fair  I  oli  purest !  be  like  this  dove. 

The  sacred  pages  of  God's  own  book 
Shall  be  the  spring,  the  eternal  brook, 
In  whose  holy  mirror,  night  and  day. 
Thou  wilt  study  Heaven's  retieeted  ray: — 
And  should  the  foes  of  virtue  dare. 
With  gloomy  wing,  to  seek  thee  there. 
Thou  wilt  see  how  dark  their  shadows  lie 
Between  heaven  and  thee,  and  trembling  fly! 

Oh  !  be  like  the  dove; 
Oh  fair !  oh  purest !  be  like  the  dove. 


No.  II. 

ANGEL  OF  CHARITY. 

Air — Handel. 
Angel  of  Charity,  who  from  above 

Comest  to  dwell  a  pilgrim  here, 
Thy  voice  is  music,  thy  smile  is  love. 

And  pity's  soul  is  in  thy  tear  ! 
When  on  the  shrine  of  God  were  laid 

First-fruits  of  all  most  good  and  fair, 
That  ever  grew  in  Eden's  shade. 

Thine  was  the  holiest  olfering  there  ! 

Hope  and  her  sister.  Faith,  were  given 
But  as  our  guides  to  yonder  sky ; 

Soon  as  they  reach  the  verge  of  heaven. 
Lost  in  that  blaze  of  bliss,  they  die.^ 


1  III  St.  .Au^naline's  insitise  U|)<in  llic  aiiv.nnta^ns  of  a 
solitary  life,  u<l.lrc>ssi'(l  to  his  sisier,  there  is  the  following 
funcilul  (liissage,  Iroin  which  the  Ihought  of  this  song  was 
taken: — "Te,  soror,  nuntiiiiiin  nolo  esse  sccurani,  sed  ti- 
mere,  semperriUK  luain  fiagiiitatein  liabcre  stispectam,  ad 
instar  pavidffi  columha?  frcciuentaro  rivos  a(iu:iriim  et  (|uasi 
in  .speculo  accipilris  crrnore  supeivolantis  effigiein  et  cu- 
Tore.  Rivi  !i<|iiarnni  sentential  sunt  scriptururum,  qua;  de 
impidissimo  sapientia  fonle  proflUL-ntes,"  etc.  etc. — De  Vit. 
F.remi'  ad  Sororcm. 

2  ■■  Then  Faith  shall  fail,  and  holy  Hope  shall  die, 
'^ae  lost  ir  certainty,  and  one  in  joy."-  Prior. 


But  long  as  Love,  almighty  Love, 
Shall  on  his  throne  of  thrones  abide, 

Thou  shalt,  oh  !  Charity,  dwell  ibove, 
Smiling  for  ever  by  his  side. 


BEHOLD  THE  SUN 
Air — Lord  Mor.vi.ngton. 
Behold  the  sun,  how  bright 

From  yonder  east  he  springs, 
As  if  the  soul  of  life  and  light 
Were  breathing  from  his  wings. 

So  bright  the  gospel  broke 

Upon  the  souls  of  men  ; 
So  fresh  the  dreaming  world  awoke 

In  truth's  full  radiance  then  ! 

Before  yon  sun  arose. 

Stars  cluster'd  through  the  sky — 
But  oh  how  dim,  how  pale  were  those, 

To  his  one  burning  eye  ! 

So  truth  lent  many  a  ray. 

To  bless  the  Pagan's  night — 
But,  Lord,  how  weak,  how  cold  were  they 

To  thy  one  glorious  light ! 


LORD,  WHO  SHALL  BEAR  THAT  DAY 

Air — Dr.  Bovce. 

Lord,  who  shall  bear  that  day,  so  dread,  so  splendid 

When  we  shall  see  thy  angel  hovering  o'er 
This  sinful  world,  with  hand  to  heaven  extended. 

And  hear  him  swear  by  thee  that  time  's  no  more? 
When  earth  shall  see  thy  fast-consuming  ray — 
Who,  mighty  God,  oh  who  shall  bear  that  day  ? 

When  thro'  the  world  thy  awful  call  hath  sounded— 
"  Wake,  oh  ye  dead,  to  jud jmc  nt  wake,  ye  dead  !"* 

And  from  the  clouds,  by  seraph  eyes  surrounded. 
The  Saviour  shall  put  forth  his  radiant  head;' 

While  earth  and  heaven  before  him  pass  away — * 

Who,  mighty  God,  oh  who  shall  bear  that  day  ? 

When,  with  a  glance,  the  eternal  Judge  shall  sever 
Earth's  evil  spirits  from  the  pure  and  bright, 

And  say  to  those,  "  Depart  from  me  for  ever!" 
To  tliese,  "  Come,  dwell  with  me  in  endless  light  !"• 


1  "And  the  Angel  which  I  saw  stand  upon  the  .sea  and 
upon  the  earth,  lilted  up  liis  hand  to  heaven,  and  swarc  by 
Him  that  livelh  for  ever  and  ever,  that  there  should  be  time 
no  longer." — Rev.  x.  5,  ti. 

2  "  .Awake,  ye  dead,  and  come  to  judsment." 

3  "  They  shall  see  the  Son  of  Man  coming  in  the  cloudj 
of  heaven, — and  all  tlie  angels  with  him." — Matt,  .xxiv  'M, 
and  x.vv.  ."^1. 

4  "  From  his  face  the  earth  and  the  heaven  fled  away." 
— lirv.  x\.  11. 

5  "  .And  before  him  shall  be  gathered  all  nations,  and  H« 
shall  separate  Ihein  one  from  anolher. 

"  Then  shall  the  king  say  unto  them  on  hia  right  han.J 
Come,  ye  blessed  of  my  Father,  inherit  the  kingdom  pr»- 
parrd  for  you,  etc. 

"Then  shall  he  say  also  unto  them  on  the  left  hand,  Dtr 
part  from  me,  ye  cursed,  eio. 

"  And  these  shall  go  away  into  everlasting  punishment 
but  the  righteous  into  life  eternal." — JUatt.  xxv.  3i,  et  set 


366 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


WTien  each  and  all  in  silence  take  their  way — 
Who,  mighty  God,  oh  wlio  shall  bear  that  day  ? 


OH !  TEACH  ME  TO  LOVE  THEE. 
Air — Haydn. 

Oh  !  tea-^h  me  to  love  thee,  to  feel  what  thou  art, 
rill,  fill'd  with  the  one  sacred  image,  my  heart 

Shall  other  passions  disown — 
Like  some  pure  temple  that  shines  apart, 

Reserved  for  thy  worship  alone ! 

In  joy  and  in  sorrow,  through  praise  and  through 

blame. 
Oh  still  let  me,  living  and  dying  the  same, 

In  thy  service  bloom  and  decay — 
Like  some  lone  altar,  whose  votive  flame 

In  holiness  wasteth  away  I 

Though  born  in  this  desert,  and  doom'd  by  my  birth, 
To  pain  and  affliction,  to  darkness  and  dearth, 

On  thee  let  ray  spirit  rely — 
Like  some  rude  dial,  that,  fix'd  on  earth. 

Still  looks  for  its  light  from  the  sky! 


WEEP,  CHILDREN  OF  ISRAEL. 

Air — Stevenson. 
Weep,  weep  for  him,  the  man  of  God — ' 

In  yonder  vale  he  sunk  to  rest. 
But  none  of  earth  can  point  the  sod* 
That  flowers  above  his  sacred  head. 
Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep  ! 

Ilis  doctrines  fell  like  heaven's  rain,' 
His  words  refresh'd  like  heaven's  dew- 

Oh,  ne'er  shall  Israel  see  again 
A  chief  to  God  and  her  so  true. 
Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep  I 

Remember  ye  his  parting  gaze. 

His  farewell  song  by  .lordan's  tide, 

When,  full  of  glory  and  of  days, 

He  saw  the  promised  land — and  died  !* 
Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep  ! 

Yet  died  he  not  as  men  who  sink, 
Uctbre  our  eyes,  to  soulless  clay; 

But,  changed  to  spirit,  like  a  wink 
Of  summer  lightning,  pass'd  away!' 
Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep  ! 


1  "Ami  the  cliililrcn  of  Israel  wept  for  Moaos  in  tlic 
pliiins  1)1'  Moalj."— /^e«£.  xxxiv.  8. 

ii  "  Ami  lif  liiirind  him  in  a  valley  in  the  land  of  Moab ; 
bill  no  niiiii  KiiDvvelh  of  his  sepulchre  unto  this  day." — lOid. 
vt;r.  '). 

3  "  My  doctiine  shall  drop  as  the  rain,  my  speech  shall 
distil  as  ihe  dew."— Muses'  Sovfr. 

4  "  1  have  caused  Tliee  to  sne  it  with  thine  eyes,  hut  thou 
Bhiilt  not  go  over  thither."— Ver.  5. 

5  "  As  he  was  going  to  enihrace  Rlenzcr  and  Joshua,  and 
was  still  discoursiiif!  with  lhi;n),  ii  cloud  stood  over  him  on 
Ihe  siidiler  and  he  disappcrui'd  in  a  certain  valley,  although 
hr)  wrote  ui  the  lloi"  Books,  that  he  died,  winch  was  done 
3Ul  of  fear,  I'St  they  slioul.l  vcnlnri!  to  say  that,  because  of 
ms  /•.•ilraordninrv  virtue,  ho  .vent  to  God." — Juscphus,  Book 
V.  chap,  vni 


LIKE  MORNING,  WHEN  HER  EARL\ 
BREEZE. 

Air — Beethoven. 
Like  morning,  when  her  early  breeze 
Breaks  up  the  surface  of  the  seas, 
That,  in  their  furrows,  dark  with  night, 
Her  hand  may  sow  the  seeds  of  light- 

Thy  grace  can  send  its  breathings  o  ct 
The  spirit,  dark  and  lost  before. 
And,  freshening  all  its  depths,  prepare 
For  truth  divine  to  enter  there  ! 

Till  David  touch'd  his  sacred  lyre," 
In  silence  lay  the  unbreathing  wire- 
But  when  he  swept  its  chords  along. 
Even  angels  stoop'd  to  hear  that  song 

So  sleeps  the  soul,  til!  thou,  O  Lord, 
Shall  deign  to  touch  its  lifeless  chord — 
Till,  waked  by  thee,  its  breath  shall  rise 
In  music,  worthy  of  the  skies  ' 


COME,  YE  DISCONSOLATE. 

Air — German. 
Come,  ye  disconsolate,  where'er  you  languish, 
Come,  at  the  shrine  of  God  fervently  kneel; 
Here  bring  your  wounded  hearts,  here  tell  your  Jin 
guish— 
Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  heal. 

Joy  of  the  desolate,  light  of  the  straying, 

Hope,  when  all  others  die,  fadeless  and  pure, 

Here  speaks  the  Comforter,  in  God's  name  sajring — 
"  Earth  has  no  sorrows  that  Heaven  cannot  cure 

Go,  ask  the  infidel,  what  boon  he  brings  us, 
What  charm  for  aching  hearts  he  can  reveal, 

Sweet  as  that  heavenly  promise  Hope  sings  us — 
"  Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  God  cannot  heal." 


AWAKE,  ARISE,  THY  LIGHT  IS  COME. 

Air — Stevenson. 
Awake,  arise,  thy  light  is  come;' 

The  nations,  that  before  outshone  thee, 
Now  at  thy  feet  lie  dark  and  dumb — 

The  glory  of  the  Lord  is  on  thee ! 

Arise — the  Gentiles,  to  thy  ray. 

From  every  nook  of  earth  shall  cluster; 

And  kings  and  princes  haste  to  pay 
Their  homage  to  thy  rising  lustre.* 

Lift  up  thine  eyes  around,  and  see. 

O'er  foreign  lields,  o'er  farthest  waters, 

Thy  exiled  sons  return  to  thee. 

To  thee  return  thy  home-sick  daughters.* 


1  "  Arise,  shine  ;  for  thy  light  is  come,  and  the  glory  of 
the  Lor<l  is  risen  upon  thi'e." — Isaiah  \\. 

i>  "  And  the  Gentiles  shall  come  to  thy  light, and  Rings  to 
the  brightness  of  thy  risuig." — Isaiah  Ix. 

3  "  Lilt  up  thine  eyes  roundabout  and  see;  nil  Iheygathet 
themselves  logeiher,  they  come  to  thee:  thy  sons  shall  com* 
from  uTir,  and  thy  diuighiers  shall  be  nursed  at  th>  side  " — lb 


SACRED  SONGS. 


367 


And  camels  rich,  from  Midian's  tents, 
Shall  lay  their  treasures  down  before  thee  ; 

And  Saba  bring  her  gold  and  scents. 
To  fill  thy  air,  and  sparkle  o'er  thee.' 

See  who  are  these  that,  like  a  clond,^ 
Are  gathering  from  all  earth's  dominions, 

Like  doves,  long  absent,  when  ailovv'd 
Homeward  to  shoot  their  trembling  pinions. 

Surely  the  isles  shall  wait  for  me,' 

The  ships  of  Tarshish  round  will  hover, 

To  bring  'hy  sons  across  the  sea, 
And  wa/t  their  gold  and  silver  over. 

And  I^banon,  thy  pomp  shall  grace — * 
The  fir,  the  pine,  the  palm  victorious 

Shall  beautify  our  Holy  Place, 

And  make  the  ground  I  tread  on  glorious. 

No  more  shall  discord  haunt  thy  ways,' 
Nor  ruin  waste  thy  cheerless  nation ; 

Rut  thou  shalt  call  thy  portals.  Praise, 
And  thou  shalt  name  tliy  walls,  Salvation. 

The  sun  no  more  shall  make  thee  bright,^ 
Nor  moon  shall  lend  her  lustre  to  thee ; 

But  God  Himself  shall  be  thy  Light, 
And  fiash  eternal  glory  through  thee. 

Thy  sun  shall  never  more  go  down  ; 

A  ray,  from  heav'n  itself  descended, 
Shall  light  thy  everlasting  crown — 

Thy  days  of  mourning  all  arc  ended.' 

My  own,  elect,  and  righteous  Land  ! 

The  Branch,  for  ever  green  and  vernal. 
Which  I  have  planted  with  this  hand — 

Live  thou  shalt  in  Life  Eternal.^ 


THERE  IS  A  BLEAK  DESERT. 

Air — Crescentini. 
There  is   a  bleak   Desert,   where  daylight  grows 

weary 
Of  wasting  its  smile  on  a  region  so  dreary — 

What  may  that  Desert  be  ? 
Tis  Life,  cheerless  Life,  where  the  few  joys  that  come 
Are  lost,  like  that  daylight,  for  't  is  not  their  home. 


1  "  Tilt'  multiluiie  of  camels  shall  cover  thee;  the  drome- 
daries of  Miilian  and  Ephah;  all  ihey  from  Sheba  shall 
come  ;  tiiKy  shall  bring  ^old  and  niccnse." — Isaiah  l.\. 

2  "  Who  are  iliose  that  fly  as  u  cloud,  and  as  the  doves 
to  their  windows?" — Ilj. 

3  "  Surely  the  isiia  shall  wail  for  me,  and  the  ships  of 
Tarahish  first,  lo  bring  thy  sons  from  far,  their  silver  and 
their  gold  with  them." — lb. 

4  "  The  i^lory  of  Libaimn  shall  come  unto  thee ;  the  fir- 
tree,  the  pine-tree,  ami  iho  box  tofjcther,  to  beautify  the 
place  of  my  sanctuary,  and  I  will  make  the  place  of  my  feet 
glorious." — fb. 

5  "  Violence  shall  no  more  be  heard  in  thy  land,  wasting 
nor  destruction  wiihin  thy  borders;  but  thou  shalt  call  thy 
walls,  Snivation,  and  thy  gates,  Praisi." — [b. 

6  "  Thy  sun  shall  be  no  more  thy  light  hy  day  ;  neither  for 
brightness  shall  the  moon  give  light  uiHo  ibee;  but  the  Lord 
jhall  be  unto  tliee  an  everlasting  ligiit,  and  thy  God  thy 
g.ory." — fb. 

7  "Thy  sun  shall  no  more  go  down  ;  for  the  Lord  shall  be 
thine  everlastmg  light,  and  the  days  of  thy  mourning  shall  be 
fjnded." — fb. 

8  "Thy  people  also  shall  be  all  righteous;  they  shall  in- 
nerit  the  land  for  ever,  the  branch  of  my  planting,  tlje  work 
ifmv  hands." — fb. 


There  is  a  lone  Pilgrim,  Ijcfore  whose  faint  eyes 
The  water  he  pants  for  but  sparkles  and  (lies — 

Who  may  that  Pilgrim  be  ? 
'T  is  Man,  hapless  Man,  through  this  life  tempted  on 
By  fair  shining  hopes,  that  in  shining  are  gone. 

There  is  a  bright  Fountain,  through  that  Desert  meal 

ing. 
To  pure  lips  alone  its  refreshment  revealing — 
What  may  that  Fountain  be  ? 
'T  is   Truth,  holy   Truth,   that,  like   bprings  undei 

ground. 
By  the  gified  of  Heaven  alone  can  be  found.' 

There  is  a  fair  Spirit,  whose  wand  hath  the  spell 
To  point  where  those  waters  in  secrecy  dwell — 

Who  may  that  Spirit  be? 
'T  is  Faith,  humble   Faith,  who  hath  learn'd  that 

where'er 
Her  wand  stoops  to  worship,  the  Truth  must  be  there 


SINCE  FIRST  TPIY  WORD. 
Air — Nicholas  Freeman. 
Since  first  thy  word  awaked  my  heart. 

Like  new  life  dawning  o'er  me, 
Where'er  1  turn  mine  eyes.  Thou  art. 

All  light  and  love  before  me. 
Nought  else  I  feel,  or  hear  or  see — 

All  bonds  of  earth  I  sever — 
Thee,  oh  God,  and  only  Thee 

I  live  for,  now  and  ever. 

Like  him,  whose  fetters  dropp'd  away 

When  light  shone  o'er  his  prison,* 
My  spirit,  touch'd  by  Mercy's  ray, 

Hath  from  her  chains  arisen. 
And  shall  a  soul  Thou  bid'st  be  free 

Return  to  bondage  ? — never ! 
Thee,  oh  God,  and  only  Thee 

I  live  for,  now  and  ever. 


HARK !  'T  IS  THE  BREEZE. 

Air — Rousseau. 
Hark  ! — 't  is  the  breeze  of  twilight  calling 

Earth's  weary  children  to  repose  ; 
Wliile,  round  the  couch  of  Nature  falling, 

Gently  the  night's  soft  curtains  close. 
Soon  o'er  a  world,  in  sleep  reclining, 

NuniVrloss  stars,  through  yonder  dark, 
Shall  look,  like  eyes  of  cherubs  shining 

From  out  the  veils  that  hid  the  Ark  I 

Guard  us,  oh  Thou,  who  never  sleepest, 
Thou  who,  in  silence  throned  above, 

Throughout  all  time,  unwearied,  keepest 
Thy  watch  of  Glory,  Power,  and  Love. 


1  In  singiiiL',  the  following  line  had  bettei  be  adopted— 

"  Can  but  by  the  gified  of  heaven  be  found." 

2  "  And,  behold,  the  angel  of  the  Lord  raiiie  U)  on  him. 
and  a  light  sbined  in  the  prison,  and  his  cbauis  fell  of  from 
hiB  hands." — Jlr.ts  xii.  7. 


368 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Grant  that,  beneath  thine  eye,  securely 
Our  souls,  awhile  from  life  withdrawn, 

May,  in  their  darkness,  stilly,  purely. 
Like  "sealed  fountains,"  rest  till  dawn. 


WHERE  IS  YOUR  DWELLING,  YE 
SAINTED  ? 

Air — Hasse. 

Where  is  your  dwelling,  ye  sainted  ? 

Through  what  Elysium  more  bright 
Than  fancy  or  hope  ever  painted, 

Walk  ye  in  glory  and  light  ? 
Who  the  same  kingdom  inherits  ? 

Breathes  there  a  soul  that  may  dare 
Look  to  that  world  of  spirits  ? 

Or  hope  to  dwell  with  you  there  ? 

Sages  who,  ev'n  in  exploring 

Nature  through  all  her  bright  ways 
Went,  like  the  seraphs,  adoring, 

And  veil'd  your  eyes  in  the  blaze — 
Martyrs,  who  left  for  our  reaping 

Truths  you  had  s^wn  in  your  blood — 
Sinners,  whom  long  years  of  weeping 

Chasten'd  from  evil  to  good — 

Maidens  who,  like  the  young  Crescent, 

Turning  away  your  pale  brows 
From  earth,  and  the  light  of  the  Present, 

Look'd  to  your  Heavenly  Spouse — 
Say,  through  what  region  enchanted 

Walk  ye,  in  heaven's  sweet  air  ? 
Or,  oh,  to  whom  is  it  granted. 

Bright  souls,  to  dwell  with  you  there  ? 


liOW  LIGHTLY  MOUNTS  THE  MUSE'S 
WING. 

^        Air — Anonymous. 

How  lightly  mounts  the  Muse's  wing, 

Whose  theme  is  in  the  skies — 
Like  morning  larks,  that  sweeter  sing 

The  nearer  heaven  they  rise  ! 

Though  Love  his  wreathed  lyre  may  tune, 

Yet  ah  !  the  flowers  he  round  it  wreathe." 
Were  pluck'd  beneath  pale  Passion's  moon, 

Whose  madness  from  their  odour  breathes. 
How  purer  far  the  sacred  lute. 

Round  which  Devotion  ties 
Sweet  flowers  that  turn  to  heav'nly  fruit, 

And  palm  that  never  dies. 

Tliough  War's  high-sounding  harp  may  be 

Most  welcome  to  the  hero's  ears, 
Alas,  his  chords  of  victory 

Are  bathed,  all  o'er,  with  tears. 
How  far  more  sweet  their  numbers  run 

Who  hymn,  like  saints  above, 
No  victor,  but  the  Eternal  One, 

No  trophies  but  of  Love  ! 


GO  FORTH  TO  THE  MOUNT. 

Air — Stevenson. 
Go  forth  to  the  Mount — bring  the  olive-branch  home. 
And  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  our  Freedom  is  come  ! 
From  that  time,^  when  the  moon  upon  Ajalon's  vale. 
Looking  motionless  down,^  saw  the  kings  of  the 
earth. 
In  the  presence  of  God's  mighty  Champion,  grow 
pale — 
Oh  never  had  Judah  an  hour  of  such  mirth  ! 
Go  forth  to  the  ]\Iount — bring  the  olive-branch  home, 
And  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  our  Freedom  is  come  ! 

Bring  myrtle  and  palm — bring  the  boughs  of  each  tree 
That  is  worthy  to  wave  o'er  the  tents  of  the  Free.* 
From  that  day,  when  the  footsteps  of  Israel  shone. 

With  a  light  not  their  own,  through  the  Jordan's 
deep  tide. 
Whose  waters  shrunk  back  as  the  Ark  glided  on — ' 

Oh  never  had  .ludah  an  hour  of  such  pride ! 
Go  forth  to  the  mount — bring  the  olive-branch  home 
And  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  our  Freedom  is  come  ! 


IS  IT  NOT  SWEET  TO  THINK,  HERE- 
AFTER. 
Air — Haydn. 

Is  it  not  sweet  to  think,  hereafter, 

When  the  spirit  leaves  this  sphere. 
Love,  with  deathless  wings,  shall  waft  her 

To  those  she  long  hath  mourn'd  for  here? 
Hearts,  from  which  't  was  death  to  sever, 

Eyes,  this  world  can  ne'er  restore, 
There,  as  warm,  as  bright  as  ever. 

Shall  meet  us  and  be  lost  no  more. 

When  wearily  we  wander,  asking 

Of  earth  and  heaven,  where  are  they, 
Beneath  whose  smile  we  once  lay  basking — 

Blest,  and  thinking  bliss  would  stay  ! 
Hope  still  lifts  her  radiant  finger 

Pointing  to  the  eternal  home, 
Upon  whose  portal  yet  they  linger. 

Looking  back  for  us  to  come. 

Alas — alas — doth  Hope  deceive  us  ? 

Shall  friendship — love — shall  all  those  ties 
That  bind  a  moment,  and  then  leave  us, 

Be  found  again  where  nothing  dies  ? 
Oh  !  if  no  other  boon  were  given. 

To  keep  our  hearts  from  wrong  and  stain, 
Who  would  not  try  to  win  a  heaven 

Where  all  we  love  shall  live  again  ? 


1  "  And  that  they  should  puhlish  and  proclaim  in  a!l  theij 
ritio,  and  in  .Icrusnlum,  saying,  Go  forth  unto  the  mount 
iind  fetch  olive-branches,"  etc.  elc. — J^cli.  viii.  1.1. 

2  "  For  since  the  days  of  .Toshua  the  son  of  Nun,  unto 
that  day,  had  not  the  chihliim  of  Israel  done  so:  and  there 
was  very  great  gladneaa." — lb.  17. 

3  "  Siin,  stand  thou  still  npon  Gihcon;  and  thou.  Moon 
in  the  valley  of  Ajalon." — Josh.  x.  12. 

4  "Fetch  olive-hrunchrs  and  pine-branches,  and  myrtle- 
branchi^s,  and  i]alni-l)rnnchps,  and  branches  of  thick  trees, 
to  make  booths." — JVr/i.  viii.  15. 

5  "  Anil  the  priests  that  bare  the  arli  of  the  covenant  of 
the  Lord  stood  firm  on  dry  ground  intho  midst  of  Jordan,  and 
all  the  Israelites  passed  over  on  dry  ground." — Josh  iii  17 


SACRED  SONGS. 


3G9 


WAR  AGAINST  BABYLON. 

Air — NoVELLO. 
"War  ugainst  Babylon!"  shout  we  around," 
Be  our  banners  through  earth  unfurl'd  ; 
Rise  up,  ye  nations,  ye  kings,  at  tlic  sound — * 

"  War  against  Babylon !"  shout  through  tlie  world  ! 
Oh  thou,  that  dvvellest  on  many  waters,' 

Thy  day  of  pride  is  ended  now ; 
And  the  dark  curse  of  Israel's  daughters 


1  "  Shoiit  ngainst  her  louiid  about." — Jcr.  i,  l."!. 

2  "  St't  up  a  sianilard  in  the  land,  blow  Iho  trumpet 
among  (he  nations,  ineparo  Ihu  nations  ngainst  her,  call  to- 
gether against  her  iho  kingdoms,"  etc.  etc. — 74.  li.  27. 

3  "Oil  thou,  that  dwillost  upon  many  wnters,  thy  end  is 
•OOM." — Jer  i.  13. 


Breaks,  like  a  thunder-cloud,  over  thy  brow  ! 
War,  war,  war  against  Babylon  \ 

Make  bright  the  pf'^'—?,  and  gather  the  shields,* 

Set  the  standard  of  God  on  high — 
Swarm  we,  like  locusts,  o'er  all  her  fields, 

"  Zion"  our  watchword,  and  "vengeance"  our  cry! 
Woe  !  woe  ! — the  time  of  thy  visitation* 

Is  come,  proud  Land,  thy  doom  is  cast— 
And  the  bleak  wave  of  desolation 

Sweeps  o'er  thy  guilty  head,  at  last ! 

VVar,  war,  war  against  Babylon  ! 


1  "  Mnlte  bright  the  arrows;  gather  the  sliiclda....  tet 
the  standard  upon  llio  walls  of  Babylon." — lb. 

3  "Woe  unto  ihcin!  fur  their  day  is  come,  die  tioi  {A 
their  visitation." — lb. 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


BLACK  AND  BLUE  EYES. 

The  brilliant  black  eye 

May  in  triumph  let  fly 
All  Its  darts,  without  caring  who  feels  'em ; 

But  the  soft  eye  of  blue, 

Though  It  scatter  wounds  too, 
te  much  better  pleased  when  it  heals  'em. 

Dear  Fanny  !  dear  Fanny  ! 

The  soft  eye  of  blue. 

Though  it  scatter  wounds  too, 
la  much  better  pleased  when  it  heals  'em,  dear  Fanny  ! 

The  black  e}'e  may  say, 
"Come  and  worship  my  ray, — 
By  adoring,  perhaps  you  may  move  me  !" 
But  the  blue  eye,  half  hid. 
Says,  from  under  its  lid, 
f  love,  and  I'm  yours  if  you  love  me !" 
Dear  Fanny  !  dear  Fanny  ! 
The  blue  eye,  half  hid. 
Says,  from  under  its  lid, 
*  I  love,  and  am  yours  if  you  love  me  !"  dear  Fanny ! 

Then  tell  me,  oh !  why, 
In  that  lovely  eye. 
Not  a  charm  of  its  tmt  I  discover; 
Or  why  should  you  wear 
The  only  blue  pair 
That  ever  said  "No"  to  a  lover? 
Dear  Fanny  !  dear  Fanny ! 
Oh  !  why  should  you  wear 
The  only  bluje  pair 
Thst  ever  said  "No"  to  a  lover,  dear  Fanny? 


CEASE,  OH  CEASE  TO  TEMPT! 
Cease,  oh  cease  to  tempt 

My  tender  heart  to  love  ! 
It  never,  never  can 

So  wild  a  flame  approve. 
All  its  joys  and  pains 

To  others  1  resign; 
But  be  the  vacant  heart. 

The  careless  bosom  mine. 
Then  cease,  oh  cease  to  tempt 

My  ten<Jer  heart  to  love ! 
It  never,  never  can 

So  wild  a  flame  approve. 

Say,  oh  say  no  more 

That  loviTs'  pains  are  sweet! 
I  never,  never  can 

Believe  the  fond  deceit. 
Weeping  day  and  night, 

Consuming  life  in  sighs,^ 
This  is  the  lover's  lot. 

And  this  I  ne'<;r  could  prize. 

370 


Then  say,  oh  say  no  more 
That  lovers'  pains  are  sweet . 

I  never,  never  can 

Believe  the  fond  deceit. 


DEAR  FANNY. 
She  has  beauty,  but  still  you  must  keep  your  Leart 
cool; 
She  has  wit,  but  you  must  not  be  caught  so; 
Thus  Reason  advises,  but  Reason  's  a  fool, 
And  'tis  not  the  first  time  I  have  thought  so, 
Dear  Fanny. 

"  She  is  lovely  !"  Then  love  her,  nor  let  the  bliss  fly 
'T  is  the  charm  of  youth's  vanishing  season : 

Thus  Love  has  advised  me,  and  who  will  deny 
That  Love  reasons  much  better  than  Reason, 
Dear  Fanny  ? 


DID  NOT. 
'T  WAS  a  new  feeling — something  more 
Than  ws  had  dared  to  own  before, 

Which  then  we  hid  not,  which  then  we  hid  not 
We  saw  it  in  each  other's  eye, 
And  wish'd,  in  every  murmur'd  sigh. 

To  speak,  but  did  not ;  to  speak,  but  did  not. 

She  felt  my  lips'  impassion'd  touch — 
'T  was  the  first  time  1  dared  so  much. 

And  yet  she  chid  not,  and  yet  she  chid  not; 
But  whisper'd  o'er  my  burning  brow, 
"  Oh  !  do  you  doubt  I  love  you  now?" 

Sweet  soul !  I  did  not;  sweet  soul !  1  did  not 

Warmly  1  felt  her  bosom  thrill, 

I  press'd  it  closer,  closer  still, 
Though  gently  bid  not,  though  gently  bid  notj 

Till — oh  !  the  world  hath  seldom  heard 

Of  lovers,  who  so  nearly  err'd, 
And  yet  who  did  not,  and  yet  who  did  not. 


FANNY,  DEAREST! 
Oil !  had  I  leisure  to  sigh  and  mourn, 

Fanny,  dearest!  for  thee  I'd  sigh; 
And  every  smile  on  my  cheek  should  turn 

To  tears,  when  thou  art  nigh. 
But,  between  love,  and  wine,  and  sleep, 

So  busy  a  lift;  I  live. 
That  even  the  time  it  would  take  to  weep 

Is  more  than  my  he<irt  can  give 
Then  bid  me  not  despair  and  pine, 

Fanny,  dearest  of  all  the  dears! 
The  love,  that 's  order'd  to  bathe  m  wine, 

Would  bn  sure  to  take  cold  in  tears. 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


371 


Reflected  bright  in  this  heart  of  mine, 

Fanny,  dearest !  thy  image  lies  ; 
but.  oh  !  the  mirror  would  cease  to  shine, 

If  dimni'd  too  often  with  siglis. 
They  lose  the  half  of  beauty's  light, 

Who  view  it  through  sorrow's  tear; 
And  't  is  but  to  see  thee  truly  bright 

That  I  keep  my  eye-beam  clear. 
Then  wait  no  longer  till  tears  shall  flow — 

Fanny,  dearest !  the  hope  is  vain  ; 
If  sunshine  cannot  dissolve  thy  snow, 

F  shall  never  attempt  it  with  rain. 


FANNY  WAS  IN  THE  GROVE. 

Fannv  was  in  the  grove. 
And  Lubin,  her  boy,  was  nigh ; 

Iter  eye  was  warm  with  love. 

And  her  soul  was  warm  as  her  eye. 

Oh  !  oh  !  if  Lubin  now  would  sue, 

Oh !  oh  !  what  could  Fanny  do  ? 

Fanny  was  made  for  bliss. 
But  she  was  young  and  shy ; 

A.nd  when  he  had  stolen  a  kiss, 
She  blush'd,  and  said  with  a  sigh — 

"  Oh !  oh  I  Lubin,  ah  !  tell  me  true. 

Oh  !  oh !  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

They  wander'd  beneath  the  shade. 
Her  eye  was  dimm'd  with  a  tear, 

For  ah  !  the  poor  little  maid 

Was  thrilling  with  love  and  fear. 

Oh  !  oh  I  if  Lubin  would  but  sue. 

Oh  !  oh  I  what  could  Fanny  do  ! 

Sweetly  along  the  grove 

The  birds  sang  all  the  while, 

And  Fanny  now  said  to  her  love, 

With  a  frown  that  was  half  a  smile — 

"  Oh  I  oh  !  \\hy  did  Lubin  sue ? 

Oh  !  oh  !  why  did  Lubin  sue  ?" 


Viver  en  Cadenas. 

FROM  LIFE  WITHOUT  FREED03I. 

pR  DM  life  without  freedom,  oh !  who  would  not  fly  ? 
For  one  day  of  freedom,  oh  !  wlio  would  not  die  ? 
Hark  !  hark  !  't  is  the  trumpet!  the  call  of  the  brave. 
The  death-song  of  tyrants  and  dirge  of  the  slave. 
Our  country  lies  bleeding — oh  !  fly  to  her  aid ; 
One  arm  that  defends  is  worth  hosts  that  invade. 
From  life  witho\U  freedom,  oh  !  who  would  not  fly  ? 
For  one  day  of  freedom,  oh  !  who  would  not  die  ? 

In  death's  kindly  bosom  our  last  hope  remains — 
The  dead  fear  no  tyrants,  the  grave  has  no  chains  ! 
On,  on  to  the  combat !  the  heroes  that  bleed 
For  virtue  and  mankind  are  heroes  indeed. 
And  oh  !  even  if  Freedom  from  this  world  be  driven. 
Despair  not — at  least  wc  shall  find  her  in  heaven, 
.n  death's  kindly  bosom  our  last  hope  remains — 
The  dead  fear  no  tyrants,  the  grave  has  no  chains. 


HERE'S  THE  BOWER. 

Here  's  the  bower  she  loved  so  much, 

And  the  tree  she  planted  ; 
Here  s  the  harp  she  used  to  touch— 

Oh  !  how  that  touch  enchanted  ! 
Roses  now  uidieeded  sigh; 

Where  's  the  hand  to  wreath  them  i 
Songs  around  neglected  lie. 

Where  's  the  lip  to  breathe  them  7 
Here  's  the  bower  she  loved  so  much, 

And  the  tree  she  planted  ; 
Hero  's  the  harp  she  used  to  touch — 

Oh  !  how  that  touch  enchanted  ! 

Spring  may  bloom,  but  she  we  loved 

Ne'er  shall  feel  its  sweetness  ! 
Time,  that  once  so  fleetly  moved, 

Now  hath  lost  its  fleetness. 
Years  were  days,  when  here  she  stray'd. 

Days  were  moments  near  her  ; 
Heaven  ne'er  form'd  a  b.ighter  maid. 

Nor  Pity  wept  a  dearer  ! 
Here  's  the  bower  she  loved  so  much, 

And  the  tree  she  planted  ; 
Here 's  the  harp  she  used  to  touch — 

Oh !  how  that  touch  enchanted  ! 


HOLY  BE  THE  PILGRDI'S  SLEEP 

Holy  be  the  Pilgrim's  sleep. 

From  the  dreams  of  terror  free  ; 
And  may  all,  who  wake  to  weep. 
Rest  to-night  as  sweet  as  he  ! 
Hark  !  hark  !  did  I  hear  a  vesper  swell? 

No,  no — it  is  my  loved  Pilgrim's  prayer . 
No,  no — 't  was  but  the  convent  bell, 
That  tolls  upon  the  midnight  air. 
Holy  be  the  Pilgrim's  sleep  ! 
Now,  now  again  the  voice  I  hear ; 
Some  holy  man  is  wand'ring  near. 

O  Pilgrim  !  where  hast  thou  been  roaming? 
Dark  is  the  way,  and  midnight's  coming. 
Stranger,  I  've  been  o'er  moor  and  mountain, 
To  tell  my  beads  at  Agnes'  fountain. 
And,  Pilgrim,  say,  where  art  thou  going? 
Dark  is  the  way,  the  winds  are  blowing. 
Weary  with  wand'ring,  weak,  I  falter. 
To  breathe  my  vows  at  Agnes'  altar. 
Strew,  then,  oh  !  strew  his  bed  of  rushes  ; 
Here  he  shall  rest  till  morning  blushes. 

Peace  to  them  whose  days  are  done. 

Death  their  eyelids  closing; 
Hark  !  the  burial-rite  's  begun — 

'T  is  time  for  our  reposing. 

Here,  then,  my  Pilgrim's  course  is  o'er : 
'Tis  my  master!    'tis  my  master!   Welccmn   beiw 
once  more; 

Come  to  our  shed — all  toil  is  over; 

Pilgrim  no  more,  but  knight  ana  iove"- 


372                                                        MOORE'S  WORKS. 

Oh  !  how  lorn,  how  lost  would  prove 

I  CAN  NO  LONGER  STIFLE 

Thy  wretched  victim's  fate, 

/ 

I  CAN  no  longer  stifle, 

If,  when  deceived  in  love. 

How  much  I  long  to  rifle 

He  could  not  fly  to  hate  ! 

That  Httle  part 

They  call  the  heart 

Of  you,  you  lovely  trifle  ! 

You  can  no  longer  doubt  it, 

LIGHT  SOUNDS  THE  HARP. 

So  let  me  be  about  it ; 

Light  sounds  the  harp  when  the  combat  is  over — 

Or  on  my  word. 

When  heroes  are  resting,  and  joy  is  in  bloom — 

And  by  the  Lord, 

When  laurels  hang  loose  from  the  brow  of  the  lover 

I  '11  trv  to  do  without  it. 

Ajid  Cupid  makes  wings  of  the  warrior's  plume. 

But,  when  the  foe  returns. 

This  pretty  thing 's  as  light,  Sir, 

Again  the  hero  burns  ; 

As  any  paper  kite,  Sir, 

High  flames  the  sword  in  his  hand  once  more; 

And  here  and  there, 

The  clang  of  mingling  arms 

And  God  knows  where, 

Is  then  the  sound  that  charms. 

She  takes  her  wheeling  flight,  Sir. 

And  brazen  notes  of  war,  by  thousand  trumpets  roar. 

Us  lovers,  to  amuse  us. 

Oh  !  then  comes  the  harp,  when  the  comb:.:  .s  over — 

Unto  her  tail  she  nooses ; 

When  heroes  are  resting,  and  joy  is  in  bloom — 

There,  hung  like  bobs 

When  laurels  hang  loose  from  the  brow  of  the  lover 

Of  straw,  or  nobs. 

And  Cupid  makes  wings  of  the  warrior's  plume. 

She  whisks  us  where  she  chuses. 

Light  went  the  harp  when  the  War-god,  reclin'ng, 

Lay  lull'd  on  the  white  arm  of  Beauty  to  rest — 

When  round  his  rich  armour  the  myrtle  hung  twining, 

I  SAW  THE  MOON  RISE  CLEAR. 

And  flights  of  young  doves  made  his  helmet  their 

I  SAW  the  moon  rise  clear 

nest. 

O'er  hills  and  vales  of  snow, 

But,  when  the  battle  came. 

Nor  told  my  fleet  rein-deer 

The  hero's  eye  breathed  flame 

The  track  1  wish'd  to  go. 

Soon  from  his  neck  the  white  arm  was  flung, 

But  quick  he  bounded  forth; 

While  to  his  wakening  ear 

For  well  my  rein-doer  knew 

No  other  sounds  were  dear. 

I  've  but  one  path  on  earth — 

But  brazen  notes  of  war,  by  thousand  trumpets  sung. 

The  path  which  leads  to  you. 

But  then  came  the  light  harp,  when  danger  was  ended, 

And  Beauty  once  more  luU'd  the  War-god  to  rest; 

The  gloom  that  winter  cast 

When  tresses  of  gold  with  his  laurels  lay  blended. 

How  soon  the  heart  forgets  ! 

And  flights  of  young  doves  made  his  helmet  their 

When  summer  brings,  at  last, 

nest. 

The  sun  that  never  sets. 

So  lawn'd  my  love  for  you  ; 

Thus  chasing  every  pain. 

Than  summer  sun  more  true, 

LITTLE  MARY'S  EYE. 

'T  will  never  set  again. 

Little  Mary's  eye 

Is  roguish,  and  all  that.  Sir; 

But  her  little  tongue 

Is  quite  too  full  of  chat,  sir 

JOYS  THAT  PASS  AWAY. 

Since  her  eye  can  speak 

Joys  that  pass  away  like  this. 

Enough  to  tell  her  blisses, 

Alas  !  ate  purchased  dear, 

If  she  stir  her  tongue. 

If  every  beam  of  bliss 

Why — stop  her  mouth  with  kisses 

Is  follow'd  by  a  tear. 

Oh  !  the  little  girls. 

Fare  thee  well !  oh,  fare  thee  well ! 

Wily,  warm,  and  winning  ; 

Soon,  too  soon  thou  'st  broke  the  spell. 

When  the  angels  tempt  us  to  it. 

Oh  !  I  ne'er  can  love  again 

Who  can  keep  from  sinning  ? 

The  girl  whose  faithless  art 

Could  break  so  dear  a  chain. 

Nanny's  beaming  eye 

Ana  with  it  break  njy  heart. 

Looks  as  warm  as  any  ; 

But  her  cheek  was  pale — 

Once,  when  truth  was  in  those  eyes, 

Well-a-dr.y,  poor  Nanny ! 

How  beautitul  ihoy  shone; 

Nann\',  in  the  ticid. 

But  now  tiiat  lustre  flies. 

She  phuk'd  a  little  posie. 

For  truth,  alas  !  is  gone. 

And  Nanny's  pallid  cheek 

Fare  thee  well !  oh,  fare  thee  well ! 

Soon  grew  sleek  and  rosy.               ' 

How  I  've  loved  my  hate  shall  tell 

m 

Oh !  the  little  gitJs,  etc 

BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


373 


Sue,  the  pretty  nun. 

Prays  with  warm  emotion  ; 
Sweetly  rolls  her  eye 

In  love  or  in  devotion. 
If  her  pious  heart 

Softens  to  relieve  you. 
She  gently  shares  the  crime. 

With,  "  Oh  !  may  (iod  forgive  you  !" 
Oh  !  the  little  girls. 

Wily,  warm,  and  winning; 
When  angels  tempt  us  to  it. 

Who  can  keep  from  sinning? 


LOVE  AND  THE  SUN-DIAL. 

Young  Love  found  a  Dial  once,  in  a  dark  shade. 
Where  man  ne'er  had  wander'd  nor  sun-beam  play'd  ; 
"Why  thus  in  darkness  lie?"  whisper'd  young  Love, 
"  Thou,  whose  gay  hours  should  in  sun-shine  move." 
"I  ne'er,"  said  the  Dial,  "have  seen  the  warm  sun. 
So  noonday  and  midnight  to  me,  Love,  are  one." 

Then  Love  took  the  Dial  away  from  the  shade, 
And  placed  her  where  Heaven's  beam  warmly  play'd. 
jfThcre  she  reclined,  beneath  Love's  gazing  eye. 
While,  all  mark'd  with  sun-shine,  her  hours  flew  by. 
"  Oh  !  how,"  said  the  Dial,  "  can  any  fair  maid. 
That 's  born  to  be  shone  upon,  rest  in  the  shade  ?" 

But  night  now  comes  on,  and  the  sun-beam  's  o'er. 
And  Love  stops  to  gaze  on  the  Dial  no  more. 
Then  cold  and  neglected,  while  bleak  rain  and  winds 
Are  storming  around  her,  with  sorrow  she  finds 
That  Love  had  but  number'd  a  few  sunny  hours. 
And  left  the  remainder  to  darkness  and  showers  ! 


LOVE  AND  TIME. 

'T  IS  said — but  whether  true  or  not 

Let  bards  declare  who  've  seen  'em — 
That  Love  and  Time  have  only  got 

One  pair  of  wings  between  'em. 
In  courtship's  first  delicious  hour, 

The  boy  full  oft  can  spare  'em. 
So,  loitering  in  his  lady's  bower. 

He  lets  the  gray-beard  wear  'em. 
Then  is  Time's  hour  of  play  ; 
Oh  !  how  he  flies  away  ! 

But  short  the  moments,  short  as  bright. 

When  he  the  wings  can  borrow  ; 
(f  Time  to-day  has  had  his  flight. 

Love  takes  his  turn  to-morrow. 
Ah  !  Time  and  Love  !  your  change  is  then 

The  saddest  and  most  trying, 
When  one  begins  to  limp  again, 

And  t'  other  takes  to  flying. 
Then  is  Love's  hour  to  stray  ; 
Oh  !  how  he  flies  away  ! 

But  there  's  a  nymph — whose  chains  I  feel, 

And  bless  the  silken  fetter — 
Who  knows — the  dear  one  ! — how  to  deal 

With  Love  and  Time  much  better. 
So  well  she  checks  their  wanderings. 

So  oeacefully  she  pairs  'era. 


That  Love  with  her  ne'er  thinks  of  wings, 

And  Time  for  ever  wears  'em. 
This  is  Time's  holiday; 

Oh  !  how  he  flies  away! 


LOVE,  MY  MARY,  DWELLS  WITH  THEE 
Love,  my  IMnry,  dwells  with  thee; 
On  thy  cheek,  his  bed  1  sec. 
No — that  cheek  is  pale  with  care ; 
Love  can  find  no  roses  there. 
'T  is  not  on  the  cheek  of  rose 
Love  can  find  the  best  repose  : 
In  my  lieart  his  home  thou  'It  see; 
There  he  lives,  and  lives  for  thee. 

Love,  my  Mary,  ne'er  can  roam, 
While  he  makes  that  eye  his  home. 
No — the  eye  with  sorrow  dim 
Ne'er  can  be  a  hotne  for  him. 
Yet,  't  is  not  in  beaming  eyes 
Love  for  ever  wannest  lies  : 
In  my  heart  his  home  thou  'It  see , 
There  he  lives,  and  lives  for  thee. 


LOVE'S  LIGHT  SUMMER  CLOUD 
Pain  and  sorrow  shall  vanish  before  us — 
Youth  may  wither,  but  feeling  will  last; 
And  the  shadow  that  e'er  shall  fall  o'er  us. 
Love's  light  summer-cloud  sweetly  shall  cast. 
Oh  !  if  to  love  thee  more 
Each  hour  I  number  o'er — 
If  this  a  passion  be 
Worthy  of  thee. 
Then  be  happy,  for  thus  1  adore  thee. 

Charms  may  wither,  but  feeling  shall  last  : 
All  the  shadow  that  e'er  shall  fall  o'er  thee. 
Love's  light  summer-cloud  sweetly  shall  cast. 

Rest,  dear  bosom  !  no  sorrows  shall  pain  thee, 

Sighs  of  pleasure  alone  shalt  thou  steal; 
Beam,  bright  eyelid  !  no  weeping  shall  stain  thee, 
Tears  of  rapture  alone  shalt  thou  feel. 
Oh  !  if  there  be  a  charm 
In  love,  to  banish  harm — 
If  pleasure's  truest  spell 
Be  to  love  well. 
Then  be  happy,  for  thus  I  adore  thee. 

Ciiarms  may  wither,  but  feeling  shall  last: 
All  the  shadow  that  e'er  shall  fall  o'er  thee. 
Love's  light  summer-cloud  sweetly  shall  cast. 


LOVE,    WAND'RING    THROUGH    THE 

GOLDEN  MAZE. 
Love,  wand'ring  through  the  golden  maz« 

Of  my  beloved's  hair. 
Traced  every  lock  with  fond  delays, 

And,  doting,  linger'd  there. 
And  soon  he  found  't  were  vain  to  fly  . 

His  heart  was  close  confined, 
And  every  curlet  was  a  tie — 

A  chain  by  'jeauty  twined 


374 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


MERRILY  EVERY  BOSOM  ROUNDETH. 

THE    TVROLESE    SONG    OF    LIBERTY. 

Merrily  every  bosom  boundeth, 

Merrily,  oh  !  merrily,  oh  ! 
Where  the  Song  of  Freedom  soundeth, 
Merrily,  oh  !  merrily,  oh  ! 
There  the  warrior's  arms 
Shed  more  splendour, 
There  the  maiden's  charms 
Shine  more  tender — 
Every  joy  the  land  surroundeth, 
Merrily,  oh  !  merrily,  oh ! 

Wearily  every  bosom  pineth. 

Wearily,  oh  !  wearily,  oh  ! 

Where  the  bond  of  slavery  twineth, 

Wearily,  oh  I  wearily,  oh  ! 

There  the  warrior's  dart 

Hath  no  fleetness. 
There  the  maiden's  heart 
Hath  no  sweetness — 
Every  flower  of  life  declineth, 
Wearily,  oh  !  wearily,  oh  ! 

Cheerily  then  from  hill  and  valley. 

Cheerily,  oh  !  cheerily,  oh  ! 

Like  your  native  fountains  sally, 

Cheerily,  oh  !  cheerily,  oh  ! 

If  a  glorious  death, 

Won  by  bravery. 

Sweeter  be  than  breath 

Sigh'd  in  slavery. 

Round  the  flag  of  Freedom  rally, 

Cheerily,  oh  !  cheerily,  oh  ! 


NOW  LET  THE  WARRIOR. 

Now  let  the  warrior  plume  his  steed, 

And  wave  his  sword  afar ; 
For  the  men  of  the  East  this  day  shall  bleed, 

And  the  sun  shall  blush  with  war. 
Victory  sits  on  the  Christian's  helm 

To  guide  her  holy  band : 
The  Knight  of  the  Cross  this  day  shall  whelm 

The  men  of  the  Pagan  land. 

Oh  !  bless'd  who  in  the  battle  dies  ! 
God  win  enshrine  him  in  the  skies  ! 
Now  let  the  warrior  plume  his  steed, 

And  wave  his  sword  afar. 
For  the  men  of  the  East  this  day  shall  bleed, 

And  the  sun  shall  blush  with  war. 


Chill  falls  the  rain,  night  winds  are  blowing. 
Dreary  and  dark  's  the  way  we  're  going. 

Fair  Lady  !  rest  till  morning  blushes — 
I  '11  strew  for  thee  a  bed  of  rushes. 
Oh  !  stranger  1  when  my  beads  I  'm  counting, 
I  '11  bless  thy  name  at  Agnes'  fountain. 
Then,  Pilgrim,  turn,  and  rest  thy  sorrow ; 
Thou  'It  go  to  Agnes'  shrine  to-morrow. 
Good  stranger,  when  my  beads  I  'm  telling, 
My  saint  shall  bless  thy  leafy  dwelling. 
Strew,  then,  oh  !  strew  our  bed  of  rushes; 
Here  we  must  rest  till  morning  blushes. 


Oil,  LADY  FAIR ! 

On,  Lady  f  lir  !  where  art  thfiu  roaming  ? 

"Fne  sun  has  sunk,  the  night  is  coming. 

Stranger,  I  go  o'er  moor  and  mountain, 

To  tell  my  beads  at  Agnes'  fountain. 

And  who  is  the  man,  with  his  white  locks  flowing? 

Oh,  Lady  fair  !  whore  is  he  going  ? 

A  wand'ring  Pilgrim,  weak,  I  falter, 

Tf>  tf'l-'  my  be;i.d3  at  Agnes'  altar. 


OH !  REMEMBER  THE  TIME. 

THE    CASTILIAN   MAID. 

Oh  !  remember  the  time,  in  La  Mancha's  shades, 

When  our  moments  so  blissfully  flew  ; 
When  you  call'd  me  the  flower  of  Castilian  maids. 

And  I  blush'd  to  be  call'd  so  by  you. 
When  I  taught  you  to  warble  the  gay  seguadille. 

And  to  dance  to  the  light  castanet ; 
Oh  !  never,  dear  youth,  let  you  roam  where  you  wilt 

The  delight  of  those  moments  forget. 

They  tell  me,  you  lovers  from  Erin's  green  isle 

Every  hour  a  new  passion  can  feel. 
And  that  soon,  in  the  light  of  some  lovelier  smile. 

You'll  forget  the  poor  maid  of  Castile. 
But  they  know  not  how  brave  in  the  battle  you  are. 

Or  they  never  could  think  you  would  rove  ; 
For  't  is  always  the  spirit  most  gallant  in  war 

That  is  fondest  and  truest  in  love  ! 


OH !  SEE  THOSE  CHERRIES. 

Oh  !  see  those  cherries — though  once  so  glowing, 

They  've  lain  too  long  on  the  sun-bright  wall ; 
And  mark  !  already  their  bloom  is  going ; 

Too  soon  they  '11  wither,  too  soon  they  '11  fall. 
Once,  caught  by  their    blushes,  the   light  bird  flew 

round, 
Ofl  on  their  ruby  lips  leaving  love's  wound 
But  now  he  passes  them,  ah  !  too  knowing 
To  taste  wither'd  cherries,  when  fresh  maybe  found 

Old  Time  thus  fleetly  his  course  is  running ; 

If  bards  were   not   moral,  how  maids   would  go 
wrong  ! 
And  thus  thy  beauties,  now  sunn'd  and  sunning. 

Would  wither  if  left  on  the  rose-tree  too  long. 
Then  love  while  thou  'rt  lovely — e'en  I  should  be 

glad 
So  sweetly  to  save  thee  from  ruin  so  sad ; 
But,  oh  !  delay  not — we  bards  are  too  cunning 
To  sigh  for  old  beauties  when  young  may  be  had. 


OH!  SOON  RETURN! 
The  white  sail  caught  the  evening  ray, 
The  wave  beneath  us  seem'd  to  burn, 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


375 


When  all  my  weeping  love  could  say 

Was,  "  Oh  !  soon  return  !" 
Through  many  a  clime  our  ship  was  driven, 

O'er  many  a  billow  rudely  thrown  ; 
Now  chiird  beneath  a  northern  heaven, 

Now  sunn'd  by  summer's  zone  : 
Ye',  still,  where'er  our  course  we  lay, 

When  evening  bid  the  west  wave  burn, 
I  thought  I  heard  her  fiiintly  say, 

"Oh!  soon  return  ! — Oh!  soon  return!" 

If  ever  yet  my  bosom  found 

Its  thoughts  one  moment  turn'd  from  fJiee, 
'T  was  when  the  combat  raged  around, 

And  brave  men  look'd  to  me. 
But  though  'mid  battle's  wild  alarm 

Love's  gentle  power  might  not  appear, 
He  gave  to  glory's  brow  the  charm 

Which  made  oven  danger  dear. 
And  then,  when  victory's  calm  came  o'er 

The  hearts  where  rage  had  ceased  to  bum, 
I  heard  that  farewell  voice  once  more, 
Oh  !  soon  return  ! — Oh !  soon  return !" 


OH!  YES,  SO  WELL. 

Oil !  yes,  so  well,  so  tenderly 

Thou  'rt  loved,  adored  by  me. 
Fame,  fortune,  wealth,  and  liberty, 

Were  worthless  without  thee. 
Though  brimm'd  with  blisses,  pure  and  rare. 

Life's  cup  before  me  lay, 
Unless  thy  love  were  mingled  there, 

I  'd  spurn  the  draught  away. 
Oh  !  yes,  so  well,  so  tenderly 

Thou  'rt  loved,  adored  by  me. 
Fame,  fortune,  wealth,  and  liberty. 

Are  worthless  without  thee. 

Without  thy  smile  how  joylessly 

All  glory's  meeds  I  see  ! 
And  even  the  wreath  of  victory 

Must  owe  its  bloom  to  thee. 
Those  worlds,  for  which  the  conqueror  sighs, 

For  me  have  now  no  charms  ; 
My  only  world  's  thy  radiant  eyes — 

My  throne  those  circling  arms  ! 
Oh  !  yes,  so  well,  so  tenderly 

Thou  'rt  loved,  adored  by  me, 
Whole  realms  of  light  and  liberty 

Were  worthless  without  thee. 


OH  I  YES,  WHEN  THE  BLOOM. 

Oh  !  yes,  when  the  bloom  of  Love's  boyhood  is  o'er. 
He'  11  turn  into  friendship  that  feels  no  decay ; 

And,  though  Time  may  take  from  him  the  wings  he 
once  wore. 

The  charms  that  remain  will  be  bright  as  before. 
And  he  '11  lose  but  his  young  trick  of  (lying  away. 

Then  let  it  console  thee,  if  Love  should  not  stay. 
That  Friendship  our   last    happy   moments  will 
crow" 


Like  the  shadows  of  morning.  Love  lessens  away, 
While  Friendship,  like  those  at  the  closing  of  day, 
Will  linger  and  lengthen  as  Life's  sun  goes  down. 


ONE  DEAR  SMILE. 

CouLusT  thou  look  as  dear  as  when 

P'irst  I  sigli'd  for  thee  ; 
Couldst  thou  make  me  feel  again 
Every  wish  I  breathed  thee  then. 

Oh  !  how  blissful  life  would  be  ! 
Hopes,  that  now  beguiling  leave  me, 

Joys,  that  lie  in  sltmiber  cold — 
All  would  wake,  couldst  thou  but  give  me 

One  dear  smile  like  those  of  old. 

Oh  !  there  's  nothing  loft  us  now, 

But  to  mourn  the  past ; 
Vain  was  every  ardent  vow — 
Never  yet  did  Heaven  allow 

Love  so  warm,  so  wild,  to  last. 
Not  even  hope  coidd  now  deceive  me— 

Life  itself  looks  dark  and  cold: 
Oh !  thou  never  more  canst  give  me 

One  dear  smile  like  those  of  old 


POH,  DERMOT!  GO  ALONG  WITH  YOUR 
GOSTER. 

PoH,  Dermot !  go  along  with  your  goster. 

You  might  as  well  pray  at  a  jig. 
Or  teach  an  old  cow  Pater  Noster, 

Or  whistle  Moll  Roe  to  a  pig  ! 
Arrah,  child !  do  you  think  I'm  a  blockhead. 

And  not  the  right  son  of  my  mother. 
To  put  nothing  at  all  in  one  pocket. 

And  not  half  so  much  in  the  other? 
Poh,  Dermot !  etc. 

Any  thing  else  I  can  do  for  you, 

Keadh  mille  faltha,  and  welcome, 
Put  up  an  Ave  or  two  for  you, 

Fear'd  that  j'ou'd  ever  to  hell  come. 
If  you  confess  you're  a  rogue, 

I  will  turn  a  deaf  ear,  and  not  care  for'l. 
Bid  you  put  pease  in  your  brogue. 

But  just  tip  you  a  hint  to  go  barefoot. 
Then  get  along  with,  etc 

If  you've  the  whiskey  in  play, 

To  oblige  you,  I'll  come  take  a  smack  of  it 
Stay  with  you  ali  night  and  day. 

Ay,  and  twenty-four  hours  to  the  back  of  ij 
Oh !  whiskey  's  a  papist,  God  save  it ! 

The  beads  are  upon  it  completely  ; 
But  I  think  before  ever  we'd  leave  it, 

W^e'd  make  it  a  heretic  neatly. 
Then  get  along  with,  etc. 

If  j'ou're  afear'd  of  a  Banshee, 

Or  Leprochauns  are  not  so  civil,  dear, 

Let  Father  Luke  show  his  paunch,  he 
W'ill  frighten  them  all  to  the  devil  dea^ 


376 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


It  's  I  that  can  hunt  them  like  ferrets, 
And  lay  them  without  any  fear,  gra ; 

But  for  whiskey,  and  that  sort  of  spirits, 
Why  them — I  would  rather  lay  here,"  gra. 
Then  get  along  with,  etc. 


SEND  THE  BOWL  ROUND  MERRILY. 

Send  the  bowl  round  merrily, 

Laughing,  singing,  drinking; 
Toast  it,  toast  it  cheerily — 

Here  's  to  the  devil  with  thinldng  ! 
Oh  !  for  the  round  of  pleasure, 

With  sweetly-smiling  lasses — 
Glasses  o'erflowing  their  measure, 

With  hearts  as  full  as  our  glasses. 
Send  the  bowl  round  merrily. 

Laughing,  singing,  drinking; 
Toast  it,  toast  it  cheerily — 

Here 's  to  the  devil  with  thinking ! 

Once  I  met  with  a  funny  lass, 

Oh  !  I  lo  /ed  her  dearly  ! 
Left  for  her  my  bonny  glass — 

Faith  !  I  died  for  her — nearly. 
But  she  proved  damn'd  uncivil. 

And  thought  to  peck  like  a  hen,  sir; 
So  I  pitch'd  the  jade  to  the  devil. 

And  took  to  my  glass  again,  sir. 
Then  send  the  bowl,  etc. 

Now  I'm  turn'd  a  rover. 

In  love  with  every  petticoat ; 
No  matter  whom  it  may  cover. 

Or  whether  it 's  Jenny's  or  Betty's  coat ; 
And,  if  the  girls  can  put  up 

With  any  good  thing  in  pieces, 
My  heart  I'll  certainly  cut  up. 

And  share  it  with  all  young  misses. 

.    Then  send  the  bowl,  etc. 

A  bumper  round  to  the  pretty  ones  ! 

Here 's  to  the  girl  with  the  blue  eyes ! 
Here 's  to  her  with  the  jetty  ones, 

Wlierc  the  languishing  dew  lies  ! 
Could  all  such  hours  as  this  is 

Be  summ'd  in  one  little  measure, 
I'd  live  a  short  life  of  blisses, 

And  die  in  a  surfeit  of  pleasure ! 
Then  send  the  bowl,  etc. 


THE  DAY  OF  LOVE. 

The  beam  of  morning  trembling 
8toln  o'er  the  mountain  brook 

With  timid  ray  resembling 
Affection's  early  look. 
Thus  love  begins — sweet  morn  of  love! 

Tne  noon-tide  ray  ascended. 
And  o'er  the  valley  stream 

Diffused  a  glow  as  splendid 
As  passion's  riper  dream. 
Thus  love  expands — warm  noon  of  love ! 


But  evening  came,  o'ershading 

The  glories  of  the  sky. 
Like  faith  and  fondness  fading 
From  Passion's  alter'd  eye. 
Thus  love  declines — cold  eve  of  love  ' 


THE  PROBABILITY. 

My  heart  is  united  to  Chloe's  for  ever, 
No  time  shall  the  link  of  their  tenderness  sever  , 
And,  if  Love  be  the  parent  of  joy  and  of  pleasure, 
Sure  Chloe  and  I  shall  be  blest  beyond  measure. 

Come,  tell  me,  my  girl,  what 's  the  sweetest  of  blisses' 
"  I'll  show  you,"  she  cries,  and  she  gives  me  swce 

kisses  ; 
Ah,  Clo  !  if  that  languishing  eye  's  not  a  traitor 
It  tells  me  you  know  of  a  bliss  that  is  greater. 

"Indeed  and  I  do  not;" — then  softly  she  blushes. 
And  her  bosom  the  warm  tint  of  modesty  flushes— 
"  I'm  sure  if  I  knew  it,  I'd  certainly  show  it, 
But,  Damon,  now  Damon,  dear,  may  be  you  know  it ! 


1  I'utting  hia  hand  on  his  paunch. 


THE  SONG  OF  WAR. 

The  song  of  war  shall  echo  through  our  mountains. 
Till  not  one  hateful  link  remains 
Of  slavery's  lingering  chains — 
Till  not  one  tyrant  tread  our  plains. 

Nor  traitor  lip  pollute  our  fountains. 
No  !  never  till  that  glorious  day 
Shall  Lusitania's  sons  be  gay, 
Or  hear,  oh  Peace  !  thy  welcome  lay 

Resounding  through  her  sunny  mountains. 

The  song  of  war  shall  echo  through  our  mountains, 
Till  Victory's  self  shall,  smiling,  say, 
"Your  cloud  of  foes  hath  pass'd  away. 
And  Freedom  comes  with  new-born  ray. 

To  gild  your  vines  and  light  your  fountains." 
Oh  !  never  till  that  glorious  day 
Shall  Lusitania's  sons  be  gay, 
Or  hear,  oh  Peace  !  thy  welcome  lay 

Resounding  through  her  sunny  mountains. 


THE  TABLET  OF  LOVE. 

You  bid  me  be  happy,  and  bid  me  adieu 
Can  happiness  live  when  absent  from  you  ? 
Will  sleep  on  my  eyelids  e'er  sweetly  alight. 
When  greeted  no  more  by  a  tender  good  night? 
Oh,  never  !  for  deep  is  the  record  enshrined  ; 
Thy  look  and  thy  voice  will  survive  in  my  mind : 
Though  age  may  the  treasures  of  memory  remove, 
Unfading  shall  flourish  the  Tablet  of  Love. 

Through  life's  wmding  valley — in  anguish,  in  rest, 
Exalted  in  joy,  or  liy  sorrow  depress'd — 
From  its  place  in  the  mirror  that  lies  on  my  heart. 
Thine  image  shall  never  one  moment  depart. 
When  time,  life,  and  all  that  poor  mortals  hold  dear 
Like  visions,  like  dreams,  shall  at  last  disappear. 
Though  raised  among  seraphs  to  realms  above. 
Unfading  shall  flourish  the  Tablet  of  Love 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


377 


THE  YOUNG  ROSE. 

The  young  r(ise  which  I  give  tiiee,  so  dewy  and  bright, 
Was  tlic  floweret  most  dear  to  the  sweet  bird  of  night, 
W'ho  ofi  by  ihe  moon  o'er  lier  bluslies  liatli  hung. 
And  tlirill'd  every  leaf  wiili  the  wild  lay  he  sung. 

Oh '  take  thou  this  young  rose,  and  let  her  life  be 
I'rolong'd  by  the  breath  she  will  borrow  from  thee ! 
For,  while  o'er  her  bosom  thy  soft  notes  sliall  thrill, 
'^bc'll  think  the  sweet  night-bird  is  courting  her  still. 


WHEN  L\  LANGUOR  SLEEPS  THE 
HEART. 

When  in  languor  sleeps  the  heart, 
Love  can  wake  it  with  his  dart ; 
When  the  mind  is  dull  and  dark, 
Love  can  light  it  with  his  spark. 

Come,  oh !  come  then,  let  us  haste, 
All  the  bliss  of  love  to  taste; 
Let  us  love  both  night  and  day, 
Let  us  love  our  hves  away  ! 

And  for  hearts  from  loving  free 
(If  indeed  such  hearts  there  be,) 
May  they  ne'er  the  rapture  prove 
Of  tl>e  smile  from  lips  we  love. 


WHEN  '.MIDST  THE  GAY  I  MEET. 

When  'midst  the  gay  I  meet 

That  blessed  smile  of  thine. 
Though  still  on  me  it  turns  most  sweet, 

I  scarce  can  call  it  mine  : 
But  wiien  to  me  alone 

Your  secret  tears  you  show, 
Oh  !  then  I  feel  tliose  tears  my  own, 

And  claim  them  as  they  flow. 
Then  still  with  bright  looks  bless 

The  gay,  the  cold,  the  free ; 
G've  smiles  to  those  who  love  you  less. 

But  keep  your  tears  for  me. 

The  snow  on  Jura's  steep 

Can  smile  with  many  a  beam, 
Yet  still  in  chains  of  coldness  sleep, 

How  bright  soe'er  it  seem. 
But,  when  some  deep-felt  ray, 

Whose  touch  is  fire,  appears, 
Oh !  then  the  smile  is  warm'd  away. 

And,  melting,  turns  to  tears. 
Then  still  with  bright  looks  bless 

The  gay,  the  cold,  the  free  ; 
Give  smiles  to  those  who  love  you  less. 

But  keep  your  tears  for  me. 


WHEN  TWILIGHT  DEWS. 

When  twilight  dews  are  falling  soft 

Upon  the  rosy  sea,  love  ! 
I  watch  the  star,  whose  beam  so  oft 

Has  lighted  me  to  thee,  love! 


And  thou  too,  on  that  orb  so  clear, 

Ah  1  dost  thou  gaze  at  even. 
And  think,  though  lost  for  ever  here, 

Thou'lt  yet  be  mine  in  heaven  ? 

There  's  not  a  garden  walk  I  tread,  ■ 

There  's  not  a  (lower  I  see,  love ! 
But  brings  to  mind  some  hope  that 's  fled. 

Some  joy  I've  lost  with  thee,  love  ! 
And  still  I  wish  that  hour  was  near, 

When,  friends  and  foes  forgiven. 
The  pains,  the  ills  we've  wept  through  here. 

May  turn  to  smiles  in  heaven  ! 


WILL  YOU  COME  TO  THE  BOWER? 

Will  you  come  to  the  bower  I  have  shaded  f'»i  you  7 
Our  bed  shall  be  roses  all  spangled  with  dew 
Will  you,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you 
Come  to  the  bower  ? 

There,  under  the  bower,  on  roses  you'll  lit, 
With  a  blush  on  your  cheek,  but  a  smile  in  your  eye. 
Will  you,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you 
Smile,  my  beloved  ? 

But  the  roses  we  press  shall  not  rival  your  lip. 
Nor  the  dew  be  so  sweet  as  the  kisses  we'll  sip 
Will  you,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you 
Kiss  me,  my  love  ? 

And  oh  !  for  the  joys  that  are  sweeter  than  dew 
From  languishing  roses,  or  kisses  from  you. 
Will  you,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you, 
Won't  you,  my  love  ? 


YOUNG  JESSICA. 

Young  Jessica  sat  all  the  day. 

In  love-dreams  languishingly  pining, 
Her  needle  bright  neglected  lay. 

Like  truant  genius  idly  shining. 
Jessy,  't  is  in  idle  hearts 

That  love  and  mischief  are  most  nimble . 
The  safest  shield  against  the  darts 

Of  Cupid,  is  Minerva's  thimble. 

A  child  w^ho  with  a  magnet  play'd. 

And  knew  its  winning  ways  so  wily. 
The  magnet  near  the  needle  laid. 

And  laughing  said,  "  We  '11  steal  it  slily ' 
The  needle,  having  nought  to  do. 

Was  pleased  to  let  the  magnet  wheedle. 
Till  closer  still  the  tempter  drew. 

And  off,  at  length,  eloped  the  needle. 

Now,  had  this  needle  turn'd  its  eye 

To  some  gay  Ridicule's  construction. 
It  ne'er  had  stray'd  from  duty's  tie, 

Nor  felt  a  magnet's  sly  seduction. 
Girls,  would  you  keep  tranquil  hearts. 

Your  snowy  tingers  must  be  nimble , 
The  safest  shield  against  the  darts 

Of  Cupid,  is  3Iiuerva's  tliimble. 


378 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE  RABBINICAL  ORIGLN  OF  WOMEN. 
They  tell  us  that  Woman  was  made  of  a  rib 

Just  pick'd  from  a  corner  so  snug  in  the  side ; 
Rut  the  Rabbijis  swear  to  you  tliis  is  a  fib, 

And  't  was  not  so  at  all  that  the  sex  was  supplied. 
Derry  down,  down,  down  derry  down. 

For  old  Adam  was  fashion'd,  the  first  of  his  kind, 
Witli  a  tail  like  a  monkey,  full  yard  and  a  span ; 

And  when  Nature  cut  off  this  appendage  behind, 
Why — then  woman  was  made  of  the  tail  of  the  Man. 
Derry  down,  down,  down  derry  down. 

If  such  is  the  tie  between  women  and  men, 

The  ninny  who  weds  is  a  pitiful  elf; 
For  he  takes  to  his  tail,  like  an  idiot,  again. 

And  makes  a  most  damnaoie  ape  of  himself! 
Derry  down,  down,  down  derry  down. 

Yet,  if  we  may  judge  as  the  fashions  prevail, 
Every  husband  remembers  the  original  plan. 

And,  knowing  his  wife  is  no  more  than  his  tail. 
Why — he  leaves  her  behind  him  as  much  as  he  can. 
Derry  down,  down,  down  derry  down. 


FAREWELL,  BESSY! 

Sweetest  love  !  I  '11  not  forget  thee, 

Time  shall  only  teach  my  heart 
Fonder,  warmer,  to  regret  thee. 
Lovely,  gentle  as  thou  art ! 
Farewell,  Bessy ! 
We  may  meet  again. 

Yes,  oh  yes  !  again  we  meet,  love . 

And  repose  our  hearts  at  last ; 

Oh,  sure  't  will  then  be  sweet,  love  ! 

Calm  to  think  on  sorrows  past. 

Farewell,  Bessy! 

We  may  meet  again. 

Yet  I  feel  my  heart  is  breaking 

When  I  think  I  stray  from  thee. 
Round  the  world  that  quiet  seeking 
Which  I  fear  is  not  for  me. 
Farewell,  Bessy ! 
We  may  meet  again. 

Calm  to  peace  thy  lover's  bosom — 

Can  it,  dearest !  must  it  be  ? 
Thou  within  an  hour  shalt  lose  him, 
He  for  ever  loses  thee ! 
Farewell,  Bessy ! 
Yet  oh !  not  for  ever. 


TO-DAY,  DEAREST!  IS  OURS. 
To-DAV,  dearest !  is  ours  ; 

Why  should  Love  carelessly  lose  it? 
This  life  frhines  or  lowers 

Just  as  we,  weak  mortals,  use  it. 
'T  is  time  enough,  when  its  flowers  decay. 

To  think  of  the  thorns  of  Sorrow ; 
And  Joy,  if  left  on  the  stem  to-day. 

May  wither  before  to-morrow 


Then  why,  dearest !  so  long 

Let  the  sweet  moments  fly  over  ? 
Though  now,  blooming  and  young. 

Thou  hast  ine  devoutly  thy  lover. 
Yet  time  from  both,  in  his  silent  lapse, 

Some  treasure  may  steal  or  borrow; 
Thy  charms  may  be  less  in  bloom,  perhaps, 

Or  lless  in  love  to-morrow. 


WHEN  ON  THE  LIP  THE  SIGH  DELAYS 

When  on  the  lip  the  sigh  delays. 

As  if  't  would  linger  there  for  ever  ; 
When  eyes  would  give  the  world  to  gaze 

Yet  still  look  down,  and  venture  never; 
When,  though  with  fairest  nymphs  we  rove, 

There  's  one  we  dream  of  more  than  any 
If  all  this  is  not  real  love, 

'T  is  something  wondrous  like  it,  Fanny  ! 

To  think  and  ponder,  when  apart. 

On  all  we  've  got  to  say  at  meeting ;    . 
And  yet  when  near,  with  heart  to  heart, 

Sit  mute,  and  listen  to  their  beating ; 
To  see  but  one  bright  object  move. 

The  only  moon,  where  stars  are  many— 
If  all  this  is  not  downright  love, 

I  prithee  say  what  is,  my  Fanny ! 

When  Hope  foretels  the  brightest,  best, 

Though  Reason  on  the  darkest  reckons : 
W^hen  Passion  drives  us  to  the  west, 

Though  Prudence  to  the  eastward  beckons ; 
When  all  turns  round,  below,  above, 

And  our  own  heads  the  most  of  any — 
If  this  is  not  stark,  staring  love, 

Then  you  and  I  are  sages,  Fanny. 


HERE,  TAKE  MY  HEART. 

Here,  take  my  heart,  't  will  be  safe  in  thy  keepmg 
While  I  go  wandering  o'er  land  and  o'er  sea ; 

Smiling  or  sorrowing,  waking  or  sleeping. 
What  need  I  care,  so  my  heart  is  with  thee  ' 

If,  in  the  race  we  are  destined  to  run,  love, 
They  who  have  light  hearts  the  happiest  je- 

Happier  still  must  be  they  who  have  none,  love, 
And  that  will  be  my  case  when  mine  is  with  thee 

No  matter  where  I  may  now  be  a  rover, 
No  matter  how  many  bright  eyes  I  see ; 

Should  Venus'  self  come  and  ask  me  to  love  her, 
I'd  tell  her  I  could  not — my  heart  is  with  thee ! 

There  let  it  lie,  growing  fonder  and  fonder — 
And  should  Dame  Fortune  turn  truant  to  me. 

Why, — let  her  go — I've  a  treasure  beyond  her. 
As  long  as  my  heart 's  out  at  interest  with  thee ! 


OH!  CALL  IT  BY  SOME  BETTER  NAME 

Oh  !  call  it  by  some  better  name, 
For  Friendsiiip  is  too  cold. 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


379 


And  Love  is  now  a  worldly  flame, 
Whose  shrine  must  be  of  gold ; 

And  passion,  like  the  sun  at  noon, 
That  burns  o'er  all  he  sees. 

Awhile  as  warm,  will  set  as  soon, — 
Oh !  call  it  none  of  these. 

Imagine  something  purer  far, 

More  free  from  stain  of  clay, 
Than  Friendship,  Love,  or  Passion  are, 

Yet  human  still  as  they  : 
As  if  thy  lip,  for  love  like  this. 

No  mortal  word  can  frame, 
Go,  ask  of  angels  what  it  is, 

And  call  it  by  that  name ! 


POOR  WOUNDED  HEART! 

Poor  wounded  heart! 

Poor  wounded  heart,  farewell ! 

Thy  hour  is  come, 

Thy  hour  of  rest  is  come  ; 

Thou  soon  wilt  reach  thy  home, 

Poor  wounded  heart,  farewell  ! 
The  pain  tliou  'It  feel  in  breaking 

Less  uitter  far  will  be. 
Than  that  long,  deadly  course  of  aching, 

This  life  has  been  to  thee —  * 

Poor  breaking  heart,  poor  breaking  heart,  farewell ! 

There — broken  heart. 

Poor  broken  heart,  farewell ! 

The  pang  is  o'er — 

The  parting  pang  is  o'er. 

Thou  now  wilt  bleed  no  more. 

Poor  broken  heart,  farewell ! 
No  rest  for  thee  but  dying. 

Like  waves  whose  strife  is  past. 
On  death's  cold  shore  thus  early  Ij'ing, 

Thou  sleep'st  in  peace  at  last — 
Poor  broken  heart,  poor  broken  heart,  farewell  I 


THE  EAST  INDL\N. 
Come  May,  with  all  thy  flowers, 

Thy  sweetly-scented  thorn. 
Thy  cooling  evening  showers. 

Thy  fragrant  breath  at  mom  : 
When  IMay-flies  haunt  the  willow. 

When  May-buds  tempt  the  bee, 
Then  o'er  the  shining  billow 

My  love  will  come  to  me. 

From  Eastern  Isles  she  's  winging 

Through  wat'ry  wilds  her  way, 
And  on  her  cheek  is  bringing 

The  bright  sun's  orient  ray: 
Oh  !  come  and  court  her  hither. 

Ye  breezes  mild  and  warm — 
One  winter's  gale  would  wither 

So  soft,  so  pure  a  form. 

The  fields  where  she  was  straying 
Are  blest  with  endless  light, 


With  zephyrs  always  playing 
Through  gardens  always  bright. 

Then  now,  oh  May !  be  sweeter 
That  ere  tiiou  'st  been  before ; 

Let  sighs  from  roses  meet  her 
When  she  comes  near  our  shore. 


PALE  BROKEN  FLOWER! 
Pale  broken  flower !  what  art  can  now  recover  thee 
Torn  from  the  stem  that  fed  thy  rosy  breath — 
In  vain  the  sun-beams  seek 
To  warm  that  faded  cheek  ! 
The  dews  of  heaven,  that  once  like  balm  fell  ovei 
thee. 
Now  are  but  tears,  to  weep  thy  early  death ! 

So  droops  the  maid  whose  lover  hath  forsaken  her , 
Thrown  from  his  arms,  as  lone  and  lost  as  thou ; 
In  vain  the  smiles  of  all 
Like  sun-beams  round  her  fall — 
The  only  smile  that  could  from  death  awaken  her 
That  smile,  alas  !  is  gone  to  others  now 


THE  PRETTY  ROSE-TREE. 
Being  weary  of  love,  I  flew  to  the  grove. 

And  chose  me  a  tree  of  the  fairest ; 
Saying,  "  Pretty  Rose-tree,  thou  my  mistress  shall  be. 
I  '11  worship  each  bud  that  thou  bcarest. 

For  the  hearts  of  this  world  are  hollow. 
And  fickle  the  smiles  we  follow; 
And  't  is  sweet,  when  all  their  witcheries  pall. 

To  have  a  pure  love  to  fly  to : 
So,  my  pretty  Rose-tree,  thou  my  mistress  shall  be. 
And  the  only  one  now  I  shall  sigh  to." 

When  the  beautiful  hue  of  thy  cheek  through  tht 
dew 
Of  morning  is  bashfully  peeping, 
"  Sweet  tears,"  I  shall  say  ^as  I  brush  them  awav,) 
At  least  there  's  no  art  in  this  weeping." 

Although  thou  shouldest  die  to-morrow, 
'T  will  not  be  from  pain  or  sorrow. 
And  the  thorns  of  thy  stem  are  not  like  them 

With  which  hearts  wound  each  other : 
So,  my  pretty  Rose-tree,  thou  my  mistress  shall  be 
And  I  '11  ne'er  again  sigh  to  another. 


SHINE  OUT,  STARS ! 

Shine  out,  Stars  !  let  heaven  assemble 

Round  us  every  festal  ray, 
Lights  that  move  not,  lights  that  tremble. 

All  to  grace  this  eve  of  May. 
Let  the  flower-beds  all  lie  waking. 

And  the  odours  shut  up  there, 
From  their  downy  prisons  breaking. 

Fly  abroad  through  sea  and  air. 

And  would  Love  too  bring  his  sweetness. 
With  our  ol'.ier  joys  to  weave. 


380 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Oh,  what  glory,  what  completeness, 
Then  would  crown  tliis  bright  May  eve, 

Shine  cut,  Stars  !  let  night  assemble 
Round  us  every  festal  ray. 

Lights  that  move  not,  lights  that  tremble, 
To  adorn  this  eve  of  May. 


THE  YOUNG  MULETEERS  OF  GRENADA. 

Oh  '  the  joys  of  our  everJr.g  posada, 

When,  resting  at  the  close  of  day, 
We,  young  muleteers  of  Grenada, 

Sit  and  sing  the  last  sunshine  away ! 
So  blithe,  that  even  the  slumbers 

Which  hung  around  us  seem  gone, 
Till  the  lute's  soft  drowsy  numbers 

Again  beguile  them  on. 

Then,  as  each  to  his  favourite  sultana 

In  sleep  is  still  breathing  the  sigh. 
The  name  of  some  black-eyed  Tirana 

Half  breaks  from  our  lips  as  we  lie. 
Then,  with  morning's  rosy  twinkle, 

Again  we  're  up  .ind  gone — 
While  the  mule-bill's  drowsy  tinkle 

Beguiles  the  rough  way  on. 


TELL  HER,  OH  TELL  HER. 

Tell  her,  oh  tell  her,  the  lute  she  left  lying 
Beneath  the  green  arbour,  is  still  lying  there 

Breezes,  like  lovers,  around  it  are  sighing. 
But  not  a  soft  whisper  replies  to  their  pra\e7 

Tell  her,  oh  tell  her,  the  tree  that,  in  going, 
Beside  the  green  arbour  she  playfully  set, 

Lovely  as  ever  is  blushing  and  blowing. 
And  not  a  bright  leaflet  has  fallen  from  it  yet 

So  while  away  from  that  arbour  fors?.ken, 
Tie  maJden  is  w.indcring,  oh !  Ici  her  be 


True  as  the  lute  that  no  sighing  can  waken. 
And  blooming  for  ever  unchanged  as  the  tree 


NIGHTS  OF  MUSIC. 

Nights  of  music,  nights  of  loving, 

Lost  too  soon,  remember'd  long. 
When  we  went  by  moon-light  roving, 

Hearts  all  love,  and  lips  aJl  song. 
When  this  faithful  lute  recorded 

All  my  spitit  felt  to  thee. 
And  that  smile  the  song  rewarded, 

Worth  whole  years  of  fame  to  me! 

Nights  of  song,  and  nights  of  splendour 

Fill'd  with  joys  too  sweet  to  last — 
Joys  that,  like  your  star-light  tender, 

While  ttie}'  shone,  no  shadow  cast* 
Though  all  other  happy  hours 

From  my  fading  memory  fly. 
Of  that  star-light,  of  those  bowers. 

Not  a  beam,  a  leaf,  shall  die ! 


OUR  FIRST  YOUNG  LOVK 
Our  first  young  love  resembles 

That  short  but  brilliant  ray. 
Which  smiles,  and  weeps,  and  trembles 

Through  April's  earliest  day. 
No,  no — all  life  before  us, 

Howe'er  its  lights  may  play, 
Can  shed  no  lustre  o'er  us 

Like  that  first  April  ray. 

Our  summer  sun  may  squander 

A  blaze  serener,  grander, 
Our  autumn  beam  may,  like  a  dream 

Of  heaven,  die  calm  away  : 
But  no — let  life  before  us 

Bring  all  the  light  it  may, 
'T  will  shed  no  lustre  o'er  us 

Like  thai  first  trembling  ray 


MISCEL,L.ANEOUS  POEHS. 


A  MELOLOGUE 


UPON  NATIONAL  MUSIC. 


These  verses  were  written  for  a  Benefit  at  the 
Dublin  Theatre,  and  were  spoken  by  3Iiss  Smith 
with  a  degree  of  success,  which  they  owed  solely  to 
her  admirable  manner,  of  reciting  them.  I  wrote 
ihem  in  haste  ;  and  it  very  rarely  happens  that 
poetry,  which  has  cost  but  little  labour  to  the  writer, 
is  productive  of  any  great  pleasure  to  the  reader. 
Under  this  impression,  I  should  not  have  published 
them  if  they  had  not  found  their  way  into  some  of 
the  newspapers,  with  such  an  addition  of  errors  to 
their  own  original  stock,  that  I  thought  it  but  fair  to 
limit  their  responsibility  to  those  faults  alone  which 
really  belong  to  them. 

With  respect  to  the  title  which  I  have  invented  for 
this  Poem,  I  feel  even  more  than  the  scruples  of  the 
Emperor  Tiberius,  when  he  humbly  asked  pardon  of 
the  Roman  senate  for  using  "the  outlandish  term 
monopohj."  But  the  truth  is,  having  written  the 
Poem  with  the  sole  view  of  serving  a  Benefit,  I 
thought  that  an  unintelligible  word  of  this  kind 
would  not  be  without  its  attraction  for  the  multitude, 
with  whom,  "if  'tis  not  sense,  at  least  'tis  Greek." 
To  some  of  my  readers,  however,  it  may  not  be 
superfluous  to  say,  that,  by  "  Melologue,"  I  mean 
that  mixture  of  recitation  and  music,  which  is  fre 
quently  adopted  in  the  performance  of  Collins's  Ode 
on  the  Passions,  and  of  which  the  most  s'.riking  e.\ 
ample  I  can  remember  is  the  prophetic  speech  of 
load  in  the  Athalie  of  Kacine. 

T, 


I\I. 


There  breathes  a  language,  known  and  felt 
Far  as  the  pure  air  spreads  its  living  zone ; 
Wherever  rage  can  rouse,  or  pity  melt, 
That  language  of  the  soul  is  felt  and  known. 
From  those  merid;?.n  plains, 
WTiere  oft,  of  old,  on  some  high  tower, 
The  soft  Peruvian  pour'd  his  midnight  strains, 
And  call'd  his  distant  love  with  such  sweet  power, 

That,  when  she  heard  the  lonely  lay, 
Not  worlds  could  keep  her  from  his  arms  away;' 
To  the  bleak  climes  of  polar  night, 
Where,  beneath  a  sunless  sky. 
The  Lapland  lover  bids  his  rein-deer  fly. 
And  sings  along  the  lengthening  waste  of  snow, 


1  "A  certain  Spaniaril,  one  niglil  late,  met  an  Indian 
woman  in  the  slreets  of  Cozi'O,  and  would  have  talien  her 
to  his  home,  but  she  cried  out,  '  For  God's  sake,  Sir,  let  me 
go  ;  for  that  pipe,  which  you  hear  in  yonder  tower,  calls  me 
with  great  passion,  and  1  cannot  refuse  the  summons;  for 
love  constrains  me  to  go,  that  I  may  be  his  wife,  and  he  my 
husband.'  " — Garcilasso  de  la  Vega,  in  Sir  Paul  Rycaut's 
tran^lation 


As  blithe  as  if  the  blessed  light 

Of  vernal  Phoebus  burn'd  upon  his  brow 

Oh  3Iusic  !  thy  celestial  claim 

Is  still  resistless,  still  the  same; 

And,  faiihful  as  the  mighty  sea 

To  the  pale  star  that  o'er  its  realm  presides, 

The  spell-bound  tides 

Of  human  passion  rise  and  fall  for  thee ! 

Greek  Air. 
List !  't  is  a  Grecian  maid  that  sings, 
While,  from  Ilyssus'  silvery  springs. 
She  draws  the  cool  lymph  in  her  graceful  urnj 
And  by  her  side,  in  music's  charm  dissolving, 
Some  patriot  youth,  the  glorious  past  revolving, 
Dreams  of  bright  days  that  never  can  return ! 
When  Athens  nursed  her  olive-bough. 

With  hands  by  tyrant  power  unchain'd. 
And  braided  for  the  muses'  brow 

A  wreath  by  tyrant  touch  unstain'd. 
When  heroes  trod  each  classic  field 

Where  coward  feet  now  faintly  falter ; 

When  every  arm  was  Freedom's  shield, 

And  every  heart  was  Freedom's  altar ! 

Flourish  of  Trumpet. 
Hark  !  't  is  the  sound  that  charms 
The  war-steed's  waking  cars  ! — 
Oh  !  many  a  mother  folds  her  arms 


Round  her  boy-soldier  when  that  call  she  beam : 
And,  though  her  fond  heart  sink  with  fears. 
Is  proud  to  feel  his  young  pulse  bound 
With  valour's  fever  at  the  sound  ! 
See  !  from  his  native  hills  afar 
The  rude  Helvetian  flies  to  war; 
Careless  for  what,  for  whom  he  fights. 
For  slave  or  despot,  wrongs,  or  rights ; 

A  conqueror  oft — a  hero  never — 
Yet  lavish  of  his  life-blood  still, 
As  if  't  were  like  his  mountain  rill, 
And  gush'd  for  ever ! 

Oh  Music  !  here,  even  here, 
Amid  this  thoughtless,  wild  career, 
Thy  soul-felt  charm  asserts  its  wondrous  powei 

There  is  an  air,  which  oft  among  the  rocks 
Of  his  own  loved  land,  at  evening  hour. 
Is  heard,  when  shepherds  homeward  pipe  Jieii 
flocks ; 
Oh  !  every  note  of  it  would  thrill  his  mind 
With  tenderest  thoughts — would  bring  around  ha 
knees 
The  rosy  children  whom  he  left  behind. 
And  fill  each  little  angel  eye 
With  speaking  tears,  that  ask  him  why 
He  wander'd  from  his  hut  for  scenes  like  these" 
Vain,  vain  is  then  the  trumpet's  brazen  roar; 

Sweet  notes  of  home — of  love — are  all  he  hears. 

381 


382 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  the  stern  eyes,  that  look'd  for  blood  before, 
Now  melting,  mournful,  lose  themselves  in  tears! 

Swiss  Air — "  Rojiz  des  Vaches." 
But,  wake  the  trumpet's  blast  again. 
And  rouse  the  ranks  of  warrior-men  ! 
Oh  War!  when  truth  thy  arm  employs. 
And  Freedom's  spirit  guides  the  labouring  stoiTO, 
'T  is  then  thy  vengeance  takes  a  hallow'd  form. 

And,  like  Heaven's  lightning,  sacredly  destroys  ! 
Nor,  3Iusic  !  through  thy  breathing  sphere. 
Lives  there  a  sound  more  grateful  to  the  ear 
Of  Him  who  made  all  harmony, 
Than  the  bless'd  sound  of  fetters  breaking. 
And  the  first  hymn  that  man,  awaking 
From  Slavery's  slumber,  breathes  to  Liberty  ! 

Spanish  Chorus. 

Hark!  from  Spain,  indignant  Spain, 
Bursts  the  bold,  enthusiast  strain. 
Like  morning's  music  on  the  air  ! 
And  seems,  in  every  note,  to  swear, 
By  Saragossa's  ruin'd  streets, 

By  brave  Gerona's  deathful  story. 
That,  while  one  Spaniard's  life-blood  beats, 

That  blood  shall  stain  the  conqueror's  glory ! 

Spanish  Air — "  Ya  Desperto." 

But  ah  !  if  vain  the  patriot's  zeal, 
If  neither  valour's  force,  nor  wisdom's  light 

Can  break  or  melt  that  blood-cemented  seal 
WTiich  shuts  so  close  the  book  of  Europe's  right — 
What  song  shall  then  in  sadness  tell 

Of  broken  pride,  of  prospects  shaded, 
Of  buried  hopes,  remember'd  well, 

Of  ardour  quench'd,  and  honour  faded  ? 
What  Muse  shall  mourn  the  breathless  brave, 

In  sweetest  dirge  at  JMemory's  shrine  ? 
What  harp  shall  sigh  o'er  Freedom's  grave  ? 
Oh  Erin !  thine ! 


LINES 

On  the  Death  of  Mr.  P-r—v-l 

In  the  dirge  we  sung  o'er  him  no  censure  was  heard, 

Unemoitter'd  and  free  did  the  tear-drop  descend  ; 

We  forgot  in  that  hour  how  the  statesman  had  err'd. 

And  wept  for  the  husband,  the  father,  and  friend 

Oh '  proud  was  the  meed  his  integrity  won. 

And  generous  indeed  were  the  tears  that  we  shed, 

When  in  grief  we  forgot  all  the  ill  he  had  done. 
And,  thouofh  wrong'd  by  him  living,  bcwail'd  him 
when  dead. 

Even  now,  if  one  harsher  emotion  intrude, 

'T  is  to  wish  he  had  chosen  some  lowlier  stale — 

Had  known  what  he  was,  and,  content  to  be  good, 
Had  ne'er,  for  our  ruin,  aspired  to  be  great. 

So,  left  through  their  own  little  orbit  to  move. 
His  vea'-s  "light  have  roU'd  inolfensive  ;iway; 


His  children  might  still  have  been  bless'd  with  h«* 
love. 
And  England  would  ne'er  have  been  cursed  wiln 
his  sway 


LINES 
On  the  Death  of  Sh-r-d-n. 

Principibus  placuisse  viris. — Hor. 

Yes,  grief -will  have  way — but  the  fast-falling  tear 
Shall  be  mingled  with  deep  execrations  on  those 

Who  could  bask  in  that  spirit's  meridian  career, 
And  yet  leave  it  thus  lonely  and  dark  at  its  close  :- 

Whose  vanity  flew  round  him  only  while  fed 
By  the  odour  his  fame  in  its  summer-time  gave  ; 

Whose  vanity  now,  with  quick  scent  for  the  dead, 
Like  the  ghole  of  the  East,  comes  to  feed  at  hL<i 
grave ! 

Oh  !  it  sickens  the  heart  to  see  bosoms  so  hollow 
And  spirits  so  mean  in  the  great  and  high-born; 

To  think  what  a  long  line  of  titles  may  follow 
The  relics  of  him  who  died — friendless  and  lorn  ! 

How  proud  they  can  press  to  the  funeral  array 
Of  one  whom  they  shunn'd  in  his  sickness  and 
sorrow : 

How  bailiffs  may  seize  his  last  blanket  to-day, 

Whose  pall  shall  be  held  up  by  nobles  to-morrow ! 

And  thou,  too,  whose  life,  a  sick  epicure's  dream, 
Incoherent  and  gross,  even  grosser  had  pass'd, 

Were  it  not  for  that  cordial  and  soul-giving  beam 
Which  his  friendship  and  wit  o'er  thy  nothingness 
cast : 

No,  not  for  the  wealth  of  the  land  that  supplies  thee 
With  millions  to  heap  upon  foppery's  shrine  ; — 

No,  not  for  the  riches  of  all  who  despise  thee. 

Though  this  would  make  Europe's  whole  opulence 
mine  ; — 

Would  I  suffer  what — even  in  the  heart  that  thou 
hast — 
All  mean  as  it  is — must  have  consciously  burn'd 
When  the  pittance,  which  shame  had  wrung  from 
thee  at  last. 
And  which  found  all  his  wants  at  an  end,  was  re- 
turn'd!' 

"  Was  this,  then,  the  fate" — future  ages  will  say, 
When  some  names  shall  live  but  in  history's  curse 

When  Truth  will  be  heard,  and  these  lords  of  a  day 
Be  forgotten  as  fools,  or  remember'd  as  worse — 

"Was  this,  then,  the  fate  of  that  high-gifted  man. 
The  pride  of  the  palace,  the  bower,  and  the  hall, 

The  orator — dramatist — minstrel, — who  ran 

Through  each  mode  of  the  lyre,  and  was  master  of 
all! 


1  The  NMin  was  two  luindrod  poiinfls — offered  when 
fli-r-(l-n  c.)u1(l  no  longer  take  any  sustunanco,  and  deolined 
for  him,  bv  hie  fiienJa. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


883 


'Whose  mind  was  an  essence,  compounded  with  art 
Front  tfic  finest  and  best  of  all  oihfr  men's  powers — 

VVTio  ruled,  like  a  wizard,  ihc.  world  of'the  heart, 
And  could  call  up  its  sunshine,  or  bringdown  its 
showers  ! 

'Whose  humour,  as  gay  as  the  fire-fly's  light, 

Play'd  round  every  subject,  and  shone  as  it  play'd — 
Whose  wit,  in  the  combat,  as  gentle  as  bright, 
Ne'er  carried  a  heart-stain  away  on  its  blade  ; — 

"  Whose  eloquence — bright'ning  whatever  it  tried. 
Whether  reason  or  fancy,  the  gay  or  the  grave — 

Was  as  rapid,  as  tieep,  and  as  brilliant  a  tide 
As  ever  bore  Freedom  alofl  on  its  wave  !" 

Ves — such  was  the  man,  and  so  wretched  his  fate  ; — 
And  thus,  sooner  or  Inter,  shall  all  have  to  grieve. 

Who  waste  their  morn's  dew  in  the  beams  of  the 
(iroat, 
And  expect 't  will  ••eturn  to  refresh  them  at  eve  ! 

In  the  woods  of  the  North  there  are  insects  that  prey 
On  the  brain  of  the  elk  till  his  very  last  sigh  ;' 

Oh,  Oenius  !  thy  patrons,  more  cruel  than  they. 
First  feed  on  thy  brains,  and  then  leave  thee  to  die  ! 


LINES 

WRITTEN  ON  IIEARTNG  THAT  TFIE   AUSTRIANS  HAD 
ENTERED    NAPLES. 

Carbonr  Notati ! 

Ay — down  to  the  dust  with  them,  slaves  as  they  are — 
From  this   hour,  let  the  blood   in   their  dastardly 
veins. 

That  shrunk  at  the  first  touch  of  Liberty's  war, 
Re  suck'd  out  by  tyrants,  or  stagnate  in  chains  ! 

On,  on,  like  a  cloud,  throusrh  their  beautiful  vales. 
Ye  locusts  of  tyranny,  blasting  them  o'er — 

Fill,  fdl  up  their  wide  sunny  waters,  ye  sails 

From  each  slave-mart  of  Europe,  and  poison  their 
shore ! 

Let  their  fate  be  a  mock-word — let  men  of  all  lands 
Laugh  out,  with  a  scorn  that  shall  ring  to  the  poles. 

When  each  sword  that  the  cowards  let  fall  from  their 
hands 
Shall  be  forged  into  fetters  to  enter  their  souls  ! 

And  deep  and  more  deep  as  the  iron  is  driven. 
Base  slaves  !  may  the  whet  of  their  agony  be, 

To  think — as  the  damn'd  haply  think  of  that  heaven 
They  had  once  in  their  reach — that   they  might 
have  been  free  ! 

Shame,  shame,  when  there  was  not  a  bosom,  whose 
heat 

Ever  rose  o'er  the  zero  of 's  heart. 

That  did  not,  like  echo,  your  war-hymn  repeat. 

And  send  all  its  prayers  with  your  liberty's  start — 


1  Naturali»ts  have  observed  th  it,  upon  disseetin!;  an  elk, 
there  were  fouiKl  in  iu  liciid  some  lar^e  flies,  with  its  brain 
almost  eaten  away  by  them. —  History  of  Poland. 


AVhen  the  world  stood  in  hope — when  a  spirit,  tha 
breathed 

The  fresh  air  of  the  olden  time,  whisper'd  about, 
And  the  swords  of  all  Italy  half-way  unsheathed, 

But  waited  one  conquering  cry  to  flash  out ! 

When  around  you,  the  shades  of  your  mighty  in  famq 
Filicajas  and  Pelrarchs,  secm'd  bursting  to  view. 

And  their  words  and  their  warnings — like  tongues  ol 
bright  flame 
Over  Freedom's  apostles — fell  kindling  on  you  ! 

Good  God  !  that  in  such  a  proud  moment  of  life. 
Worth  the  history  of  ages — when,  had  you  bu 
hurl'd 
One  bolt  at  your  bloody  invader,  that  strife 

Between  freemen  and  tyrants  had  spread  throug 
the  world — 

That  then — oh  disgrace  upon  manhood  !  even  then. 
You   should  falter,  should   cling  to  your  pitifu 
breath. 
Cower  down  into  beasts,  when  you  might  have  stooa 
men. 
And  prefer  the  slave's  life  of  damnation  to  death 

It  is  strange — it  is  dreadful ; — shout,  tyranny,  shout, 
Through  your  dungeons  and  palaces,  "  Freedom  is 
o'er !" — 

If  there  lingers  one  spark  of  her  light,  tread  it  out, 
And  return  to  your  empire  of  darkness  once  mote 

For,  if  such  are  the  braggarts  that  claim  to  be  free, 
Come,  Despot  of  Russia,  thy  feet  let  me  kiss — 

Far  nobler  to  live  the  brute  bondman  of  thee, 
Than  to  sully  even  chains  by  a  struggle  like  this  ! 
Paris,  182L 


THE  INSURRECTION  OF  THE  PAPERS. 

A   DREAM. 

"  It  would  be  impossible  for  His  Royal  Hi^lmess  to  disw* 
gage  hig  person  from  the  accumulating  pile  of  papers  th»i 
encompassed  it." — Lord  CASTr.EREAGu's  Speech  upvn 
Colonel  M'Mahon's  .^ppointmmt. 

Last  night  I  toss'd  and  turn'd  in  bed, 
But  coidd  not  sleep — at  length  I  said, 
"I  '11  think  of  Viscount  C-stl-r— r.ir, 
And  of  his  speeches — th.at's  the  way." 
And  so  it  was,  for  instantly 
I  slept  as  sound  as  sound  coidd  be  ; 
And  then  I  dream'd — oh,  frightful  dream ! 
FusELi  has  no  such  theme ; 

never  wrote  or  borrow'd 

Any  horror  half  so  horrid  ! 

IMethought  the  P e,  in  whisker'd  state, 

Before  me  at  his  breakfast  sate : 

On  one  side  lay  unread  petitions. 

On  't  other,  hints  from  five  fihysicians— 

Here  tradesmen's  hills,  official  papers. 

Notes  from  my  Lady,  drams  for  vapoun 

Tliere  plans  of  saddles,  tea  and  toas^ 

Death-warrants  and  the  3Iorninjr  Pos* 


384 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


When  lo !  the  Papers,  one  and  all, 

As  if  at  some  magician's  call. 

Began  to  flutter  of  themselves 

From  desk  and  table,  floor  and  shelves, 

And,  cutting  each  some  different  capers, 

Advanced — oh  Jacobinic  papers  ! — 

As  though  they  said,  "  Our  sole  design  is 

To  suffocate  his  Royal  Highness  !" 

The  leader  of  this  vile  sedition 

Was  a  huge  Catholic  Petition  : 

With  grievances  so  full  and  heavy, 

It  threaten'd  worst  of  all  the  bevy. 

Then  Common-Hall  Addresses  came 

In  swaggering  sheets,  and  took  their  aim 

Right  at  the  R-g-nt's  well-dress'd  head, 

Af  if  determined  to  be  read  ! 

Next  Tradesmen's  Bills  began  to  fly — 

And  tradesmen's  bills,  we  know,  mount  high ; 

Nay,  even  Death-warrants  thought  they'd  best 

Be  lively  too  and  join  the  rest. 

But  oh  ! — the  basest  of  defections  ! 
His  letter  about  "predilections" — 
His  own  dear  letter,  void  of  grace, 
Now  flew  up  in  its  parent's  face ! 
Shock'd  with  this  breach  of  filial  duty, 
He  just  could  murmur,  "  Et  tu  Brute .'" 
Then  sunk,  subdued,  upon  the  floor, 
At  Fox's  bust,  to  rise  no  more ! 

I  waked — and  pray'd,  with  lifted  hand, 
"  Oh  !  never  may  this  dream  prove  true ; 

Though  paper  overwhelms  the  land, 
Let  it  not  crush  the  Sovereign  too  !" 


PARODY  OF  A  CELEBRATED  LETTER. 

At  length,  dearest  Freddy,  the  moment  is  nigh. 
When,  with  P-rc-v-l's  leave,  I  may  throw  my  chains 

by; 
And,  as  time  now  is  precious,  the  first  thing  I  do 
b  to  sit  down  and  write  a  wise  letter  to  you. 


I  meant  before  now  to  have  sent  you  this  letter. 
But  Y-RM — Tii  and  I  thought  perhaps  't  would  be 

bcttfei 
To  wait  till  the  Irish  affairs  were  decided — 
That  is,  till  both  houses  had  prosed  and  divided, 
With  all  due  appearance  of  thought  and  digestion — 
For  though  H-rtf-ru  House  had  long  settled  the 

question, 
I  thought  it  but  decent,  between  me  and  you, 
That  the  two  other  houses  should  settle  it  too. 

I  need  not  remind  you  how  cursedly  bad 

Our  affairs  were  all  looking  when  Father  went  mad; 

A  straii-waistcoat  on  him,  and  restrictions  on  me, — 

A  more  limited  monarchy  could  not  well  be. 

I  was  cali'd  upon  then,  in  that  moment  of  puzzle, 

To  chusc  my  own  minister — just  as  they  muzzle 


A  playful  young  bear,  and  then  mock  his  disastei 
By  bidding  him  chuse  out  his  own  danring-master. 

I  thought  the  best  way,  as  a  dutiful  son, 
Was  to  do  as  old  Royalty's  self  would  have  done. 
So  I  sent  word  to  say  I  would  keep  the  whole  hatch  in 
The  same  chest  of  tools,  without  cleansing  or  patcti 

ing— 
For  tools  of  this  kind,  like  Martinus's  sconce,' 
Would  lose  all  their  beauty  if  purified  once; 
And  think — only  think — if  our  Father  should  find, 
Upon  graciously  coming  again  to  his  mind. 
That  improvement  had  spoil'd  any  favourite  adviser— 
That  R-SE  was  grown  honest,  or  W-stm-rel-ne 

wiser — 
That  R-D-R  was,  even  by  one  twinkle,  the  brighter — 
Or  L-v-R-P — l's  speeches  but  half  a  pound  lighter — 
What  a  shock  to  his  old  royal  heart  it  would  be ! 
No  ! — far  were  such  dreams  of  improvement  from  ine; 
And  it  pleased  me  to  find  at  the  house  where    you 

know. 
There's  such  good  mutton-cutlets  and  strong  curacoa,* 
That  the  Marchioness  called  me  a  duteous  old  boy. 
And  my  Y-rm-th's  red  whiskers  grew  redder  for  joy ! 

You  know,  my  dear  Freddy,  how  oft,  if  I  would. 
By  the  law  of  last  Sessions,  I  might  have  done  good. 
I  might  have  withheld  these  political  noodles 
From    knocking   their    heads    against    hot  Yankee 

Doodles; 
I  might  have  told  Ireland  I  pitied  her  lot, 
Might  have  soothed  her  with  hope — but  you  know  1 

did  not. 
And  my  wish  is,  in  truth,  that  the  best  of  old  fellows 
Should  not,  on  recovering,  have  cause  to  be  jealous. 
But  find  that,  while  he  has  been  laid  on  the  shelf, 
We've  been  all  of  us  nearly  as  mad  as  himself. 
You  smile  at  my  hopes,  but  the  doctors  and  I 
Are  the  last  that  can  think  the  K-ng  ever  will  die  ! 

A  new  era 's  arrived — though  you'd  hardly  believe  it — 

And  all  things,  of  course,  must  be  new  to  receive  it. 

New  villas,  new  fetes  (which  even  Waithman  at- 
tends)— 

New  saddles,  new  helmets,  and — why  not  new 
friends  ? 


I  repeat  it  "  new  friends" — for  I  cannot  describe 

The  delight  I  am  in  with  this  P-rc-v-l  tribe. 

Such  capering — such  vapouring ! — such  rigour — such 

vigour  ! 
North,  South,  East,  and  West,  they  have  cut  such  a 

figure. 
That  soon  they  will  bring  the  whole  world  round  oui 

ears. 
And  leave  us  no  friends — but  Old  Nick  and  Algiers. 
When  I  think  of  the  glory  they've  beam'd  on  my 

chains, 
'T  is  enough  quite  to  turn  my  illustrious  brains; 
It 's  true  we  are  bankrupts  in  commerce  and  riches, 
But  think  how  we  furnish  our'Allies  with  breeches 


1  Tho  antique  shield  of  Martinus  Scriblerus,  which,  upon 
scouring,  turn'd  out  to  be  only  an  old  sconce. 

2  Tlio  letter-writer's  favourite  luncheon 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 


385 


Wo  vc!  lost  the  warm  hearts  of  the  Irish, 't  is  granted, 
Rut  then  we've  got  Java,  an  island  much  wanted, 
To  put  the  last  lingering  few  who  remain 
Of  the  Walclieren  warriors  out  of  their  pain. 
Then,  how  \VKi,i,iN(iTON  fights'  and  how  squabbles 

his  brother ! 
For  papists  the  one,  and  witn  Dipists  the  other  ; 
One  crushing  Napoi.ko\  by  taking  a  city. 
While  t'  other  lays  waste  a  whole  Catholic  Commit- 
tee ! 
Oh,  deeds  of  renown  !  shall  I  baggie  or  flinch, 
With  such  prospects  before  me? — by  Jove  not  an 

inch. 
No — let  Ejifrlatid's  affairs  go  to  rack  if  llicy  will. 
We'll  look  after  the  atl'airs  of  the  Continent  still. 
And,  with  noiliing  at  home  but  starvation  and  riot, 
Find  Lisbon  in  br(;ad,  and  keep  Sicily  quiet. 
I  am  proud  to  declare  I  have  no  predilections, — 
My  heart  is  a  sieve,  where  some  scatter'd  art'ections 
Are  jusl  danced  about  for  a  moment  or  two, 
And  the  /i?jer  they  are,  the  more  sure  to  run  through: 
Neither  have  I  resentments,  nor  wish  there  should 

come  ill 
To  mortal — except  (now  I  think  on 't;  Beau  Br-mm-l, 
Wlio  threatened,  last  year,  in  a  superfine  passion. 
To  cut  me,  and  bring  the  old  K-No  into  fashion. 
This  is  all  I  can  lay  to  my  conscience  at  present. 
When  such  is  my  temper,  so  neutral,  so  pleasant. 
So  royally  free  from  all  troublesome  feelings. 
So  little  encumber'd  by  faith  in  my  dealings 
(And,  that  I'm  consistent,  the  world  will  allow, — 
What  I  was  at  Newmarket,  the  same  I  am  now) — 
When  such  are  my  merits  (you  know  I  hate  crack- 
ing,) 
I  hope,  like  the  vender  of  best  Patent  Blacking, 
"  To  meet  with  the  generous  and  kind  apjjrobation 
Of  a  candid,  enlighten'd  and  liberal  nation." 

By  the  by,  ere  I  close  this  magnificent  letter 

',No  man  except  Poi  E  could  have  writ  you  a  better,) 

'T  would  please  me  if  those,  whom  I've  humbugg'd 

so  long 
With  the  notion  (good  men  !)  that  I  knew  right  from 

wrong. 
Would  a  few  of  them  join  me — mind,  only  a  few — 
To  let  loo  much  light  in  on  me  never  would  do; 
But  even  Grev's  brightness  shan't  make  me  afraid. 
While  I've  C-md-n  and  Eld-n  to  fly  to  for  shade  ; 
Nor  will  Holland's  clear  intellect  do  us  much  harm, 
While  there's  W-st.m-rel-nd  near  him  to  weaken 

the  charm. 
As  for  Moira's  high  spirit,  if  aught  can  subdue  it, 
Sure  joining  with  M-it.Ti"-Ri)and  Y-rsi — Tii  will  do  it! 
Between  R-i>R  and  Wii-rt-n  let  Sheridan  sit, 
And  their  fogs  will  soon  quench  even  Sheridan's 

wit ; 
And  against  all  the  pure  public  feeling  that  glows 
Even  in  WiiiTisREAi)  himself  we've  a  host  in  G — rge 

R-se! 
So,  in  short,  if  they  wish  to  have  places,  they  may. 
And  I'll  thank  you  to  tell  all  these  matters  to  Grey, 
Who,  I  doubt  not,  will  write  (as  there's  no  time  to 

lose) 
By  the  two-penny  post,  to  tell  Grenvii.t.e  the  news  ; 
And  now,  dearest  Fred  (though  I've  no  predilection,) 
Believe  me  yours  always  with  truest  affection. 
Z 


P.  <*?. — A  copy  of  this  is  to  P-rc-v-l  going — 
Good  Lord  !   how  St.  Stephen's  will  ring  Vi'i'.a  nis 
crowing ! 


ANACREONTIC. 

TO  A  pi.u.massier. 
Fine  and  feathery  artisan  ! 
Best  of  I'iumists,  if  you  can 
With  your  art  so  fir  presume, 

Make  for  i.ie  a  P e's  plume — 

Feathers  soft  and  feathers  rare. 
Such  as  suits  a  P e  to  wear. 

First,  thou  downiest  of  men  ! 
Seek  me  out  a  fine  pea-hen  ; 
Such  a  hen,  so  tall  and  grand, 
As  by  Juno's  side  might  stand. 
If  there  were  no  cocks  at  hand  ! 
Seek  her  feathers,  soft  as  down, 

Fit  to  shine  on  P e's  crown  ; 

If  thou  canst  not  find  them,  stupid! 
Ask  the  way  of  Prior's  Cupid. 

Ranging  these  in  order  due. 
Pluck  me  next  an  old  cuckoo  ; 
Emblem  of  the  happy  fates 
Of  easy,  kind,  cornuied  mates! 
Pluck  him  well — be  sure  you  do— 
Who  woidd  n't  be  an  old  cuckoo, 
Thus  to  have  his  plumage  bless'd. 
Beaming  on  a  r-y-1  crest  ? 

Bravo,  Plumist  ! — now  what  bird 
Shall  we  find  for  plume  the  third  ? 
You  must  get  a  learned  owl. 
Blackest  of  black-letter  fowl — 
Bigot  bird  that  hates  the  light. 
Foe  to  all  that 's  fair  and  bright ! 
Seize  his  quills  (so  foim'd  to  pen 
Books  that  shun  the  search  of  men, — 
Books  that  far  from  every  eye. 
In  "  swcltcr'd  venom  sleeping"  lie  '.) 
Stick  them  in,  between  the  two, 
Proud  pea-hen  and  old  cuckoo  ! 

Now  you  have  the  triple  feather, 
Bind  the  kindred  stems  together 
With  a  silken  tie  whose  hue 
Once  was  brilliant  bulfand  blue  ; 
Sullied  now — alas  !  how  much  '. — 
Only  fit  for  Y-rm — th's  touoii. 
There — enough — thy  task  is  done  : 

Present  worthy  (J oe's  son  ! 

Now,  beneath,  in  letters  neat. 

Write  "  1  SERvi-:,"  and  all 's  coinolete 


EXTRACTS 

FROM  THE  diary  OF  A  POLITICIAN. 

\\  tdnestdcv 
Through   M-nch-st-r  Square  took  a  canter  jusl 

now — 
Met  the  old  yellow  chariot,  and  made  a  idw  b-.w 
This  I  did,  of  course,  thinking  't  was  loyai  anO  c\^l. 
But  got  such  a  look — oh,  't  was  black  as  tfie  devil ' 


386 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


How  unlucky  ! — incoff.  he  was  travelling  about, 
And  1,  like  a  noodle,  must  go  find  him  out ! 

Mern.— When  next  by  the  old  yellow  chariot  I  ride, 
To  remember  there  is  nothing  princely  inside. 

TTiursday. 
At  Levee  to-day  made  another  sad  blunder — 
What  can  be  come  over  me  lately,  I  wonder  ? 

The  P E  was  as  cheerful  as  if,  all  his  life 

He  had  never  been  troubled  with  Friends  or  a  Wife — 
"Fine  weather,"  says  he — to  which  T,  who  must  prate, 
Answer'd,  "Yes,  Sir,  but  changeahJe  rather,  of  late." 
He  took  it,  I  fear,  for  he  look'd  rather  gruff. 
And  handled  his  new  pair  of  whiskers  so  rough. 
That  before  all  the  courtiers  I  fear"d  they'd  come  off, 
And  then.  Lord !  how  Geramb  would  triumphantly 
scoff! 

Mem.  To  buy  for  son  Dicky  some  unguent  or  lotion 
To  nourish  his  whiskers — sure  road  to  promotion!' 

Saturday. 
Last  night  a  concert — vastly  gay — 
Given  by  Lady  C-stl-r — gh. 
My  Lord  loves  music,  and,  we  know, 
flas  two  strings  always  to  his  bow. 
In  chusing  songs,  the  R-g-nt  named 
"  Had  I  a  heart  for  falsehood  framed.''' 
While  gentle  H-rtf-rd  begg'd  and  pray'd 
For  "  Young  I  am,  and  sore  afraid." 


KING  CRACK^'  AND  HIS  IDOLS. 

Written  after  the  late  Negotiation  for  a  new 
M-n-stry. 

King  Crack  was  the  best  of  all  possible  kings 
(At   least   so   his   courtiers  would  swear  to  you 
gladly,) 

But  Crack  now  and  then  would  do  het'rodox  things, 
And,  at  last,  took  to  worshipping  Images  sadly. 

Some  broken-down  Idols,  that  long  had  been  placed 

In  his  Father's  old  Cabinet,  pleased  him  so  much 
That  he  knelt  down  and  worshipp'd,  though — such 
was  his  taste ! 
They  were  monstrous  to  look  at  and  rotten  to 
touch  I 

And  these  were  the  beautiful  Gods  of  King  Crack! — 

Till  his  people,  disdaining  to  worship  such  things, 

Cried  aloud,  one  and   all,   "Come,   your   Godships 

must  pack — 

You  will  not  do  for  us,  though  j'ou  may  do  for 

Kings." 

1  Englaml  is  not  tliR  only  country  wliero  merit  (pflhis  kind 
i.)  nolicod  and  rewarrl  d.  "  I  remember,"  Bays  Tavi^rnier, 
"  to  have  KOen  one  of  the  Kin;;  of  Persia's  porters,  whose 
innstachiiig  were  so  lung  iliiil  he  could  tie  them  behind  his 
ri(;i-li,  for  wiiich  reason  he  t]»d  a  double  pension." 

'2  Oni?  of  those  antedlluviun  prmces  with  whom  Miinotho 
ar.d  Whiston  seem  so  intini"tely  acquainted.  If  we  had 
(he  Memoirs  of  Thnih,  from  which  Manciho  compiled  his 
Mstory,  we  should  fnid,  I  dare  say,  that  f'ruck  was  only  a 
fte2<.nt,  and  that  he,  perhaps,  Bucceeded  Typhon,  who  (as 
Whisloii  siiya)  waB  tho  last  king  of  the  antediluvian  dy- 
aaHlv 


Then  trampling  the  gross  Idols  undei  tncir  leet. 
They  sent  Crack  a  petition,  beginning,  "(ireai 
CsEsar  ! 
We  are  willing  to  worship,  but  only  entreat 

That  you '11  find  us  some  decenter  Goilhead  tnnis 
these  are." 

"I'll  try,"  says  KJng  Crack — then  they  furnish'd 

him  models 

Of  better  shaped  Gods,  but  he  sent  them  all  back  ; 

Some  were  chisell'd  too  fine,  some  had  heads  'stead 

of  noddles, 

In  short,  they  were  all  much  too  godlike  for  Crack'. 

So  he  took  to  his  darling  old  Idols  again, 

And,  just  mending  their  legs  and  new  bronzing 
their  faces. 
In  open  defiance  of  gods  and  of  men, 

Set  the  monsters  up  grinning  once  more  in  theii 
places  ! 


WREATHS  FOR  THE  MINISTERS. 

an  anacreontic. 
Hither,  Flora,  Qtieen  of  Flowers  ! 
Haste  thee  from  old  Brompton's  bowers 
Or  (if  sweeter  that  abode,) 
From  the  King's  well-odour'd  Road, 
Where  each  little  nursery  bud 
B'-eatlies  the  dust  and  quaffs  the  mud  ! 
Hither  come,  and  gaily  twine 
Brightest  herbs  and  flowers  of  thine 
Into  wreaths  for  those  who  rule  us — 
Those  who  rule  and  (some  say)  fool  U8 
Flora,  sure,  will  love  to  please 
England's  Household  Deities!' 

First  you  must  then,  willy-nilly, 
Fetch  me  many  an  orange  lily — 
Orange  of  the  darkest  dye 
Irish  G-ff-rd  can  supply  ! 
Choose  me  out  the  longest  sprig, 
And  stick  it  in  old  Eld-n's  wig  ! 

Find  me  next  a  poppy-posy. 
Typo  of  his  harangues  so  dozy, 
Garland  gaudy,  dull  and  cool, 
For  the  head  of  L-v-rp — L  ! — 
'Twill  console  his  brilliant  brows 
For  that  loss  of  laurel  boughs 
Which  they  suffer'd  (what  a  pity  !) 
On  the  road  to  Paris  City. 

Next,  our  C-sTL-R — gh  to  crown, 
Bring  me,  from  the  County  Down, 
Withcr'd  shamrocks,  which  have  been 
Gilded  o'er  to  hide  the  Green — 
(Such  as  H — DF — T  brought  away 
From  Pali-Mall  last  Patrick's  Day.'') 


1  The  nneients,  in  like  manner,  crowned  their  lares,  or 
household  gods. — Sie  .luvenal,  sal.  9.  v.  138.  I'Intarch  loo 
tells  us  that  housidiold  ^ods  were  then,  as  they  are  now, 
"  much  fjiver  to  war  and  penal  statutes."     ipn^uouJur  xo>< 

2  Certain  tinsel  imitations  ot  tne  Shamrock,  which  dr» 

distributed  by  the  servants  of  C n  House  iverv  Patrick'i 

day. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


387 


Stitch  the  garland  through  and  through 

With  shiibhy  threads  nf  every  hue — 

And  as,  Goddess  ! — entre  nous — 

His  Lordship  loves  (though  best  of  men) 

A  little  torture  now  and  then, 

Crimp  the  leaves,  thou  first  of  syrens ! 

Crimp  them  with  thy  curling-irons. 

That 's  enough — away,  away — 
Had  I  leisure,  I  could  say 
How  the  ()}de.<t  rose  that  grows 
Must  be  pliick'd  to  dock  Old  R-sK, — 
How  the  Doctor's  brow  should  smile 
Crown'd  with  wreaths  of  camomile! 
But  time  presses. — To  thy  taste 
I  leave  the  rest ;  so,  prithee,  haste  ! 


THE  NEW  C0STU3IE  OF  THE  MINISTERS. 

Nova  moiistra  creavit.—OviD.  Met.  lib.  j.  vor  437. 

•  Tavinc;  sent  off  the  troops  of  brave  Major  Camac, 
With  a  swinging  horse-tail  at  each  valorous  back, 
And  such  nclmets — God  bless  us  I — as  never  deck'd 

any 
Male  creature  before,  except  Signor  Giovanni — 
"  Let's  see,"  said  the  R-g-nt  (like  Titus,  pcrple.v'd 
With  the  duties  of  empire,)  "  whom  shall  I  dress 

next  ?" 
He  looks  in  the  gtass — but  perfection  is  there, 
Wig,  whiskers,  and  chin-tufts,  all  right  to  a  hair;' 
Not  a  single  e.r-curl  on  his  forehead  he  traces — 
For  curls  are  like  iMinisters,  strange  as  the  case  is, 
The  falser  they  are,  the  more  firm  in  their  places. 

His  coat  he  ne.xt  views — but  the  coat  who  could 

doubt  ? 
For  his  Y-R.M — th's  own  Frenchified  hand  cut  it  out; 
Every  pucker  and  seam  were  made  matters  of  state, 
And  a  grand  Household  Council  was  held  on  each 

plait ! 

Then  whom  shall  he  dress  ?  Shall  he  new  rig  his 

brother. 
Great  C-mr-rl-nd's  Duke,  with  some  kickshaw  or 

otii^r? 
And  kindly  in\ent  him  more  Christian-like  shapes 
For  his  feather-bed  neckcloths  and  pillory  capes? 
Ah!  no — here  his  ardour  woidd  meet  with  delays. 
For  the  Duke  had  been  lately  pack'd  up  in  new  Stays, 
So  complete  for  the  winter,  he  saw  very  plain 
'T  would  be  devilish  hard  work  to  li/jpack  him  again ! 

So  what  's  to  be  done? — there's  the  3Iinisters, 

bless  'em ! — 
.\8  he  made  the  puppets,  why  should  n't  he  dress  'em? 


"  Au  excellent  thought! — call  the  tuilors — be  nimble- 
Let  Clm  bring  his   spy-gliu'-s,  and   1I-rtf-bij  her  thim- 
ble; 
While  Y-RM-TH  Bh.ill  give  us,  in  spite  of  all  quizzcra. 
The  last  Paris  cut  with  his  true  GaMc  scissors." 

So  saying,  he  call.s  C-stl-r-cu,  and  the  rest 
Of  his  heaven-born  statesmen,  to  come  and  he  dress'd. 
While  Y-R-.M— Til,  with  snip  like  and  brisk  expedi- 
tion, 
Cuts  up,  all  at  once,  a  large  Catholic  Petition 

In  long  tailors'  measures  (the  P k  crying,  "  WeU 

done  !") 
And  first  puts  in  hand  my  Lord  Chancellor  Eld-n. 


1  That  tnc'el  of  p'inccs,  the  Emprror  (^ommodiis,  wiis 
particularly  lu.xtiriiiiis  in  the  Hres^inz  niid  oriiam^  ntiiiir  of 
his  hnir.  His  conscifnce,  however,  would  nolsuffi-r  him  to 
trust  himself  with  a  bnrber,  and  he  u-^cd,  acrordiii2ly,  in 
burn  (iff  his  beard.  "Timorn  tonsoris,"  savs  Lampridius. — 
'Hist.  Ausnst.  Scriptor.)  The  dissolute  /F^'ms  Ve  us,  t^io, 
was  equallv  atlcntive  to  the  decoration  of  iiis  wi";. — (See 
lul.  rapilulin  )  Indeed,  this  wiis  not  the  only  princely 
.rait  In  the  chnracter  of  Vrrns,  ns  be  had  likewise  a  most 
hoirtv  and  ilisnifiid  contempt  for  his  wife. — See  his  insulf- 
■pg  answ<;r  to  her  in  Spartianus. 


OCCASIONAL  ADDRESS, 

For  the  Opening;  of  the  New  Theatre  of  St.  St-ph-n., 
intended  to  have  been  x^poken  hy  the  Proprietor,  jn 
full  Costume,  on  the  24th  of  Novemlier. 

Tins  day  a  New  House,  for  your  edification, 
We  open,  most  thinking  and  right-headed  nation! 
Excuse  the  materials — though  rotten  and  bad. 
They  're  the  best  that  for  money  just  now  could  be 

had; 
And,  if  echo  the  charm  of  such  houses  should  he 
You  will  find  it  shall  echo  my  speech  to  a  T 

As  for  actors,  we  've  got  the  old  company  yet. 
The  same  motley,  odd,  tragi-comical  set : 
And,  considering  tliey  all  were  but  clerks  t'  other  day 
It  is  truly  surprising  how  well  they  can  play. 
Our  manager  (he  who  in  Ulster  was  nursed. 
And  sung  Erin  ffo  Bragh  for  the  galleries  first. 
But,  on  finding  P(«-interest  a  much  better  thing, 
Changed  his  note,  of  a  sudden,  to  "  God  save  ttie 
I  King.'" 

Still  wise  as  he  's  blooming,  and  fat  as  he  's  clever. 
Himself  and  his  speeches  as  lenrrthi)  as  ever. 
Here  offers  you  still  the  full  use  of  his  breath. 
Your  devoted  and  long-winded  proser  till  death  ! 

You  remember,  last  season,  when  things  went  per- 
verse on. 
We  had  to  engage  (as  a  block  to  rehearse  on) 
One  Mr.  V-.\s-tt-rt,  a  good  sort  of  person, 
Who's  also  employ'd  for  this  season  to  play 
In  "  Raising  the  Wind,"  and  "the  Uovil  to  Pay." 
We  expect  too — at  least  we've  been  plotting  uni 

planning — 
To  get  that  great  actor  from  Liverpool,  C-w-xg; 
And,  as  at  the  circus  there  's  nothing  attracts 
Like  a  good  single  comhul  brought  in  'iwi\t  the  acta. 
If  the  3Ianagor  should,  with  the  help  of  ."^ir  P-pii-  m 
Get  up  new  diversion..,  and  C-n.\-ng  should  stop  'em 
Who  knows  but  we  '11  have  to  announce  in  the  pa 

pers, 
"Grand  fight — second  time — with  additiona!  capers  ' 
Be  your  taste  for  the  ludicrous,  humdrum,  or  sad, 
There  is  plenty  of  each  in  this  house  to  be  had ; 
Where  our  Manager  rulcth,  there  weeping  will  be 
For  a  dead  hand  at  trngedti  alwa3's  was  he ; 
And  there  never  was  dealer  in  dagier  and  cip, 
Who  so  smilingly  got  all  his  tragedies  up. 


388 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


His  powers  poor  Ireland  will  never  forget, 

And  the  widows  of  Walcheren  weep  o'er  tliem  yet. 

So  much  for  the  actors. — For  secret  machinery, 
Traps,  and  decepiioiis,  and  shifting  of  scenery, 
Y-RM — T»  and  Cum  are  the  best  we  can  find 
To  transact  all  that  trickery  business  behind. 
The  former 's  employ'd  too  to  teach  us  French  jigs, 
Fveep  the  whiskers  in  curl,  and  look  after  the  wigs. 

In  taking  my  leave,  now  I  've  only  to  say 

A  few  Sait^i  in  the  Hume,  not  as  yet  sold  away, 

May  be  had  of  the  Manager,  Pat  C-stl-r — gh. 


THE  SALE  OF  THE  TOOLS. 
Instrumenta  regni. — Tacitu.s. 

Here's  a  choice  set  of  tools  for  you,  Gemmen   and 

Ladies, 
They'll  fit  you  quite  handy,  whatever  your  trade  is — 
(E.xcept  it  be  Cabinet-making — I  doubt 
In  that  delicate  service  they  are  ratlier  worn  out; 
Tliougli  their  owner — bright  youth!— if  he'd  had  his 

own  will, 
Would  have  bunsiled  away  with  them  joyously  still) 
You  can  see    they've  been  pretty   well  hack'd — and, 

alack  ! 
What  tool  is  there  job  after  job  will  not  hack  t 
Their  edge  is  but  dullish,  it  must  be  confess'd, 
And  their  temper,  like  Ell-nb'r — ch's,  none  of  the 

best  ; 
But  you'll  tind  them  good  hard-working  Tools,  upon 

trying — 
Were  it  but    for  the   brass,  they  are  well  worth  the 

buying ; 
They    are    famous    for    making    blinds,    sliders,    and 

srreens. 
And  they're,  some   of  them,   excellent   turning  ma- 
chines! 

The  first  Tool  I'll  put  up  (they  call  it  a  Chancellor) 
Heavy  concern  to  both  purchaser  and  seller,— 
Though  made  of  pig-iron,  yet  (worthy  of  note  't  is) 
T  is  ready  to  melt  at  a  half-minute's  notice. 
Who    bids'?       fJentle    buyer!     't    will    turn    as    thou 

sliapest — 
•T  will  make  a  good  thum-screw  to  torture  a  Papist; 
Or  else  a  cramp-iron,  to  stick  in  the  wall 
Of  some  church  that  old  women  are  fearful  will  fall; 
Or  better,  perhaps  (for  I  'm  guessing  at  random,) 
A  neavy  drat:  chain  for  some  Lawyer's  old  Tandem.' 
Will  nobody  bid?     It  is  cheap,  I  am  sure,  Sir — 
Once,     twice — going,    going — thrice — gone  ! — It    is 

yours,  Sir. 
To  pay  ready  money  you  sha'n't  be  distress'd, 
A.s  a  bill  at  long  dale  suits  the  Chancellor  best. 

Come,  where 's  the  next  Tool  ? — Oh  !  't  is  here  in  a 

trice — 
This  implement,  Gemmen  !  at  first  was  a  Vice — 
(A  tenacious  and'  close  son  of  Tool,  that  will  let 
Nothing  out  of  its  grasp  it  once  happens  to  got) — 
But  it  since  has  received  a  new  coating  of  Tin, 
Mrijjht  enough  for  a  Prince  to  behold  himself  in  ! 


Come,  what  shall  wc  say  for  it? — briskly  !  bid  on, 
We  '11  the  sooner  get  rid  of  it — going — quite  gone  ! 
God  be  with  it !    Such  Tools,  if  not  quickly  knock'c 

down, 
Might  at  last  cost  their  owner — how  much  ?  why,  a 

Crown  ! 

The  next  Tool  I  '11  set  up  has  hardly  had  handsel  o: 
Trial  as  yet,  and  is  aJsto  a  Chancellor — 
Such  dull  things  as  these  should  be  sold  by  the  gross 
Yet,  dull  as  it  is,  't  will  be  found  to  shave  dose, 
And,  like  other  close  shavers,  some  courage  to  gather 
This  blade  first  began  by  a  fiourish  on  leather! 
You  shall  have  it  for  nothing — then,  marvel  with  mc 
At  the  terrible  iinkerins;  work  there  must  be, 
Where  a  Tool,  such  as  this  is  (I  'II  leave  you  to  judge  itl 
Is  placed  by  ill  luck  at  the  top  of  the  Budget ! 


LITTLE  MAN  AND  LITTLE  SOUL. 

A  Ballad  to  the  Tune  of  "There  was  a  little  Man,  anc 
he  wooed  a  little  Maid,"  dedicated  to  the  Right  Hon 
Ch-rl-s  Abb-t. 


Arca.le!!  anibo 
Et  cu7it-.\rc  pares. 


1813. 


There  was  a  little  Man,  and  he  had  a  little  SouJ, 
And  he  said,  "  Little  Soul,  let  us  try,  try,  try, 

Whether  it 's  within  our  reach 

To  make  up  a  little  speech. 

Just  between  little  you  and  little  I,  I,  I, 

Just  between  little  you  and  little  I !" 

Then  said  his  little  Soul, 
Peeping  from  her  little  hole, 
"  I  protest,  little  Man,  you  are  stout,  stout,  stout, 
But,  if  't  is  not  uncivil. 
Pray  tell  me,  what  the  devil 
Must  our  little,  little  speech  be  about,  bout,  bout, 
Must  our  little,  little  speech  be  about 

The  little  Man  look'd  big, 
With  the  assistance  of  his  wig, 
And  he  call'd  his  little  Soul  to  order,  order,  order. 
Till  she  fear'd  he  'd  make  her  jog  in 
To  jail,  like  'I'homas  Croggan, 
(As  she  was  n't  duke  or  earl)  to  reward  her,  ward  her 
ward  her. 
As  she  was  n't  duke  or  earl,  to  reward  her 

The  little  Man  then  spoke, 
"  Little  Soul,  it  is  no  joke. 
For,  as  sure  as  J-cKV  F-ll-r  loves  a  sup,  sup,  sup 
I  will  tell  the  Prince  and  People 
What  I  think  of  Church  and  Steeple, 
And  my  little  patent  plan  to  prop  them  up,  np,  np, 
And  my  little  patent  plan  to  prop  thcin  up." 

Away  then,  cheek  by  jowl. 
Little  Man  and  Little  Soul 
Went,  and  spoke  their  little  speech  to  a  tittle,  tittl*' 
tittle. 
And  the  world  all  declare 
That  this  priggish  little  pair 
Never  yet  in  all  their  lives  look'd  so  litlle,  little,  little 
Never  yet  in  all  their  lives  look'u  so  little 


MISCKLI.ANKOL'S  I'OEMS., 


y.so 


RElNFOIiCEMEMTS  FOR  LORD  WEL- 
LINGTON. 

siiiisi|iii^  lllii  roiiiiiii-iKlMt  TiDJa  pKnates, 


H«s  capu  luioruiii  cuiiiiics. —  yir^il. 


1813. 


As  recruits  in  these  times  are  not  easily  got, 

And  the  Marshal  must  have  thcin — pray,  why  should 

we  not, 
As  the  last  and,  I  grant  it,  the  worst  of  our  loans  to 

him. 
Ship  off  the  Ministry,  body  and  bones  to  him  ? 
Ttiere  's  not  in  all  England,  1  'd  venture  to  svvear, 
Any  men  we  could  half  so  conveniently  spare; 
And,  thougii  iliey  've  been  helping  the  French  for 

years  past, 
VVe  may  thus  make  them  useful  to  England  at  last. 
C-sTL-R — till  in  our  sieges  might  save  some  disgraces. 
Being  used  to  the  taking  and  keeping  of  places; 
And  Volunteer  C-nn-nc;,  still  ready  for  joining. 
Might  show  off  his  talent  l"or  sly  undermintng. 
Could  the  Household  but  spare  us  its  glory  and  pride, 
Old  II — i)F — T  at  horn-works  again  iniglit  be  tried. 
And  the  Ch — f  J-st-ce  make  a  bold  charge  at  his 

side  I 
While  V-Ns-TT-RT  could  victual  the  troops  upon  ticJ(, 
And  the  Doctor  look  aller  the  baggage  and  sick. 

Nay,  1  do  not  see  why  the  great  R-g-nt  himself 
Should,  in  times  such  as  these,  stay  at  home  on  the 

shelf:— 
Though  through  narrow  defiles  he  's  not  fitted  to  pass. 
Yet  who  could  resist  if  he  bore  down  en  masse  ? 
And,  though  oft,  of  an  evening,  perhaps  he  might  prove, 
Like  our  brave  Spanish  Allies,  "unable  to  move;"' 
Yet  there  's  one  thing  in  war,  of  advantage  unbounded. 
Which  is,  that  he  could  not  with  ease  be  surrounded  I 

In  my  next,  I  shall  sing  of  their  arms  and  equipment. 
At  present  no  more  but — good  luck  to  the  shipment ! 


LORD  WELLINGTON  AND  THE  MINISTERS. 

1813. 
So,  gently  in  peace  Alcibiades  smiled. 

While  in  battle  he  shone  forth  so  terribly  grand. 
That  the  emblem  they  graved  on  his  seal  was  a  child, 

With  a  thunderbolt  placed  in  its  innocent  hand. 

Oh,  Wellington  !  long  as  such  Ministers  wield 
Your  magnificent  arm,  the  same  emblem  will  do  ; 

For,  while  they  're  in  the  Council  and  you  in  tlie  Field, 
We  've  the  babies  in  them,  and  the  thunder  in  you ! 


To  the  Editor  of  the  Morning  Chronicle. 

Sir, — In  order  to  explain  the  following  fragment. 
It  is  necessary  to  refer  your  readers  to  a  late  florid 
description  of  the  Pavilion  at  Brighton,  in  the  apart- 


1  The  character  given  to  the  Spanish  suldier,  in  Sir  Jnlin 
Minrav's  iiicmurable  drsjialch 


ments  of  which,  we  are  told,  "  FuM,   Tlie  Chmisr 
Bird  of  Royalty,"  is  a  [irincipal  nrnainent 

I  am,  Sir,  yours,  etr-. 

Mum 


FUM  AND  HUM, 

Tlte  two  Birds  of  Rot/alty 

One  day  the  Chinese  Bird  of  Royalty,  Fiim, 
Thus  accosted  our  own  Bird  of  Royalty,  Hum, 
In  that  Palace  or  China-shop  (Brighton — which  is  it?/ 
Wh(:rc  Fii.M  had  just  come  to  pay  Hu.M  a  short  visit. — 
Near  akin  are  these  Birds,  tiiough  they  differ  in  nation ; 
(The  breed  of  the  HuJis  is  as  old  as  creation,) 
Both  fuU-craw'd  Legitimates — both  birds  of  prey, 
Botli  cackling  and  ravenous  creatures,  half  way 
'Twixt  the  goose  and  the  vulture,  like  Lord  C-s- 
TL-R— Gii ; 
While  FuM  deals  in  Mandarins,  Bonzes,  Bohea — 
Peers,  Bishops,  and  Punch,  Hum,  are  sacred  to  thee' 
So  congenial  their  tastes,  that,  when  FuM  first  did 

light  on 
The  floor  of  that  grand  China-warehouse  at  Brighton, 
The  lanterns,  and  dragons,  and  things  round  the  dome 
Were  so  like  what  he  left,  "  Gad,"  says  Fum,  "  I  'lu 

at  home." — 
And  when,  turning,  he  saw  Bishop  L gk, 

"  Zooks,  it  is," 
Quoth  the  Bird,  "yes — I  know  him — a  Bonze,  by  his 

phiz — 
And  that  jolly  old  idol  he  kneels  to  so  low 
Can  be  none  but  our  round-about  godhead,  fat  Fo  !" 
It  chanced,  at  this  moment,  the  Episcopal  Prig 
Was  imploring  the  P E  to  dispense  with  his 

^vig,' 
Which  the  Bird,  overhearing,  flew  high  o'er  his  head, 
And  some  ToBiT-likc  marks  of  his  patronage  shed. 
Which  so  dimm'd  the  poor  Dandy's  idolatrous  eye. 
That  while  Fum  cried  "  Oh  Fo  !"  all  the  Court  cried 

"  Oh  fie  !" 

But,  a  truce  to  digression. — These  Birds  of  a  feather 
Thus  talk'd,  t'  other  night,  on  State  matters  together — 

(The  P E  just  in  bed,  or  about  to  depart  for  'i. 

His  legs  full  of  gout,  and  his  arms  full  of ;) 

"  I  say.  Hum,"  s--ys  Fum — Fu.m,  of  course,  spoke 

Chinese, 
But,  bless  you,  that 's  nothing — at  Brighton  one  sees 
Foreign  lingoes  and  Bishops  translated  with  ease — 
"  1  say.  Hum,  how  fares  it  with  Royalty  now? 
Is  it  up?  is  it  prime?  is  it  spooney — or  how?" 
(The  Bird  had  just  taken  a  Flashman's  degree 
Under  B E,  Y Tii,  and  young  Jlas- 


ter  L- 


"  As  for  us  in  Pekin"- 


hcre  a  devil  of  a  din 


From  the  lied-chamber  came,  where  that  long  Jlan- 

darin, 
C-STL-R — Gil  (whom  Fum  calls  the  Confucius  of 

prose,) 
Was  rehearsing  a  speech  upon  Europe's  repose 
To  the  deep,  double-bass  of  the  fat  idol's  nose ! 


1  In  conscciiience  of  an  old  |ironiisc  that  ho  should  be 
nllowed  tn  wear  Ins  own  liair,  ulwm-ver  he  might  Je  i-'— 
vated  10  a  bishuprick  by  iiis  R 1  II ss. 


390 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


{Nota  Bene.— His  Lordship  and  L-v-rp— l  come, 
In  collateral  lines,  from  the  old  Mother  Hum,— 
C-sTL-R--t;ii  a  HuM-bug— L-v-RP— La  HuM-drum.) 
The  speech  being  liuish'd,  out  rush'd  C-stl-r — Gii, 
Saddled  Hum  in  a  hurry,  and  whip,  spur,  away  ! 
Through  the  regions  of  air,  like  a  Snip  on  his  hobby, 
Ne'er  paused  till  he  lighted  in  St.  Stephen's  lobby. 


|:P1STLE  FROM  TOM  CRIB  TO  BIG  BEN. 

Concerning  some  foul  play  in  a  late  Transaction.^ 

"  Ahi,  mio  W-ar—Mttaslasiii.^ 

What  !  Ben,  my  old  hero,  is  this  your  renown  ? 
Is  this  the  new  go  ! — kick  a  man  when  he  's  down  ! 
When  the  foe  has  knock'd  under,  to  tread  on  him 

then — 
By  the  fist  of  my  father,  I  blush  for  thee,  Ben  ! 
"  Foul !  foul !"  all  the  lads  of  the  fancy  exclaim — 
Charley    Shock    is    electrified — Belcher    spits 

flame — 
AndMoLYNEUx — ay,  even  Blacky,  cries  " Shamp "." 
Time  was,  when  John  Bull  little  difference  spied 
'Twixt  the  foe  at  his  feet  and  the  friend  at  his  side  • 
When  he  found   (such  his  humour  in  fighting  and 

eating,) 
His  foe,  like  his  beef-steak,  the  sweeter  for  beating — 
But  this  comes.  Master  Ben,  of  your  cursed  foreign 

notions. 
Your  trinkets,  wigs,  thingumbobs,  gold  lace,  and  lo- 
tions ; 
Your  noyaus,  curacoas,  and  the  devil  knows  what — 
(One  swig  oi  Blue  Ruin''  is  worth  the  whole  lot !) — 
Your   great   and   small  crosses — (my  eyes,  what  a 

brood ! 
A  cross-buttock  from  me  would  do  some  of  them 

good  !) 
Which  have  spoil'd  you,  till  hardly  a  drop,  my  old 

porpoise. 
Of  pure  English  claret  is  left  in  your  corpus ; 
And  (as  Jim  says)  the  only  one  trick,  good  or  bad, 
Of  the  fancy  you  're  up  to,  is  fibbing,  my  lad  ! 
Hence  it  comes, — Box i ana,  disgrace  to  thy  page  ! — 
Having  floor'd,  by  good  luck,  the  first  swell  of  the  age. 
Having  conquer'd  the  prime  one,  that  milVd  us  all 

round. 
You  kick'd  him,  old  Ben,  as  he  gasp'd  on  the  ground ! 
Ay — just  at  the  time  to  show  spunk,  if  you 'd  got  any — 
Kick'd   him,   and  javv'd  him,  and   lagg'd'^  him  to 

Botany  ! 
Oh,  shade  of  the  Cheesemonger.'^  you  who,  alas  ! 
Donhled  up,  by  the  dozen,  those  Mounseers  in  brass. 
On  that  great  day  of  milling,  when  blood  lay  in  lakes, 
When  Kings  held  the  bottle  and  Europe  the  stakes, 


Look  down  upon  Ben — see  him  dunghill  all  o'er. 
Insult  the  fallen  foe  that  can  harm  him  no  more 
Out,  cowardly  spooney! — again  and  again. 
By  the  Hst  of  my  father,  I  blush  for  thee,  Ben. 
To  show  tilt  white  feather  is  many  men's  doom. 
But,  what  of  one  feather? — Ben  shows  a  whole  Plumt 


TO  LADY  HOLLAND, 

On  Napoleon's  Legacy  of  a  Snuff-box. 
Gift  of  the  Hero,  on  his  dying  day. 

To  her,  whose  pity  watch'd,  for  ever  nigh) 
Oh  !  could  he  see  the  proud,  the  happy  ray, 

This  relic  lights  up  on  her  generous  eye, 
Sighing,  he'd  feel  how  easy  't  is  to  pay 

A  friendship  all  his  kingdoms  could  not  buy 


1  Written  soon  after  B — n  prtfs's  trans|iartalion  to  St. 
II»;lena. 

2  Tom,  I  suppose,  was  "  assisted"  to  this  motto  by  Mr. 
Jackson,  who,  it  is  wul'i  known,  keeps  the  most  learned 
Company  going. 

3  Gin.  4  Truiisportetl. 

7)  A  I/ife-Gn-ir(l-<inan,  one  of  tke.  Fancy,  who  (lislin- 
Cn.shpd  himself,  and  wiis  kdlcd  in  the  nier)Joral/le  scl-lu  at 
Wiiterloo 


CORRESPONDENCE. 

Between  a  Lady  and  a  Gentlemaii-,  upon  the  Advnf 
tage  of  {what  is  culied)  "  having  Law  on  ene't 
Side." 

"  Legge  aurea, 
S'  ei  piace,  ci  Hce." 

THE  GENTLEMAN'S  PROPOSAL. 

CoMr";,  fly  to  these  arms,  nor  let  beauties  so  bloomy 

To  one  frigid  owner  be  tied  ; 
Your   prudes   miy  revile,  and   yoi'.r   old  ones  lonlr 
gloomy. 

But,  dearest !  we've  Law  on  our  side. 

Oh  !  think  the  delight  of  two  lovers  congenial, 

Whom  no  dull  decorums  divide  ; 
Their  error  how  sweet,  and  their  raptures  how  venial, 

When  once  they've  got  Law  on  their  side  ! 

'T  is  a  thing  that  in  every  King's  reign  has  been  done, 
too  : 

Then  why  should  it  now  be  decried  ? 
If  the  Father  has  done  it,  why  shouldn't  the  Son  too  1 

For  so  argues  Law  on  our  side  ! 

And,  even  should  our  sweet  violation  of  duty 

By  cold-blooded  jurors  be  tried, 
They  can  6;^^  bring  it  in  "  a  misfortune,"  my  beauty  ! 

As  long  as  we've  La^v  on  our  side. 

THE  LADY'S  ANSWER. 

Hold,  hold,  my  good  Sir  !  go  a  little  more  siowly ; 

For,  grant  me  so  faithless  a  bride. 
Such  sinners  as  we  are  a  little  too  lowly. 

To  hope  to  have  Law  on  our  side. 

Had  you  been  a  great  Prince,  to  whose  stai  shining 
o'er  'em 
The  People  should  look  for  their  guide. 
Then  your   Highness   (and  welcome !)   might  kick 
down  decorum — 
You'd  always  have  Law  on  your  side. 

Were  you  oven  an  old  3Iarquis,  m  mischief  growo 
hoary. 
Whose  heart,  though  it  long  ago  died 


MISCEULANEOUS  POEMS. 


301 


To  ttif.  pleasures  of  vice,  is  alive  to  ha  glory — 
You  still  wou.d  have  Law  on  your  side! 

Gut  for  you.  Sir,  i^riin.  con.  is  a  path  full  of  troubles; 

tiy  mi/  advice  inerel'ore  abide, 
.\ii(l  leave  tlie  pursuit  to  tiiosc  Princes  and  Nobles 

Who  have  such  a  Law  on  their  side ! 


HORACE,  ODE  XL  LIB.  U. 
f'recly  Translated  hi/  G.  R.' 

'C  OME,  Y-R.M — Til,  my  boy,  never  trouble  your  brains 

About  what  your  old  croiiey. 

The  Hmi'KROII  Bonev, 
Is  doing  or  brewing  on  Muscovy's  plains: 
'Nor  tremble,  my  lad,  at  the  state  of  our  granaries; — 

Should  there  come  famine, 

Still  plenty  to  cram  in 
You  always  shall  have,  my  dear  Lord  of  the  Stana- 

ries ! 
Brisk  let  us  revel,  while  revel  we  may  ; 

*  For  the  gay  bloom  of  fifty  soon  passes  away, 

And  then  people  get  fat. 
And  infirm,  an,l — all  that, 

*  And  a  wig  (I  confess  it)  so  clumsily  sits, 

Tliat  it  frightens  the  little  Loves  out  of  their  wits. 

*  Thy  whiskers,  too,  Y-rm — th  I — alas,  even  they, 

Though  so  rosy  they  burn. 
Too  quickly  must  turn 
(What  a  heart-breaking  chance  for  thy  whiskers  !)  to 

Grey. 
'  Then  why,  my  Lord  Warden  !  oh  !  why  should  you 
fidget 
Your  mind  about  matters  you  don't  understand  ? 
Or  why  shoiiiu   'ou  write  yourself  down  for  an  idiot. 
Because  "  i/ou,     forsooth,  "  have  the  pen  in  your 
hand  .'" 
Think,  think  how  much  better 
Than  scribbling  a  letter 
(Which  both  you  and  I 
Should  avoid,  by  the  by) — 
'  How  much  pleasanter  't  is  to  sit  under  the  bust 
Of  old  CiiARLY,  my  friend  here,  and  drink  like  a 
new  one ; 


I  Tliis  and  tlio  following  are  extracted  from  a  work 
<whi  h  may  some  time  or  other  meet  the  eye  of  ilie  public) 
entitleci,  "Odes  of  Horace,  done  into  English  by  several  per- 
MLS  of  fashion." 

2  Quiii  bellicosus  Cantaber  et  Scytlia, 
Hiijjine  Qulii'.-ii,  cogitet,  Adria 
Divisus  objecio,  rcmittas 

Ciuarere 

3  Nee  tnpideg  in  iisum 
Poeoenlis  ajvi  pauca. 

4 Fiigit  retro 

Levis  juvcnUis  et  decor. 

5  Pellcnte  lascivus  anioreg 
Canitie. 

6  iWque  uno  Luna  rubcns  nilet 

Vuliu. 

7  (iiiid  stcrnis  mhore-m 

Consiliis  aiiimum  faligas  ? 

8  Cur  non  sub  alia  vel  platano,  vel  hac 
Piim  jacentes  sic  tomere 


While  CiiARLEV  looks  sulky  and  frowns  at  me,  just 
As  the  ghost  in  the   pantiMnirne   frowns  at  Don 
Juan  ! 

'  To  crown  us.  Lord  Warden  ! 

In  ('-MC-KL-Nij's  garden 
Grows  plenty  of  7/wiik^ s-hoods  in  venomous  sprigs; 

While  Oito  of  Roses, 

Refreshing  all  noses, 
Shall  sweetly  exhale  from  our  whiskers  and  wigs. 
'■'  What  youth  of  the  Household  will  cool  oar  noyau 

In  that  streamlet  delicious. 

That,  down  'midst  the  dishes. 

All  full  of  good  fishes 

Rnmautic  doth  flow  ? — 

'  Or  who  will  repair 

Unto  .AI Sq e. 

And  see  if  the  gentle  Marchesu  be  there  ? 

Go— bid  her  haste  hither, 

*  And  let  her  bring  with  her 
The  newest  No-Popery  Sermon  that's  going — 
'  Oh  I  let  her  come  with  her  dark  tresses  (lowing. 
All  gentle  and  juvenile,  curly  and  gay. 
In  the  manner  of  Acker.ma.\n's  Dresises  for  Maj ' 


HORACE,  ODE  XXII.  LIB.  L 

Freely  translated  by  Lord  Eld — n. 

*TiiE  man  who  keeps  a  conscience  pure 
(If  not  his  own,  at  least  his  Prince's,) 

Through  toil  and  danger  walks  secure. 
Looks  big,  and  black,  and  never  winces  ! 

'  No  want  has  he  of  sword  or  dagger, 
Cock'd  hat  or  ringlets  of  Geramb  ; 

Though  Peers  may  laugh,  and  Papists  swagger. 
He  does  not  care  one  single  d-mn ! 

°  Whether  'midst  Irish  chairmen  going, 
Or,  through  St.  Giles's  alleys  dim, 


Cunos  odorati  capillos  • 

Dum  heel,  Assyriaque  nardo 
Polanius  uncti. 

2 Qiiis  puer  0(;yu3 

Restinguet  ardenlis  Falerni 
P^>cu\■d prwtcreunte  li/inpha? 
3  Quis eliciet  doiiio 


Lyden  ' 


•  Ehurna  die  age  cum  lyra  (qu.  liar  a] 


Maturet. 

5  Inconitum  Lnco^nas 

More  cornam  religata  nodum. 

6  Integer  vita;  scelerisque  punis. 

7  Non  eget  .Mauri  jaculis  nequo  atJU 
Nee  venenuiis  gravida  sugittis 

Fusee,  pharelra. 

8  Sive  per  Syrteis  iter  testuosas, 
Sive  facturus  per  inhospilah:m 
Caucasum,  vel  qua;  loca  fabuluaUS 

Luinbit  Hydaspes. 
The  noble  translator  had.  at  first,  laid  the  scene  of  Uic»e 
imagined  dangers  of  his  man  of  conscience  among  ihc  pa- 
pists of  Spain,  and  had  translated  the  words  "qii»  lora 
faliulv.iiis  liinbit  Hydaspes'  thus — "  The /uA/i'njy  Spaniaro 
licks  the  French  ;"  but,  recollecting  that  it  is  our  interest 
just  now  to  be  respi-clful  to  Spanish  catholics  (tiiough  iher*" 
is  certainly  no  earthly  reason  for  our  being  even  cummnnlt 
civil  to  Irish  ones,)  he  altered  the  passage  as  it  stundii  »i 
present. 


392 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


'Mid  drunken  Sheelalis,  blasting,  blowing, 
No  matter—  't  is  all  one  to  him. 

'  For  instance,  I,  one  evening  late, 

Llpon  a  gay  vacation  sally. 
Singing  'he  praise  of  C'hurch  and  State, 

Got  (God  knows  how)  to  Cranbourne-Alley 

When  lo  !  an  Irish  Papist  darted 

Across  my  path,  gaunt,  grim,  and  big — 

I  did  but  fiiAvii,  and  off  he  started, 
Scared  at  me  without  my  wig ! 

^  Yet  a  more  fierce  and  raw-boned  dog 

Goes  not  to  mass  in  Dublin  City, 
Nor  shakes  his  brogue  o'er  Allen's  Bog, 

Nor  spouts  in  Catholic  Committee  I 

'  Oh  !  place  me  'midst  O'Rocrkes,  O'Tooles, 

The  ragged  royal  blood  of  Tara  ; 
Or  place  me  where  Dick  M-rt-n  rules. 

The  houseless  wilds  of  Connemara  ; — 

*Of  Chu.ch  and  State  I'll  warble  still. 

Though  even  Dick  M-RT-.\'sselfshould  grumble; 

Sweet  Church  and  state,  like  Jack  and  Jill, 

'So  lovingly  upon  a  b  II — 

Ah  !  ne'er  like  Jack  and  Jill  to  tumble ! 


HORACE,  ODE  I.  LIB.  III. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

0(li  profanum  vuljus  el  arcpo. 
Faveie  liiigiiis:  cariniiui  non  prius 
Audita,  Musiirum  sacerdos, 
Virginibijs,  pueiis()iie canto. 
Eeguni  tiemeiidorum  in  proprliis  greges, 
Reges  in  ipsos  iinp«riuiii  est  Jovis. 

1813. 

1  HATE  thee,  oh  Mob  !  as  my  lady  hates  delf ; 
To  Sir  Francis  I'll  give  up  thy  claps  and  thy  hisses, 


1  Namque  ine  sylva  lupu-<  in  S  ibina, 
Diiin  nieani  camo  LMia<ren,  et  ultra 
Terminiim  cuiis  vagor  expeditus, 

Fugit  inermem. 
I  cannot  hnlp  ealiing  the  reader's  attention  to  the  ppciiliar 
ingenuity  with  which  these  lines  are  |)araphia«ed.  Not  to 
•neniion  the  happy  conversion  of  the  wolf  into  a  papist 
(Seeinglhat  Uoiiinlus  was  suckled  by  a  wolf,  that  Rome  was 
founded  liy  Romulus,  and  that  the  I'ope  has  always  reigned 
at  Rome,)  there  is  somciliing  particularly  neu(  insupposing 
'ultra  /.crminum"  to  mi'an  vacation-time;  and  then  the 
modest  consciousness  with  wliich  lh«  nohle  and  learn(ul 
translator  lias  avoided  touching  upon  the  words  "cnris  cx- 
vcilitus"  (or,  as  it  has  been  otherwise  read,  cau.iis  cxpcrli- 
tus")  and  the  felicitous  idea  of  his  being  "ineroiis"  when 
"without  his  wig."  are  altogether  the  most  delectable  spe- 
eimena  of  paraphrase  in  our  language. 

2  Ciuale  portentum  neque  tnilitaris 
Daiinia  in  latis  alit  esculetis, 
Ntc  .Iub;e  tellus  general,  Iconum 

Arida  nntrix. 

3  Pone  me  pigris  ubi  nnlln  campis 
Arbor  a'stiva  rncreatur  aura: 
Q.nod  lalus  mundi,  nebulae,  malusque 

Jupiter  urgot. 
I  must  here  remark,  that  the  said  Dick  M-iit-n  being  a 
•e'V  (^(lod  fi'llow,  it  was  not  at  all  fair  to  make  a  "  mains 
Npitcr"  of  him. 

4  Diilce  ridentf!m  Lalagen  amabo, 

Didce  lo(iuen'cm. 
%  There  cannot  be  imagined  a  more  happy  illustration  of 


Leave  old  Magna  Charta  to  shift  for  itself, 
And,  like  G-dw-n,  write  books  for  young  masters 
and  misses. 
Oh  I  it  is  not   high  rank  that  can  make   the  heart 
merry. 
Even  monarchs  themselves  are  not  free  from  mis 
hap; 
Though  the  Lords  of  Westphalia  must  quake  befora 
Jerry, 
Poor  Jerry  himself  has  to  quake  before  Nap 


HORACE,  ODE  XXXVIII.  LIB.  L 

A    FRAGMENT. 

Translated  hy  a  Treasury  Clerk,  while  waiting  Din- 
ner/or the  Right  Hon.  G — rge  R — se. 

Per^iciis  odi,  ])ner,  apparatus: 
Displicent  m-xse  philyra  coronae. 
MitLe  scctiiri  Rosa  quo  locorum 
Sera  inorctur. 

Boy,  tell  the  Cook  that  1  hate  all  nick-nackeries, 
Fricassees,  vol-au-vents,  puffs,  and  gim-crackeries,— 
Six  by  the  Horse-Guards  ! — old  Georgy  is  late —  • 
But  come — lay  the  table-cloth — zounds  !  do  not  wait, 
Nor  stop  to  inquire,  while  the  dinner  is  staying, 
At  which  of  his  places  Old  R — se  is  delaying!' 


TO 


Moria  pur  quando  vuol,  non  e  bisogna  mutar  ni  faccia  m 
voce  per  esser  un  Angelo.  - 

Die  when  you  will,  you  need  not  wear 
At  heaven's  court  a  form  more  fair 
Than  Beauty  here  on  earth  has  given ; 


the  inseparability  of  Church  and  Sialc,  and  their  (what  is 
called)  "standing  and  falling  together,"  than  this  ancient 
apnldgiie  of  Jack  and  Jill.  Jack,  oi"  course,  re'ireseni* 
the  State  in  Ibis  ingenious  little  allegory. 

Jack  f'e.l  down, 

And  broke  bis  Cruwn, 

And  Jill  came  tumbhng  after. 

1  The  literal  closeness  of  the  version  here  cannot  but  be 
admired.  The  translator  has  added  a  long,  orndite,  and 
flowery  note  upon  liusis,  of  which  I  can  merely  give  .1  spe- 
cimen at  present.  In  the  first  place,  he  ransacks  the  Kaxa- 
riuni  PiiUticum  of  the  Persian  ])i)et  Sadi,  with  the  hope  of 
finding  some  Political  Roses,  to  match  the  gentleman  in  the 
text — but  in  vain:  he  then  tells  us  that  Cicero  accused  Vcr- 
res  of  reposing  upon  a  cushion  "  Mehtensi  rosa  fartum," 
which,  fiom  the  odd  mixture  of  words,  he  supposes  to  be  a 
kind  of  frisk  Hed  of  Roses,  like  Lord  Castlereagh's.  The 
learned  clerk  next  favours  us  with  some  remarks  upon  a 
well-known  punning  epitaph  on  fair  Rosamond,  and  ex- 
presses a  most  loyal  hope,  that,  if"  Rosa  nninda"  mean  "  a 
Rose  with  clean  hands,"  it  may  be  found  applicable  to  the 
Right  Iloiiourahle  Rose  in  <|uestion.  He  tiien  dwells  at 
some  length  upon  the  "  Rosa  aiirea"  which  though  de- 
scriptive, in  one  sense,  of  the  old  Treasury  Statesman,  yet, 
as  being  consecrated  and  worn  by  the  Pope,  must,  of  course, 
not  be  brought  into  the  same  atmospliern  with  him.  Lastly 
in  reference  to  the  words  "  oW  Rose,"  he  winds  up  witn 
the  pathetic  lainenliitiim  of  the  poet,  "  consenui^se  Rosas." 
The  whole  note,  indeed,  shows  a  knowledge  of  Roses  that 
is  quite  edifying. 

2  The  words  addressed  by  IjOrd  Heibert  of  Cberbury,  to 
the  beautiful  nun  at  Murano. — See  bis  J.ife 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


8'J3 


Keep  but  tlic  lovely  looks  \vc  sec — 
The  voife  we   liear — and  you  will  be 
An  angel  ready-made  for  heaven  ! 


IMPROMPTU. 

Vvon  heinff  oltUs^ed  to  leave  a  pleasant  party,  from  the 
utanl  of  a  pair  Breeches  to  dress  for  Dinner  in. 

1810. 
Between  Adam  and  me  the  great  difTerence  is, 

Though  a  paradise  each  has  been  forced  to  resign, 
Thill  he  never  wore  breeches  till  turn'd  out  of  his, 
While,  for  want  of  my  breeches,  I'mbanish'd  from 
mine. 


WHAT'S  MY  THOUGHT  LIKE  ? 
Quest. — Why  is  a  Pump  like  Viscount  C-sti,-r — gii? 

Answ. — Because  it  is  a  slender  thing  of  wood, 
That  up  and  down  its  awkward  arm  doth  sway, 
And  coolly  spout,  and  spout,  and  spout  away, 

In  one  weak,  washy,  everlasting  flood ! 


ON  A  SQUINTING  POETESS 
To  no  one  Muse  does  she  her  glance  confine. 
Hut  has  an  eye,  at  once,  to  nil  the  nine! 


EPIGRAM.' 
"What  news  to-day  ?" — "  Oh  !  worse  and  worse — 

M — c  is  the  Pr e's  Privy  Purse  I" 

The  Pr e's  Purse  I  no,  no,  you  fool, 

You  mean  the  Pr e's  Ridicule! 


EPIGRAM. 

Dialogue  between  a  Catholic  Delegate  and  his  R-y-l 

H-ghn-ss  the  D-ke  of  C — b-rl-nd. 

Satd  his  Highness  to  Ned,  with  that  grim  face  of  his, 

"Why  refuse  us  the  Veto,  dear  Catholic  Nedoy  ?" — 

"  Because,  Sir,"  said  Ned,  looking  full  in  his  phiz, 

"  Vou  're  forbidding  enough,  in  all  conscience,  al- 

'eady !" 


EPIGRA3L 

Dialogue  between  a  Dowager  and  her  Maid  on  the 

Night  of  Lord  Y-rm — th's  Fete. 
*  I  WANT  the  Court-Guide,"  said  my  Lady,  "  to  look 

If  the  house,  Seymour  Place,  be  at  30  or  20." — 
We  've  lost  the  Court-Guide,  Ma'am,  but  here  's  the 

Red  Book, 
Where  you'll  find,  1  dare  say,  Seymour  Places  in 
plenty  !" 


EPIGRAM. 

FRO.M    THE    FRENCH. 

"I  NEVEdgive  a  kiss,"  says  Prue, 
"  To  naughty  man,  for  I  abhor  it." 

She  will  not  give  a  kiss  't  is  true — 
She  '11  take  one,  though,  and  thank  you  for  it. 


I   This  is  a.  hon-mot,  attributed,  \  know  not  hnw  truly,  to 
1>T  I'r  sc  ss  of  W-L-s.     I  Iwve  merely  versified  it. 


THE  TORCH  OF  LIBERTY. 
I  SAW  it  all  in  Fancy's  gl.iss — 

Herself  the  fiir,  the  wild  magician, 
That  bid  this  splendid  day-dream  pass, 

And  named  each  gliding  apparition. 

T  was  like  a  torch  race — such  as  they 

Of  Greece  perform'd,  in  ages  gone. 
When  the  fleet  youths  in  long  array, 
Pass'd  the  bright  torch  triumphant  on 

I  saw  the  expectant  nations  stand 
To  catch  the  coming  tlanie  in  turn — 

I  saw,  from  ready  hand  to  hand. 
The  clear  but  struggling  glory  bum. 

And,  oh  !  their  joy,  as  it  came  near, 
'T  was  in  itself  a  joy  to  see — 

While  Fancy  whisper'd  in  my  ear 
"  That  torch  they  pass  is  Liberty  !" 

And  each,  as  she  received  the  flame, 
Lighted  her  altar  with  its  ray. 

Then,  smiling  to  the  next  who  came, 
Speeded  it  on  its  sparkling  way. 

From  ALnioN  first,  whose  a.Tient  shrine 
Was  furnish'd  with  the  rirt  already, 

Columbia  caught  the  spark  divine. 
And  lit  St  flame  like  Alhion's — steady 

The  splendid  gift  then  Gallh  took. 
And,  like  a  wild  Bacchante,  raising 

The  brand  aloft,  its  sparkles  shook. 
As  she  would  set  the  world  a-blazing. 

And,  when  she  fired  her  altar,  nigh 
It  flash'd  into  tho  redd'ning  air 

So  fierce,  that  Alrion,  who  stood  high. 
Shrunk,  almost  blinded  by  the  glare  ! 

Next,  Spain — so*new  was  light  to  her — 
Leap'd  at  the  torch  ;  but,  ere  the  spark 

She  flung  upon  her  shrine  could  stir, 
'T  was  quench'd  and  all  again  was  darl 

Yet  no — not  quench'd — a  treasure  worth 
So  much  to  mortals  rarely  dies. — 

Again  her  living  light  look'd  forth, 
And  shone,  a  beacon,  in  all  eyes. 

Who  next  received  the  flame? — Alas ! 

[Inworiiiy  Naples — shame  of  shames 
That  ever  through  such  hands  shoidd  pas* 

That  brightest  of  all  earthly  flames  ! 

Scarce  had  her  fingers  touch'd  the  torcn, 
When,  frighted  by  the  sparks  it  shed, 

Nor  waiting  e'en  to  feel  the  scorch. 
She  dropp'd  it  to  the  earth — and  fled 

And  fallen  it  might  have  long  remain'd. 
But  Greece,  who  saw  l-er  moment  no^» 


394 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Caught  up  the  prize,  though  prostrate,  stairi'd, 
And  waved  it  round  her  beauteous  brow. 

And  Fancy  bid  me  mark  where,  o'er 

Her  altar  as  its  flame  ascended. 
Fair  laurell'd  spirits  seem'd  to  soar, 

Who  thus  in  song  their  voices  blended : — 

"  Shine,  shine  for  ever,  glorious  flame, 

Divinest  gift  of  God  to  men  ! 
From  Greece  thy  earliest  splendour  came, 

To  Greece  thy  ray  returns  again  i 

•'  Take,  Freedom  !  take  thy  radiant  round — 
When  dmini'd,  revive — when  lost,  return  ; 

Till  not  a  shrine  through  earth  be  found. 
On  which  thy  glories  shall  not  burn  ! 


EPILOGUE. 

Last  night,  as  lonely  o'er  my  fire  I  sat, 
Thinking  of  cues,  starts,  exits,  and — all  that, 
And  wondering  much  what  little  knavish  sprite 
Had  put  it  first  in  women's  heads  to  write : — 
Sudden  I  saw — as  in  some  witching  dream — 
A  bright-blue  glory  round  my  book-case  beam, 
FroiTi  whose  quick-opening  folds  of  azure  light. 
Out  flew  a  tmy  form,  as  small  and  bright 
As  Puck  the  Fairy,  when  he  pops  his  head, 
Some  sunny  morning,  from  a  violet  bed. 
"  Bless  me  !"  I  starting  cried,  "  what  imp  are  you  ?" — 
"A  small  he-devil,  Ma'am — my  name  Bas  Bleu — 
A  bookish  sprite,  much  given  to  routs  and  reading: 
'T  is  I  who  teach  your  spinsters  of  good  breeding 
The  reigning  taste  in  chemistry  and  caps. 
The  last  new  bounds  of  tuckers  and  of  maps, 
And,  when  the  waltz  has  twirl'd  her  giddy  brain. 
With  metaphysics  twirl  it  back  again ! 

I  view'd  him,  as  he  spoke — his  hose  were  blue, 

His  wings — the  covers  of  the  last  Review — 

Cerulean,  bordcr'd  with  a  jaundice  hue, 

And  tinseird  gaily  o'er,  for  evening  wear, 

Till  the  next  quarter  brings  a  new-fledged  pair. 

"Inspired  by  me — (pursued  this  waggish  Fairy) — 

That  best  of  wives  and  Sapphos,  Lady  Mary, 

Votary  alike  of  Crispin  and  the  Muse, 

Makes  ..er  own  splay-foot  epigrams  and  shoes. 

For  me  the  eyes  of  young  Camilla  shine, 

And  mingle  Love's  blue  brilliances  with  mine; 

For  me  she  sits  apart,  from  coxcombs  shrinking, 

Looks   wise — the   pretty  soul ! — and    thinks    she  's 

thinking. 
By  my  advice  Miss  Indigo  attends 
Lectures  on  Memory,  and  assures  her  friends, 
'Pen  honour  ! — i^mmucks) — nothing  can  surpass  the 

plan 
Of  iiiat  professor — {trying  to  recoUsct) — psha  !  that 

memory-man — 
That — what 's  his  name? — him  I  attended  lately — 
'Poa  honour,  he  improved  my  memory  greatly.'  " 

Here,  curtseying  low,  I  ask'd  the  blue-legg'd  sprite. 

What  share  he  had  in  this  our  play  to-night. 

■  "Nav,  ihere — (ho  cried) — there  I  am  guiltless  quite — 


What !  choose  a  he  oine  from  that  Gothic  time. 
When    no  one  waltz'd,  and  none  but  monks  could 

rhyme  ; 
When  lovely  woman,  all  unschool'd  and  wild, 
Blush'd  without  art,  and  without  culture  smiled — 
Simple  as  flowers,  while  yet  unclass'd  they  shone, 
Ere  Science  call'd  their  brilliant  world  her  own. 
Ranged  the  wild  rosy  things  in  learned  orders, 
And   fill'd  with  Greek   the   garden's   blushing  Dor 

ders  ?— 
No,  no — your  gentle  Inas  will  not  do — 
To-morrow  evening,  when  the  lights  burn  blue, 
I  '11  come — {pointing  downwards) — you  understand 

till  then  adieu !" 

And  has  the  sprite  been  here?     No — jests  apart— 
Howe'er  man  rules  in  science  and  in  art, 
The  sphere  of  woman's  glories  is  the  heart. 
And,  if  our  Muse  have  sketch'd  with  pencil  true 
The  wife — the  mother — firm,  yet  gentle  too — 
Whose  soul,  wrapp'd  up  in  ties  itself  hath  spun. 
Trembles,  if  touch'd  in  the  remotest  one ; 
Who  loves — yet  dares  even  Love  himself  disown. 
When  honour's  broken  shaft  supports  his  throne 
If  such  our  Ina,  she  may  scorn  the  evils. 
Dire  as  they  are,  of  Critics  and — Blue  Devils. 


TO    THE   MEMORY    OF 

JOSEPH  ATKINSON,  ESQ.  OF  DUBLIN 

If  ever  life  was  prosperously  cast, 

If  ever  life  was  like  the  lengthen'd  flow 

Of  some  sweet  music,  sweetness  to  the  last, 
'T  was  his  who,  mourn'd  by  many,  sleeps  below 

The  sunny  temper,  bright  were  all  its  strife. 
The  simple  heart  that  mocks  at  worldly  wiles, 

Light  wit,  that  plays  along  the  calm  of  life, 
And  stirs  its  languid  surface  into  smiles ; 

Pure  charity,  that  comes  not  in  a  shower, 
Sudden  and  loud,  oppressing  what  it  feeds. 

But,  like  the  dew,  with  gradual  silent  power. 
Felt  in  the  bloom  it  leaves  among  the  meads ; 

The  happy  grateful  spirit,  that  improves 
And  brightens  every  gift  by  fortune  given. 

That,  wander  where  it  will  with  those  it  loves, 
Makes  every  place  a  home,  and  home  a  heaven: 

All  these  were  his. — Oh  !  thou  who  read'st  this  stonij 
When  for  thyself,  thy  children,  to  the  sky 

Thou  humbly  prayest,  ask  this  boon  alone, 
That  ye  like  him  may  live,  like  him  may  die ! 


EPITAPH  ON  A  WELL-KNOWN  POET 

Beneath  these  poppies  buried  deep. 
The  bones  of  Bob  the  Bard  lie  hid  ; 

Peace  to  his  manes ;  and  may  he  sleep 
As  soundly  as  his  readers  did  I 

Through  every  sort  of  verse  meandering, 
Bob  went  without  a  hitch  or  fill. 

Through  Epic,  Sapphic,  Alexandrine, 
To  verse  that  was  no  verse  at  all ; 


Till  fiction  hiving  done  enough, 
To  make  a  bard  at  least  absurd, 

And  givt  his  readers  quantum  sulj. 
He  took  to  praising  George  tiie  Third  : 

And  now,  in  virtue  of  his  crown, 

Dooms  us,  poor  whigs,  at  once  to  slaughter; 
Like  Doncllan  of  bad  renown. 

Poisoning  us  all  with  laurel-water. 

And  yet  at  times  some  awkward  qualms  he 
Felt  about  leaving  honour's  track; 

And  though  he  's  got  a  buit  of  3Ialmsey, 
It  may  not  save  him  from  a  sack. 

Death,  weary  of  so  dull  a  writer. 

Put  to  his  works  a  fiiiis  tlius. 
Oh!  may  the  earth  on  him  lie  lighter 

Than  did  his  quartos  upon  us  ! 


THE  SYLPH'S  BALL. 

A  Sylph,  as  gay  as  ever  sported 
Her  figure  through  the  fields  of  air. 

By  an  old  swarthy  Gnome  was  courted, 
And,  strange  to  say,  he  won  the  fair. 

The  annals  of  the  oldest  witch 
A  pair  so  sorted  could  not  show — 

But  how  refuse  ■J — tlie  Gnome  was  rich, 
The  Rothschild  of  the  world  below ; 

And  Sylphs,  like  other  pretty  creatures. 
Learn  from  their  mammas  to  consider 

Love  as  an  auctioneer  of  features. 
Who  knot  ks  them  down  to  the  best  bidder. 

Homo  she  was  taken  to  his  mine — 
A  palace,  paved  with  diamonds  all — 

And,  proud  as  Lady  Gnome  to  shine, 
Sent  out  her  tickets  for  a  ball. 

The  lower  world,  of  course,  was  there, 
And  all  the  best ;  but  of  the  upper 

The  sprinkling  was  but  shy  and  rare — 
A  few  old  Sylphids  who  loved  supper. 

As  none  yet  knew  the  wondrous  lamp 
Of  Davy,  that  rcnown'd  Aladdin, 

And  the  Gnnme"s  hails  exhaled  a  damp. 
Which  accidents  from  fire  were  bad  in; 

The  chambers  were  supplied  with  light 
By  many  strange,  but  safe  devices: — 

Large  tiro-Hies,  such  as  shine  at  night 
Aniong  the  Orient's  flowers  and  spices : 

Musical  flint-mills — swiftly  play'd 
By  elfin  hands — that,  flashing  round. 

Like  some  bright  glancing  minstrel  maid. 
Gave  out,  at  once,  both  light  and  sound ; 

Boiogna-stones,  that  drink  the  sun 
And  water  from  that  Indian  sea. 

Whose  waves  at  night  like  wild-fire  run, 
Cork'd  up  in  crystal  carefully; 

Glow-worms,  that  round  the  tiny  dishes, 
IJke  ;ittle  li^ht-houses,  were  set  up; 


And  pretty  phosphorescent  fishes, 
That  by  their  own  gay  light  were  eat  up. 

'Mong  the  few  guests  from  Kiher,  came 
That  wicked  iSylph,  whom  Love  we  cali— 

3Iy  Lady  know  him  but  by  name, 
3Iy  Lord,  lier  husband,  not  at  all. 

Some  prudent  Gnomes,  't  is  said  apprized 
That  he  was  coining,  and,  no  doubt 

Alarm'd  about  his  torch,  advised 

He  should,  by  all  means,  be  kept  out. 

But  others  disapproved  this  plan, 

And,  by  his  flame  though  somewhat  frighted, 
Thought  Love  too  much  a  gentleman, 

In  such  a  dangerous  place  to  light  it. 

However,  there  he  was — and  dancing 
With  the  fiir  Sylph,  light  as  a  feather: 

They  look'd  like  two  young  sunbeams.glancing 
At  daybreak,  down  to  earth  together. 

And  all  had  gone  oflT  safe  and  well. 
But  for  that  plaguy  torch — whose  light. 

Though  not  yet  kindled,  who  could  tell 
How  soon,  how  devilishly  it  might  7 

And  so  it  chanced — which  in  those  dar 
And  fireless  halls,  was  quite  amazing 

Did  we  not  know  how  small  a  spark 
Can  set  the  torch  of  Love  a-blazing. 

Whether  it  came,  when  close  entangled 
In  the  gay  waltz,  from  her  bright  eyes, 

Or  from  the  lucciule,  that  spangled 
Her  locks  of  jet — is  all  surmise. 

Certain  it  is,  the  ethereal  girl 

Did  drop  a  spark,  at  some  odd  turning. 
Which,  by  the  waltz's  windy  whirl, 

Was  fann'd  up  into  actual  burning. 

Oh  for  that  lamp's  metallic  gauze — 
Tiiat  curtain  of  protecting  wire — 

Which  Davy  delicately  draws 
Around  illicit,  dangerous  fire  ! — 

The  wall  he  sets  'twixt  flame  and  air 

(Like  that  which  barr'd  young  Thisbe's  bliss,) 

Through  whose  small  holes  this  dangerous  pau 
May  see  each  other  but  not  kiss.' 

At  first  the  torch  look'd  rather  bluely — 
A  sign,  they  say,  that  no  good  boded — 

Then  quick  the  gas  became  unruly, 
And,  crack !  the  ball-room  all  exploded. 

Sylphs,  Gnomes,  and  fiddlers,  mix'd  together, 
With  all  their  aunts,  sons,  cousins,  nieces. 

Like  butterflies,  in  stormy  weather. 

Were  blown — legs,  wings,  and  tails — to  pietea 

While,  'mid  these  victims  of  tlij  torch. 

The  Sylph,  alas!  too,  bore  lie-  pan — 
Found  lying,  with  a  livid  scoicli. 

As  if  from  lightning,  o'er  Her  lieart  I 


1 


Partique  doilere 


Osoulii  quisiiuu  suiu,  nun  pciveiiiuntia  CDnlra. —  Odd 


396 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"Well  done!"  a  laughing  goblin  said, 
Escaping  from  this  gaseous  strife  ; 

"  'T  is  not  tlie  JlrsI  time  Love  has  made 
A  bluw-up  in  connubial  life." 


RE3I0NSTRANCE. 

After  a  conversation  with  L — d  J R ,  m 

which  he  had  intimated  some  idea  of  giving  up  all 

political  pursuits. 
What  !  thou,  with  thy  genius,  thy  youth,  and  thy 
name — 

Thou,  born  of  a  Russel — whose  instinct  to  run 
The  accustom'd  career  of  thy  sires,  is  the  same 

As  the  eaglet's,  to  soar  with  his  eyes  on  the  sun ! 

Whose  nobility  comes  to  thee,  stamp'd  v/i'.h  a  seal, 
Far,  far  more  ennobling  than  monarch  e'er  set; 

With  the  blood  of  thy  rare  oller'd  up  for  the  weal 
Of  a  nation  thit  swears  by  that  martyrdom  yet ! 

Shalt  thou  be  faint-hearted  and  turn  from  the  strife. 
From  the  mighty  arena  where  all  that  is  grand, 

And  devoted,  and  pure,  and  adorning  in  life. 
Is  for  high-lhoiiglited  spirits,  like  thine,  to  com- 
mand ? 

Oh  no,  never  dream  it — while  good  men  despair 
Between  tyrants  and  traitors,  and  timid  men  bow. 

Never  think,  for  an  instant,  thy  country  can  spare 
Such  a  light  from  her  dark'ning  horizon  as  thou ! 

With  a  spirit  as  meek  as  the  gentlest  of  those 
Who  in  life's  sunny  valley  lie  shelter'd  and  warm ; 

Vet  bold  and  heroic  as  ever  yet  rose 
To   the   top   clifl's   of  Fortune,  and   breasted  her 
storm  ; 

With  an  ardour  for  liberty,  fresh  as  in  youth, 
It  first  kindles  the  bard,  and  gives  life  to  his  !yre  ; 

Vet  mellow'd,  even  now,  by  that  mildness  of  truth 
Which  tempers,  but  chills  not,  the  patriot  fire  ; 

With  an  eloquence — not  like  those. rills  from  a  height. 
Which  sparkle,  and  foam,  and  in  vapour  are  o'er; 

But  a  current  that  works  out  its  way  into  light 
Through  the  filt'ring  recesses  of  thought  and  of  lore. 

Thus  gifted,  thou  never  canst  sleep  in  the  shade; 

If  the  stirrings  of  genius,  the  music  of  fame. 
And  the  charms  of  thy  cause  have  not  power  to  per- 
suade. 
Yet  think  how  to  freedom  thou  'rt  pledged  by  thy 
name. 

Like  the  boughs  of  that  laurel,  by  Delphi's  decree, 
Set  apart  for  the  fime  and  its  service  divine, 

\U  the  branches  that  spring  from  the  old  Russel  tree. 
Are  by  liberty  claim'' d  for  the  use  of  her  shrine. 


EPITAPH  ON  A  LAWYER. 
Here  lies  a  lawyer — one  whose  mind 
(Like  that  of  all  the  lawyer  kind) 
Resembled,  though  so  grave  and  stately, 
The  pupil  of  a  cat's  eve  greatly; 


Which  for  the  mousing  deeds,  transacted 

In  holes  and  corners,  is  well  fitted. 
But  which,  in  sunshine,  gr()v\s  contracted, 

As  if 't  would — rather  not  admit  it; 
As  if,  in  short,  a  man  would  quite 

Throw  time  away  who  tried  to  let  iii  a 
Decent  portion  of  God's  light 

On  lawyers'  mind  or  pussy's  retina. 

Hence  when  he  took  to  politics. 

As  a  refreshing  change  of  evil, 
Unfit  with  grand  affairs  to  mi.'C 
His  little  Nisi-Prius  tricks. 

Like  imps  at  bo-peep,  play'd  the  devil  • 
And  proved  that  when  a  small  law  wit 

Of  statesmanship  attempts  the  trial, 
'Tis  like  a  player  on  the  kit 

Put  all  at  once  to  a  bass  viol. 

Nay,  even  wnen  honest  (which  he  could 
Be,  now  and  then,)  still  quibbling  daily, 

He  serv'd  his  country  as  he  would 
A  clie.1t  thief  at  the  Old  Bailey. 

But — do  him  justice — short  and  rare 

His  wish  through  honest  paths  to  roam ; 
Born  with  a  taste  for  the  unfair. 
Where  falsehood  call'd,  he  still  was  there, 

And  when  least  iionest,  most  at  home. 
Thus,  shuffling,  bullying,  lying,  creeping, 

lie  work'd  his  way  up  near  the  throne, 
And,  long  before  he  took  the  keeping 

Of  the  king's  conscience,  lost  his  own. 


MY  BIRTH-DAY. 

"  Mv  birth-day  !" — What  a  different  sound 
That  word  had  in  my  youthful  ears ! 

And  how,  each  time  the  day  comes  round, 
Less  and  less  white  its  mark  appears ! 

When  first  our  scanty  years  are  told. 
It  seems  like  pastime  to  grow  old; 
And,  as  youth  counts  the  shining  links 

That  time  around*  liim  binds  so  fast. 
Pleased  with  the  task,  he  little  thinks 

How  hard  that  chain  will  press  at  last 

Vain  was  the  man,  and  false  as  vain, 

Who  said,'  "were  he  ordain'd  to  run 
His  long  career  of  life  again, 

He  would  do  all  that  he  had  done."- 
Ah  !  't  is  not  thus  the  voice  that  dwells 

In  sober  birth-days  speaks  to  me , 
Far  otherwise — of  time  it  tells 

Lavish'd  unwisely,  carelessly  — 
Of  counsel  niock'd — of  talents,  made 

Haply  for  high  and  pure  designs, 
But  ofi,  like  Israel's  incense,  laid 

Upon  unholy,  earthly  shrines — 
Of  nursing  many  a  wrong  desire — 

Of  wandering  after  Love  too  far, 
And  taking  every  meteor  fire 

That  cross'd  my  pathway  for  his  star! 


1   Ftnilrndh. — "  Si  jo  ricoiiiwii'iicais  ma  carri6re,  je  fp- 
ruis  toul  cu  qiiu  i'iii  lUit  " 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


397 


All  tliis  it  lells,  and,  could  I  trace 

The  imperfect  picture  o'er  again, 
With  power  to  add,  retouch,  ellace 

The  lights  and  shades,  the  joy  and  pain, 
How  little  of  tlie  past  would  stay  ! 
How  quickly  all  should  molt  away — 
All — but  that  freedom  of  the  mind 

Which  hath  been  more  than  wealth  to  me ; 
Those  friendships  in  rny  boyhood  twined, 

And  kept  till  now  unchangingly. 
And  that  dear  home,  that  saving  ark, 

W'here  Love's  true  light  at  last  1  've  found, 
Cheering  within,  when  all  grows  dark, 

And  comfortless,  and  stormy  round  ! 


FANCY. 

The  morei've  view'dthis  world,  the  more  I've  found 

That,  till'd  as  'tis  with  scenes  and  creatures  rare, 
Fancy  commands,  within  her  own  bright  round, 

A  world  of  scenes  and  creatures  iiir  more  fair. 
Nor  is  it  tliat  her  power  can  call  up  there 

A  single  charm  that 's  not  from  Nature  won, 
No  more  than  rainbows,  in  their  pride,  can  wear 

A  single  tint  unborrow'd  from  the  sun — 
But  't  is  the  mental  medium  it  shines  through, 
That  lends  to  beauty  all  its  charm  and  hue; 
As  th<;  same  light,  that  o'er  the  level  lake 

One  dull  monotony  of  lustre  flings. 
Will,  entering  in  the  rounded  rain-drop,  make 

Colours  as  gay  as  those  on  angels'  wings ! 


LOVE  AND  HYMEN. 

Love  had  a  fever — ne'er  could  close 
His  little  eyes  till  day  was  breaking ; 

An-J  whimsical  enough,  Heaven  knows. 
The  things  he  raved  about  while  waking. 

To  'et  him  pine  so  were  a  sin — 

One  to  whom  all  the  world  's  a  debtor — 

So  Doctor  Hymen  was  call'd  in, 
And  Love  that  night  sl6pt  rather  better. 

Next  day  the  case  gave  further  hope  yet, 
Though  still  some  ugly  fever  latent; — 

•*  Dose,  as  before" — a  gentle  opiate, 
For  which  old  Hymen  has  a  patent. 

After  a  month  of  daily  call, 

So  fast  the  dose  went  on  restoring, 

That  Love,  who  first  ne'er  slept  at  all. 

Now  took,  the  rogue  !  to  downrigiit  snoring 


TRANSLATION  FROM  CATULLUS. 

Sweet  Sir'mio  !  thou,  the  very  eye 

Of  all  peninsulas  and  isles 
That  in  our  lakes  of  silver  lie. 

Or  sleep,  enwreathed  by  Neptune's  smiles, 

How  gladly  brick  to  thee  I  fly  ! 

Still  doubting,  asking  can  it  be 
That  [  have  left  Bithynia's  sky, 

And  gaze  in  safety  upon  thee  ? 


Oh  I  what  is  happier  than  lo  tind 
Our  hearts  at  ease,  our  perils  past, 

When,  an.xious  long,  the  lighlen'd  mind 
Lays  down  its  load  of  care  at  last? — 

When,  tired  with  toil  on  land  and  deep. 

Again  wc  tread  the  welcome  Hoor 
Of  our  own  home,  and  sink  to  sleep 

On  the  long-wish'd-for  bed  once  more  I 

This,  this  it  is  that  pays  alone 

The  ills  of  all  life's  former  track — 

Shine  out,  my  beautiful,  my  own 

Sweet  Sirmio — greet  thy  master  back. 

And  thou,  fair  lake,  whose  water  quaffs 
The  light  of  heaven,  like  Lydia's  sea. 

Rejoice,  rejoice — let  all  that  laughs 
Abroad,  at  home,  laugh  out  for  me  ! 


TO  MY  MOTHER. 
Written  in  a  Pockel-Book,  1822. 

Thev  tell  us  of  an  Indian  tree 

Which,  howsoe  er  the  sun  and  sky 
May  tempt  its  boughs  to  wander  free. 

And  shoot  and  blossom,  wide  and  high. 
Far  better  loves  to  bend  its  arms 

Downward  again  to  that  dear  earth 
From  winch  the  life,  that  tills  and  warms 

Its  grateful  being,  first  had  birth. 

'T  is  thus,  though  woo'd  by  flattering  friends, 
And  fed  with  fame  {if  fame  it  be,) 

This  heart,  my  own  dear  mother,  bends, 
With  love's  true  instinct,  back  to  thee ! 


ILLUSTRxVTION  OF  A  BORE. 

If  ever  you  've  seen  a  gay  party, 

Relieved  from  the  pressure  of  Ned — 
IIow  instantly  joyous  and  hearty 

They  'vc  grown  when  the  damper  was  fled— 
You  may  guess  what  a  gay  pibce  of  work, 

What  delight  to  champagne  it  must  be, 
To  get  rid  of  its  bore  of  a  cork. 

And  come  sparkling  lo  you,  love,  and  me ! 


A  SPECULaTIO.X. 

Of  all  speculations  the  market  holds  forth. 
The  best  that  1  know  for  a  lover  of  pelf 

Is,  to  buy  ******  up,  at  the  price  he  is  worth. 
And  then  sell  him  at  that  which  he  sets  on  himscU 


SCEPTICIS.M 

Ere  Psyche  drank  the' cup  that  shed 

Immortal  life  into  her  soul. 
Some  evil  spirit  pour'd,  'lis  said. 

One  drop  of  doubt  into  the  bowJ- 

W'liich,  mingling  darkly  with  the  stream. 
To  Psyche's  lips — she  knew  not  why— 


398 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


Made  even  that  blessed  nectar  seem 
As  though  its  sweetness  soon  would  die. 

Oft,  in  the  very  arms  of  Love, 

A  chill  came  o'er  her  heart — a  fear 

That  death  would,  even  yet,  remove 
Her  spirit  from  tiiat  happy  sphere. 

"Those  sunny  ringlets,"  she  e.xclaim'd, 
Twining  them  round  lier  snowy  fingers — 

"  That  forehead,  where  a  light,  unnamed, 
Unknown  on  earth,  for  ever  lingers — 

"  Those  lips,  through  which  I  feel  the  breath 
Of  heaven  itself,  whene'er  they  sever — 

Oh !  are  they  mine  beyond  all  death — 
Mine  own,  hereafter  and  for  ever? 

"Smile  not — I  know  that  starry  brow, 
Those  ringlets  and  bright  lips  of  thine, 

Will  always  shine  as  they  do  now — 
But  shall  /  live  to  see  them  shine  ?" 

In  vain  did  Love  say,  "  Turn  thine  eyes 
On  all  that  sparkles  round  thee  here — 

Thou  'ri  now  in  heaven,  where  nothing  dies, 
And  in  these  arms — what  canst  thou  fear  ?" 

In  vain — the  fatal  drop  that  stole 
Into  that  cup's  immortal  treasure. 

Had  lodged  its  bitter  near  her  soul. 
And  gave  a  tinge  to  every  pleasure. 

And,  though  there  ne'er  was  rapture  given 
Like  Psyche's  with  that  radiant  boy, 

Hers  is  the  only  face  in  heaven 
That  wears  a  cloud  amid  its  joy. 


FROM  THE  FRENCH. 
Of  all  the  men  one  meets  about. 

There  's  none  like  Jack — he  't,  every  where  : 
At  church — park — auction — dini.er — rout — 

(io  when  and  where  you  will,  he  's  there. 
Try  the  West  End,  he  's  at  your  back — 

Meets  you,  like  F'uriis,  in  the  East — 
You  're  call'd  upon  for  "How  do,  Jack?" 

One  hundred  times  a-day,  at  least. 
A  friend  of  his  one  evening  said. 

As  home  he  took  his  pensive  way, 
"  Upon  my  soul,  I  fear  Jack 's  dead — 

I  've  seen  him  but  three  times  to-day !" 


ROMANCE. 

MAVK  a  story  of  two  lovers,  fill'd 

With  all  the  pure  romance,  the  blissful  sadness 
And  the  sad  doiibUiil  bliss,  tliat  ever  ttirili'd 

Two  young  and  longing  hearts  in  that  sweet  mad- 
ness ; 
But  where  to  choose  the  Jnrale  of  my  vision 

In  this  wide  vidgar  world — what  real  spot 
f'an  l>e  found  out,  sufficiently  elysian 

For  two  such  perfect  lovers,  I  know  not. 


Oh,  for  some  fair  Formosa,  such  as  he. 

The  young  Jew,'  fabled  of,  in  the  Indian  Sea, 

By  nothing  but  its  name  of  B(^auty  known 

And  which  Queen  Fancy  might  make  all  her  own, 

Iler  fairy  kingiiom — take  its  people,  lands, 

And  tenements  into  her  own  brigiit  hands 

And  make,  at  least,  one  earthly  corner  fit 

For  Love  to  live  in — pure  and  exquisite  ! 


A  JOKE  VERSIFIED. 

"Come,  come,"  said  Tom's  father,  "at  your  time  of 
life. 
There  's  no  longer  excuse   for  thus  playing   the 
rake — 
It  is  time  you  should  think,  boy,  of  taking  a  wile." — 
"  Why,  so  it  is,  father, — whose  wife  shall  I  take  ?' 


ON 


Like  a  snuffers,  this  loving  old  dame, 

By  a  oestiny  grievous  enough. 
Though  f  o  oft  she  has  snapp'd  at  the  flame, 

Hath  never  caught  more  than  the  snufT. 


FRAOMENT  OF  A  CHARACTER. 

Here  lies  Factotum  Ned  at  last : 
Long  as  he  breathed  the  vital  air. 

Nothing  throughout  all  Europe  pass'd 
In  which  he  had  n't  some  smafl  share. 

Whoe'er  was  in,  whoe'er  was  out — 
Whatever  statesmen  did  or  said — 

If  not  exactly  brought  about. 

Was  all,  at  least,  contrived  by  Ned. 

With  Nap  if  Russia  went  to  war, 
'T  was  owing,  under  Providence, 

To  certain  hints  Ned  gave  the  Czar — 
( Vide  his  pamphlet — price  six  pence.) 

If  France  was  beat  at  Waterloo — 

As  all,  but  Frenchmen,  think  she  was^ 

To  Ned,  as  Wellington  well  knew. 
Was  owing  half  that  day's  applause. 

Then  for  his  news — no  envoy's  bag 

?rcr  pass'd  so  many  secrets  through  it— 

Scarcely  a  telegraph  could  wag 
Its  wooden  finger,  but  Ned  knew  it. 

Such  tales  he  had  of  foreign  plots. 

With  foreign  names  one's  ear  to  buzz  in- 

From  Russia  chpfx  and  ofs  in  lots, 
From  Poland  otvskis  by  the  dozen. 

When  George,  a larm'd  for  England's  creed, 
Turn'd  out  the  last  Whig  ministry. 

And  men  ask'd — who  advised  the  de&rl  7 
Ned  modestly  confcss'd  'I  was  he. 

For  though,  by  some  unlucky  miss. 
He  had  not  downright  seen  the  King, 


1  Psalinanazar. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


399 


Jle  sent  such  hints  through  Viscount  This, 
To  Marquis  T/tal,  as  clench'd  the  tiling. 

The  same  it  was  in  science,  arts, 

Tlic  drama,  bool<s,  MS.  and  printed — 

Kean  Icarn'd  from  Ned  liis  cleverest  parts, 
And  Scott's  last  work  by  him  was  hinted. 

Childe  Harold  in  the  proofs  he  read, 

And,  here  and  there,  infused  some  soul  in  't- 

Nay,  Davy's  lamp,  till  seen  by  Ned, 

Had — odd  enough — a  dangerous  hole  in  't. 

'Twas  thus,  all  doing  and  all  knowing. 
Wit,  statesman,  boxer,  chemist,  singer, 

Whatever  was  the  best  pie  going. 
In  Ouit  Ned — trust  him — had  his  finger. 


COUNTRY-DANCE  AND  QUADRILLE. 

One  night,  the  nymph  call'd  Country-Dance — 
Whom  folks,  of  late,  have  used  so  ill, — 

Preferring  a  coquette  from  France, 

A  mincing  thing,  Mamsdle  Quadrille — 

Having  been  chased  from  London  down 
To  that  last,  humblest  haunt  of  all 

She  used  to  grace — a  country -town — 
Went  smiling  to  the  new  year's  'oall. 

"  Here,  here,  at  least,"  she  cried, "  though  driven 
From  London's  gay  and  shining  tracks — 

Though,  like  a  Peri  cast  from  heaven, 
I  've  lost,  for  ever  lost  Almack's — 

"Though  not  a  London  Miss  alive 

Would  now  for  her  acquaintance  own  me; 

And  spinsters,  even  of  forty-five. 

Upon  their  honours  ne'er  have  known  me: 

"  Here,  here,  at  least,  I  triumph  still, 
And— spite  of  some  few  dandy  lancers, 

Who  vainly  try  to  preach  quadrille — 
See  nought  but  true-hlue  country-dancers. 

"Here  still  I  reign,  and,  fresh  in  charms, 
3Iy  throne,  like  Magna  Charta,  raise, 

'Mong  sturdy,  free-born  legs  and  arms. 
That  scorn  the  threaten'd  chaine  Anglaise." 

'T  was  thus  she  said,  as,  'mid  the  din 
Of  footmen,  and  the  town  sedan, 

She  lighted  at  the  King's-Head  Inn, 
And  up  the  stairs  triumphant  ran. 

The  squires  and  the  squiresses  all. 
With  young  squirinas,  just  cnrne  out. 

And  my  lord's  daughters  from  the  Hall 
(Quadnllers,  in  their  hearts,  no  doubt,) 

Already,  as  she  tripp'd  up  stairs. 

She  in  the  cloak-room  saw  assembling — 

When,  hark  !  some  new  outlandish  airs, 
From  the  first  fiddle,  set  her  trembling. 

She  stops — she  listens — ran  it  be  ? 

Alas  !  in  vain  her  ears  would  'scape  it — 
It  is  "  Di  tanti  palpiti," 

As  plain  iis  English  bow  can  scrape  it. 


"  Courage  !"  however  in  she  goes. 

With  her  best  sweeping  country  grace; 

When,  ah!  too  true,  her  worst  of  foes. 
Quadrille,  there  nieeus  her,  fiice  to  face. 

Oh  for  the  lyre,  or  violin. 

Or  kit  of  that  gay  .Muse,  Terpsichore, 
To  sing  the  rage  these  nymphs  were  in, 

Their  looks  and  language,  airs  and  trickery. 

There  stood  Quadrille,  with  ca'.-like  face 
(The  fwau  idml  of  French  beauty,) 

A  band-box  thing,  all  art  and  laee, 

Down  from  her  nose-tip  to  her  shoe-tie. 

Her  flounces,  fresh  from  Victorine — 
From  Ilippoh/te  her  rouge  and  hair^ 

Iler  poetry,  from  I^imarliiie — 
Her  morals  from — the  Lord  knows  where. 

And,  when  she  danced — so  slidingly, 
So  near  the  ground  she  plied  her  art, 

You  'd  swear  her  mother-earth  and  she 
Had  made  a  compact  ne'er  to  part. 

Her  face  the  while,  demure,  sedate. 
No  signs  of  life  or  motion  showing. 

Like  a  bright  pcndule's  dial-plate — 

So  still,  you  'd  hardly  think  't  was  going. 

Full  fronting  her  stood  Country-Dance — 

A  fresh,  frank  nymph,  whom  you  would  kiiow 

For  English,  at  a  single  glance — 
English  all  o'er,  from  top  to  toe. 

A  Httle  gnuche,  't  is  fair  to  own. 

And  rather  given  to  skips  and  bounces ; 

Endangering  thereby  many  a  gown. 
And  playing  oft  the  devil  with  flounces. 

Unlike  MamseUc — who  would  prefer 

(As  morally  a  lesser  ill) 
A  thousand  flaws  in  character, 

To  one  vile  rumple  of  a  frill. 

No  rouge  did  she  of  Albion  wear; 

Let  her  but  run  that  two-heat  race 
She  calls  a  Set — not  Dian  e'er 

Came  rosier  from  the  woodland  chase. 

And  such  the  nymph,  whose  soul  had  in't 
Such  anger  now — whose  03  es  of  blue 

(Eyes  of  that  bright  victorious  tint 

Which  English  maids  call  "  Waterloo") 

Like  summer  lightnings,  in  the  dusk 
Of  a  warm  evening,  flashing  broke. 

While — to  the  tune  of  ".Money  Musk,"' 
Which  struck  up  now — she  proudly  spoke 

"  Heard  you  that  strain — that  joyous  strain  ' 
'T  was  sucli  as  I'ligland  loved  to  hear 

Ere  thou,  and  all  thy  frippery  train, 
Corrupted  both  her  foot  and  ear — 

"  Ere  Waltz,  that  rake  from  foreign  lands. 
Presumed,  m  sight  of  all  beholders. 


1   All  old  Eiislisli  couiilfdanrA 


400 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  lay  his  rude  licentious  hands 

On  virtuous  English  baciis  and  slioulders — 

"  Ere  times  and  mof.Is  both  grew  bad, 
And,  yet  unflecced  by  funding  blockheads, 

Ilappy  John  Bull  not  only  had, 

Hut  danced  to  '  Money  in  both  pockets.'' 

"  Alas,  the  change! — oh, ! 


Where  is  ttie  land  could  'scape  disasters, 
With  such  a  Foreign  Secretary, 
Aided  by  foreign  dancing-masters  ? 

"Woe  to  ye,  men  of  ships  and  shops, 
Rulers  of  day-books  and  of  waves  ! 

Quadrill'd,  on  one  side,  into  fops. 
And  drill'd,  on  t'  other,  into  slaves  ! 

"  Ye,  too,  ye  lovely  victims !  seen, 
Like  pigeons  truss'd  for  exhibition, 

With  elbows  a  h  crapaudine, 

And  feet  in — God  knows  what  position. 

"  Hemm'd  in  by  watchful  chaperons. 
Inspectors  of  your  airs  and  graces. 

Who  intercept  all  signal  tones, 
And  read  all  telegraphic  faces. 

"  Unable  with  the  youth  adored, 
In  that  grim  cordon  of  mammas, 

To  interchange  one  loving  word, 

Though  whisper'd  but  in  quene-de-chats. 

"  Ah,  did  you  know  how  bless'd  we  ranged. 
Ere  vile  Quadrille  usurp'd  the  fiddle — 

What  looks  in  setting  were  exchanged. 
What  tender  words  in  down  the  middle  ! 

'*How  many  a  couple,  like  the  wind. 
Which  nothing  in  its  course  controls. 

Left  time  and  chaperons  far  behind, 
And  gave  a  loose  to  legs  and  souls ! 

"How  matrimony  throve — ere  stopp'd 
By  this  cold,  silent,  foot-coquetting — 

How  charminsriy  one's  partner  popp'd 
The  important  question  in  poussette-ing .' 

"While  now,  alas,  no  sly  advances — 
No  marriage  hints — all  goes  on  badly. 

'Twixt  Parson  Malthus  and  French  dances, 
We  girls  are  at  a  discount  sadly. 

•*  Sir  William  Scott  (now  Baron  Stowell) 
Declares  not  half  so  much  is  made 

By  licences — and  he  must  know  well — 
Since  vile  Quadrilling  spoil'd  the  trade." 

She  ceased — tears  fell  from  every  Miss — 
She  now  had  touch'd  the  true  pathetic  : — 

One  such  authentic  fact  as  this. 
Is  worth  whole  volumes  tlicoretic. 

Instant  the  cry  was  "Country-Dance!" 
And  the  maid  saw,  with  brightening  face. 


The  steward  of  the  night  advance, 
And  lead  her  to  her  birth-right  place. 

The  fiddles,  which  awhile  had  ceased, 
Now  tuned  again  their  summons  swoct. 

And,  for  one  happy  nignt,  at  least, 
Old  England's  triumph  was  completn 


i  Another  f)ld  Enijlisli  coiiiilry-dance. 


SONG. 

FOE  THE  POCO-riTRANTE  SOCIETY 

To  those  we  love  we  've  drank  to-night ; 

But  now  attend,  and  stare  not, 
While  I  the  ampler  list  recite 

Of  those  for  whom — we  care  not. 

For  royal  men,  howe'er  they  frown, 
If  on  their  fronts  they  bear  not 

That  noblest  gem  that  decks  a  crown— 
The  People's  Love — we  care  not. 

For  slavish  men  who  bend  beneath 

A  despot  yoke,  and  dare  not 
Pronounce  the  will,  whose  very  breath 

Would  rend  its  links — we  care  not. 

For  priestly  men  who  covet  sway 

And  wealth,  thousih  they  declare  not  t 

Who  point,  like  finger-posts,  the  way 
They  never  go — tve  care  not. 

For  martial  men  who  on  their  sword, 
Howe'er  it  conquers,  wear  not 

The  Pledges  of  a  soldier's  word, 
Redeem'd  and  pure — we  care  not. 

For  legal  men  who  plead  for  wrong, 
And,  though  to  lies  they  swear  not. 

Are  not  more  honest  than  the  throng 
Of  those  who  do — we  care  not. 

For  courtly  men  who  feed  upon 
The  land  like  grubs,  and  spare  not 

The  smallest  leaf  where  they  can  sun 
Their  reptile  limbs — we  care  not. 

For  wealthy  men  who  keep  their  miner 
In  darkness  hid,  and  share  not 

The  paltry  ore  with  him  who  pines 
In  honest  want — me  care  not. 

For  prudent  men  who  keep  the  power 

Of  Love  aloof,  and  bare  not 
Tlieir  hearts  in  any  gnardless  hour 

To  Beauty's  shafts — u^e  care  not. 

For  secret  men  who,  round  the  bowl 
In  friendship's  circle,  tear  no' 

The  cloiuty  curtain  from  their  soul. 
But  draw  it  close — rce  care  not. 

For  all,  in  short,  on  land  and  sea. 
In  court  and  camp,  who  are  not. 

Who  never  were,  nor  e'er  will  be 
Good  men  and  true — we  care  not 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


401 


GENIUS  AND  CRITICISM. 

Scri[i,-it  iiuicli  111  Ciia,  suil  .seijuitur. — Seneca. 

Of  old,  the  Sultan  Oeniiis  reign'd — 
As  Nature  meant — supreme,  alone  ; 

Will)  mind  unt-heck'd,  and  hands  unchain  d, 
His  views,  his  conquests  were  his  own. 

But  power  like  his,  that  digs  its  grave 
With  its  own  sceptre,  could  not  last : 

So  Genius'  self  hocame  the  slave 
Of  laws  that  Genius'  self  had  pass'd. 

As  Jove,  who  forged  the  chain  of  Fate, 
Was,  ever  after,  doom'd  to  wear  it ; 

Ilis  nods,  his  struggles,  all  too  late — 
"  Qui  semel  jussit,  xemper  paret." 

To  check  young  Genius'  proud  career, 
The  slaves,  who  now  his  throne  invaded, 

Made  Criticism  his  Prime  Vizir, 

And  from  that  hour  his  glories  faded. 

Tied  down  in  Legislation's  school. 
Afraid  of  even  his  own  ambition, 

Ilis  very  victories  were  by  rule, 
And  he  was  great  but  by  permission. 

His  most  heroic  deeds — the  same 

That  dazzled,  when  spontaneous  actions — 
Now,  done  by  law,  seem'd  cold  and  tame, 

And  shorn  of  all  their  first  attractions. 

[f  he  but  stirr'd  to  take  the  air, 
Instant  the  Vizir's  Council  sat — 

**  Good  Lord  !  your  Highness  can't  go  there- 
Bless  us  !  your  Highness  can't  do  that." 

f,  loving  pomp,  he  chose  to  buy 
Rich  jewels  for  his  diadem — 
2A 


"  Tlie  taste  wa8  bad — the  price  waa  high 

A  Hower  were  simpler  than  a  gem." 

To  please  them  if  he  took  to  floA-ers — 
"What  trilling,  what  unmeaning  llungs! 

Fit  for  a  woman's  toilet  hours, 
But  not  at  all  the  style  for  kings." 

If,  fond  of  his  domestic  sphere, 

lie  play'd  no  iViore  the  rambling  comet — 
"  A  dull,  good  sort  of  man,  'twas  clear, 

But,  as  for  great  or  brave — far  from  it." 

Did  he  then  look  o'er  distant  oceans. 

For  realms  more  worthy  to  enthrone  him  T 

"  Saint  Aristotle,  what  wild  notions  ! 
Serve  a  '  Ne  exeat  re/rjio'  on  him." 

At  length — their  last  and  worst  to  do — 
Tliey  round  him  placed  a  guard  of  watchmeo-- 

Reviewers,  knaves  in  brown,  or  blue 
Turn'd  up  with  yellow — chiefly  Scotchmeii- 

To  dog  his  foot-steps  all  about, 

Like  those  in  Longwood's  prison-grounds. 
Who  at  Napoleon's  heels  rode  out 

For  fear  the  Conqueror  should  break  bounds 

Oh,  for  some  champion  of  his  power. 

Some  ultra  spirit,  to  set  free, 
As  erst  in  Shakspeare's  sovereign  hour, 

The  thunders  of  his.  royalty ! — 

To  vindicate  his  ancient  line. 

The  first,  the  true,  the  only  one 
Of  Right  eternal  and  divine 

That  rules  beneath  the  blessed  sun ! — 

To  crush  the  rebels,  that  would  cloud 
His  triumphs  with  restraint  or  blame, 

And,  honouring  even  his  faults,  aloud 

*«>-ficho  "  Vive  l£  Rni .'  otjijul  meme         . 


402 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE  following  Fugitive  Pieces,  which  have  appeared  from  time  to  time  in  the  mo^  popular  London  journal 
(TiiE  Times.)  are  very  generally  attributed  to  Mr.  Mooiie,  and,  though  not  acknowledged  hy  that  Gentle- 
man their  wit,  grace,  variety,  and  spirit,  sufficiently  attest  the  truth  of  the  report,  and  sanction  their  insertion 
ma  complete  collection  of  his  Poetical  Worlts. 


AN    AMATORY    COLLOQU\     BETWEEN 
BANK  AND  GOVERNMENT. 

BANK. 

Is  all  then  forgotten  ?— those  amorous  pranks 
You  and  I,  in  our  youth,  my  dear  Government, 
play'd— 

When  you  call'd  me  the  fondest,  the  truest  of  Banks, 
And  enjoy 'd  the  endearing  advances  I  made. 

When— left  to  do  all,  unmolested  and  free. 
That  a  dashing,  expensive  young  couple  should  do, 

A  law  against  paying  was  laid  upon  me, 
But  none  against  owing,  dear  helpmate,  on  you  ? 

And  is  it  then  vanish  d  ?— that  "  hour  (as  Othello 
So  happily  calls  it)  of  I,ove  and  Direction,"' 

And  must  we,  like  other  fond  doves,  my  dear  fellow, 
Grow  good  in  our  old  age,  and  cut  the  connection  ? 

GOVERNMENT. 

Even  so,  my  beloved  Mrs.  Bank,  it  must  be, — 

This  paying  in  cash-  plays  the  devil  with  wooing — 

We  've  both  had  our  swing,  but  I  plainly  foresee 
There   must   soon  be  a  stop  to   our  billing  and 
cooing. 

Propagation  in  reason — a  small  child  or  two — 
Even  Reverend  Malthus  himself  is  a  friend  to  : 

The  issue  of  some  folks  is  moderate  and  few — 
But  ours,  my  dear  corporate  Bank,  there  's  no  end 
to! 

So, — nard  as  it  is  on  a  pair  who  've  already 

Disposed  of  so  many  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence; 

And,  in  spite  of  that  pink  of  prosperity,  Freddy,' 
Who  d,  even  in  famine,  cry  "D— n  the  expense  !" 

The  day  is  at  hand,  my  Papyria*  Venus, 

When,  high  as  we  once  used  to  carry  our  capers. 

Those  soft  liillets-doux  we  're  now  passing  between  us 
Will  serve  but  to  keep  Mrs.  C— tts  in  curl-papers ; 

And  v/hen — if  we  still  must  continue  our  love, 
After  all  that  is  past — our  amour,  it  is  clear 

(Like  that  which  Miss  Danae  managed  with  Jove,) 
Must  all  be  transacted  in  bullion,  my  dear  ! 


1 


•  An  hour 


or  love,  of  worldly  nmllur  and  direction." 

2  II  ap|>oars  that  Ovid,  however,  was  a  friend  to  the  ro 
lumiilioii  of  payment  in  specie: — 

•' finein,  specie  coeleste  resumta, 

Luctibus  iniposuit,  venilquo  salutifer  urbi." 

Met.  1.  XV.  v.  743. 

3  Hon.  F.  Robinson. 

*  To  distiiiauiBh  her  from  iho  "  Aurea." 


ODE  TO  THE  GODDESS  CERES 

BY    SIR    T S  L E. 

"  Legifer<B  Cereri  Phopboque." — Virgil. 

De.\r  Goddess  of  Corn,  whom  the  ancients,  we  know 
(Among    other  odd  whims  of  those  comical  bo- 
dies,) 
Adorn'd  with  somniferous  poppies  to  show 

Thou   wert    always   a  true    Country-gentlernan's 
Goddess ! 

Behold,  in  his  best  shooting-jacket,  before  thee. 

An  eloquent  'Squire,  who  most  humbly  beseechea 
Great  Queen  of  Mark-lane  (if  the  thing  does  n't  bore 
thee,) 
Thou  'It  read    o'er    the    last    of  his — never-last 
speeches. 

Ah  !  Ceres,  thou  know'st  not  the  slander  and  scorn 
Now  heap'd  upon  England's  'Squirearchy  so  boast- 
ed ; 

Improving  on  Hunt's  scheme,  instead  of  the  Corn, 
'T  is  now  the  Corn-growers,  alas !  that  are  roasted .' 

In  speeches,  in  books,  in  all  shapes  they  attack  us — 
Reviewers,  economists — fellows,  no  doubt, 

That  you,  my  dear  Ceres,  and  Venus,  and  Bacchus, 
And  Gods  of  high  fashion,  know  little  about. 

There 's  B-nth-m,  whose   English  is  all    his  owl 
making, — 
Wlio  thinks  just  as  little  of  settling  a  nation 
As  he  would  of  smoking  his  pipe,  or  of  taking 
(What  he,  himself,  calls)  his  "  post-prandial  -"ibra- 
tion."' 

There  are  two  Mr.  M s,  too,  whom  those  that  liko 

reading 
Through  all  that's  unreadable,  call  very  clever ; — 

And,   whereas   M Senior  makes  war  on  good 

breeding, 
M Junior  makes  war  on  all  breeding  whatever! 

In  short,  my  dear  Goddess,  Old  England  's  divided 
Between  ultra  blockheads  and  superfine  sages ; — 

With  which  of  these  classes  we,  landlords,  have  sided, 
Thou'lt  find  in  my  Speech,  if  thou'lt  read  a  few 
pages 

For  therein  1  ve  prov'd,  to  my  own  satisfaction, 
And  that  of  all 'Sijuires  I've  the  honour  of  meeting 

That 't  is  the  most  senseless  and  foul-niouth'd  dctra& 
tion 
To  say  that  poor  people  are  found  of  cheap  eating 


1  The    venerable   Jeremy's    phrase    for    his  after-diiiiiei 
wnlk 


MISCELLANEOUS  POF.MS., 


4(r.i 


On  the  contrary,  such  the  chaste  notions  of  food 
That  dwell  in  each  pale  manufacturer's  heart, 

Tlicy  would  scorn  any  law,  be  it  ever  so  good. 
That  would  make  thee,  dear  Goddess,  less  dear 
than  thou  art ! 

And,  oh !  for  Monopf)ly  what  a  blost  day. 
When  the  Land  and  the  Silk  shi'll,  in  fond  combi- 
nation, 
fLike  Sullii/  and  Silky,  that  pair  in  the  play,) 
Cry  out,  with  one  voice,  for  High  Rents  and  Star- 
vation ! ' 

Long  life  to  the  Minister ! — no  matter  who, 
Oi  how  dull  he  may  be,  if,  witii  dignified  spirit,  he 

Keeps  the  ports  shut — and  the  people's  mouths,  too, — 
We  shall  all  have  a  long  run  of  Freddy's  prosperity. 

As  for  myself,  who've,  like  Hannibal,  sworn 
To  hate  the  whole  crew  who  would  take  our  rents 
from  us, 

Had  England  but  One  to  stand  by  thee.  Dear  Corn, 
That  last  honest  Uni-corn''  would  be — SirTh s ! 


DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  A  SOVEREIGN  AND 
A  ONE  POUND  NOTE. 

"O  ego  non  felix,  quam  lu  I'ugis,  ut  p:ivet  acres 
Agiia  lujms,  capreffique  li-oiies." — Hor. 

Said  a  Sovereign  to  a  Note, 

In  the  pocket  of  my  coat, 
Where  they  met,  in  a  neat  purse  of  leather, 

"  How  happens  it,  I  prithee, 

That  though  I'm  wedded  with  thee, 
Fair  Pound,  we  can  never  live  together  ? 

"  Like  your  sex,  fond  nf  change, 

With  silver  you  can  range. 
And  of  lots  of  young  sixpences  be  mother; 

While  with  7ne — on  ny  word. 

Not  my  Lady  and  my  Lord 
Of  W th  see  so  little  of  each  other!" 

Tlie  indignant  Note  replied 

(Lying  crumpled  by  his  side,) 
"  Shame,  shame,  it  is  yourself  that  roam.  Sir — 

One  cannot  look  askance, 

But,  whip  !  you're  off  to  France, 
Leaving  nothing  but  old  rags  at  home,  Sir. 

"Your  scampering  began 

From  the  moment  Parson  Van, 
Poor  man,  made  us  one  in  Love's  fetter, 

'  For  better  or  for  worse' 

Is  the  usual  marriage  curse : 
But  ours  is  all '  worse'  and  no  '  better.* 


1  "  Road  to  Ruin." 
Dicta  Fames  Cereris  (quamvis  contraria  semper 
Illius  est  operi)  peragit. — Ovid. 
"  This  is  meant  not  so  much  for  a  pun,  as  in  allusion  to 
Jio  iiiiiuial  history  of  th^  uiiic-orn,  which  is  supposed  to  be 
lomilhing  between  the  Bos  and   the  .Asians,  and,  as  Rees's 
Pyclopaedia  tells  us,  Jias  a  particular  liking  for  any  thing 
chaste. 


"  In  vain  are  laws  pass'd, 
There 's  nothing  holds  you  fast. 

Though  you  know,  sweet  Sovereign,  I  adore  you- 
Ai  the  sniailest  hint  in  lile. 
You  forsake  your  lawful  wife. 

As  other  Sovereigns  did  before  you. 

"  I  flirt  with  Silver,  true — 

But  what  can  ladies  do, 
When  disown'd  by  their  natural  protectors  ? 

And  as  to  falsehood,  stufl'! 

I  shall  soon  hafulse  enough, 
When  I  get  among  those  wicked  Bank  Directon 

The  Sovereign,  smiling  on  her, 

Now  swore,  upon  his  honour. 
To  be  henceforth  domestic  and  loyal ; 

But,  within  an  hour  or  two. 

Why — I  sold  him  to  a  Jew, 
And  he  's  now  at  No.  10,  Palais  Royal. 


AN  EXPOSTULATION  TO  LORD  KING. 
"  Quern  das  finern,  Rex  mugne,  laburuiii  ?" — Virgil. 

How  can  you,  my  Lord,  thus  delight  to  torment  all 
The  Peers  of  the  realm  about  cheapening  theif 
corn,' 

When  you  know,  if  one  hasn't  a  very  higti  rental, 
'T  is  hardly  worth  while  being  very  liigh  born ! 

Why  bore  them  so  rudely,  each  night  of  your  life, 
On  a  question,  my  Lord,  there  's  so  much  to  abhor 
in? 

A  question — like  asking  one,  "How  is  your  wife ?"- 
At  once  so  confounded  domestic  and  foreign. 

As  to  weavers,  no  matter  how  poorly  they  feast, 
But  Peers,  and  such  animals  fed  up  for  show, 

(Like  the  wcll-physick'd  elephant,  lately  deceased,) 
Take  a  wonderful  quantum  of  cramming,  you  know. 

You  might  see,  my  dear  Barou,  how  bored  and  dis 
trcst 

Were  their  high  noble  hearts  by  your  merciless  tale, 
When  the  force  of  the  agony  wrung  e'en  a  jest 

From  the  frugal  Scotch  wit  of  mj-  Lord  L— d — le  !' 

Bright  Peer!  to  whom  Nature  and  Berwickshire  gave 
A  humour,  endowed  with  etfects  so  provoking. 

That,  when  the  whole  House  looks  unusually  grave. 
You  may  ahvays  conclude  that  Lord  L— d — le's 
joking ! 

And  then,  those  unfortunate  weavers  of  Perth — 
Nut  to  know  the  vast  difference  Providence  dooms 

Between  weavers  of  Perth  and  Peers  of  high  birth, 
'Twixt  those   who   have  /icjV-looms,    and    those 
who've  but  looms ! 


1  See  ihe  proceedings  of  the  Lords,  W<dnesdny,  Mmch  1 
when  Lord  King  was  severely  reproved  by  several  of  ili* 
noble  Peers,  for  making  so  many  speeclies  against  tlie  Cora 
Laws. 

*2  This  noble  Enrl  said,  thai  "when  lie  heard  the  pctilion 
came  tVom  Indies'  bool  and  slioo-innkers,  he  ih<>u<;ht  it  inur 
be  against '  tiio  corns  which  ihev  inflicted  nu  the  luir  -cv  ' 


404 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  talk  now  of  starving,  as  great  At — 1  said — ' 

(And  the  nobles  all  cheer'd,  and  the  Ivshops  all 
wonder'd)  , 

When,  some  years  ago,  he  and  others  had  fed 

Of  these  same  hungry  devils  about  fifteen  hundred  ! 

It  follows  from  hence— and  the  Duke's  very  words 
Should  be  piiblish'd  wherever  poor  rogues  of  this 
craft  are, 

That  weavers,  once  rescueo  .'rum  starving  by  Lords, 
Are  bound  to  be  starved  by  said  Lords  ever  after. 

VVTien  Rome  was  uproarious,  her  knowing  patricians 
Made  "  Bread  and  the  Circus"  a  cure  for  each  row  ; 

But  not  so  the  plan  of  our  noble  physicians, 
"  No  Bread  and  the  Tread-mill 's"  the  regimen  now. 

So  cease,  my  dear  Baron  of  Ockham,  your  prose, 
As  1  shall  my  poetry — neither  convinces; 

And  all  vvc  have  spoken  and  written  but  shows, 
When  you  tread  on  a  nobleman's  corn^  how  he 
winces. 


MORAL  POSITIONS. 

A  DREAM. 

"  His  Lordship  said  that  it  took  a  long  time  for  a  moral 
position  to  find  its  way  across  the  Atlantic.  He  was  sorry 
that  its  voyage  had  been  so  h)ng,"  etc. — Speech  of  Lord 
Dudky  and  Ward  on  Colonial  Slaver?/,  Marcli  8. 

T'other  night,  after  hearing  Lord  Dudley's  oration 
(A  treat  that  comes  once  in  the  year,  as  May-day 
does,) 

I  dreamt  that  I  saw — what  a  strange  operation  ! 
A  "moral  position"  shipp'd  off  for  Barbadoes. 

The  whole  Bench  of  Bishops  stood  by,  in  grave  atti- 
tudes. 

Packing  the  article  tidy  and  neat ; — 
As  their  Rev'rences  know,  that  in  southerly  latitudes 

"  Moral  positions"  don't  keep  very  sweet. 

There  was   B — th — st  arranging  the  custom-house 
pass ; 

And,  to  guard  the  frail  package  from  lousing  and 
routing. 
There  stood  my  Lord  Eld — n,  endorsing  it  "  Glass," 
Though — as  to  u>liich  side  should  lie  uppermost — 
doubting. 

The  freight  was,  however,  stow'd  safe  in  the  hold  ; 
The  winds  were  polite,  and  the  moon  look'd  ro 
mantic, 
While  off  in  the  good  ship  "  the  Truth"  we  were 
roil'd, 
With  our  ctiiical  cargo,  across  the  Atlantic. 


1  The  Dukcof  Athol  said,  thiit  "at  n  former  period,  when 
tluwe  weavers  wiTe  in  trreiit  distress,  Ihe  landed  interest  of 
Perlli  had  supporl«<l  1,5(10  of  them.  It  was  a  poor  return 
Idf  these  vctrv  men  now  to  [letition  ogainst  the  persons  who 
•-ad  fed  diem'." 

'2  All  iniprovoment,  we  flutter  ourselves,  on  Lord  L's.  joke 


Long,  dolefully  long,  seem  d  the  voyage  we  made  ;— 
For,  "  the  Truth"  at  all  times  but  a  very  slow  sailer 

By  friends,  near  as  much  as  by  foes,  is  delay'd, 
And  few  come  aboard  her,  though  so  many  hail 
her. 

At  length,  safe  arrived,  I  went  through  "  tare  and 
tret" — 

Deliver'd  my  goods  in  the  primest  condition — 
And  next  morning  read,  in  the  Bridgetown  Gazette, 

"Just  arrived,  by  'the  Truth,''  a  new  Moral  Position; 

"The  Captain" here,  startled  to  find  myself  named 

As  "  the  Captain"  (a  thing  which,  I  own  it  with 
pain, 
I,    through    life,    have    avoided,)    I    woke — look  d 
asham'd — 
Found  I  yoasn't  a  Captain,  and  dozed  off  again. 


MEMORABILIA  OF  LAST  WEEK. 

MONDAY,  MARCH  13. 

The  Budget — quite  charming  and  witty — no  hearing, 
For  plaudits  and  laughs,  the  good  things  that  were 
in  it ; — 
Great  comfort  to  find,  though  the  Speech  is  n't  cheer- 

iriff, 
That  all  its  gay  auditors  were,  everj'  minute. 

What,  still  more  prosperity  ! — mercy  upon  us, 
"This  boy  '11  be  the  death  of  me" — oft  as,  already 

Such  smooth  Budgeteers  have  genteelly  undone  us. 
For  Rui?i  made  easy  there  's  no  one  like  Freddy. 

TUESDAY. 

Much  grave  apprehension  express'd  by  the  Peers, 
Lest — as  in  the  times  of  the  Peachums  and  Lock 
itts — 

The  large  stock  of  gold  we  're  to  have  in  three  years, 
Should  all  find  its  way  into  highwaymen's  pockets ; ' 

A  Petition  presented  (well-timed,  after  this) 

Throwing  out  a  sly  hint   to  Grandees,  who   are 
hurl  d 

In  their  coaches  about,  that  't  would  not  be  aniiss 
If  they'd  just  throw  a  little  more  light  on  the  world  * 

A  plan  for  transporting  half  Ireland  to  Canada,' 
Which  (briefly  the  clever  transaction  to  state)  is 

Forcing  John  Bull  to  pay  high  for  what,  any  day, 
N — rb — ry,  bless  the  old  wag,  would  do  gratis. 

Keeping  always  (said  Mr.  Sub.  Ilorlon)  in  mind, 
That  while  we  thus  draw  off  the  claims  on  pota 
toes, 

We  make  it  a  point  that  the  Pats,  left  behind. 
Should  get  no  new  claimants  to  fill  the  hiatus.* 


1  "  Another  ohj-clion  lo  a  nieiiillic  curroney  was,  tha'  it 
produced  a  greater  number  of  highway  robheries." — Dibale 
ill  tli.r,  Ijords. 

2  Mr.  Fstcourt  presented  a  petition,  praying  that  all  per 
sons  shoMlii  be  ci)nipelle<i  to  have  lamps  in  their  carriages. 

.T  Mr.  W.  Ilorton's  motion  on  the  subject  of  EiiHgration. 

4  "  The  money  expended  in  trunsporiing  the  Irish  to 
Cnniida  woidd  be  judiciously  laid  out,  provided  nicasnrei 
were  tnkin  to  |ireveiit  the  gap  Ihey  left  in  Ihe  populaiii.ii 
from  b''iM2  (iileil  up  MSnii/.  {,'iwrrniiinit  had  always  luaiif 
that  a  condition.'" — Mr.  VV.  Ilorton's  speech. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 


•WO 


Sub.  HortoTi  then  read  a  long  letter,  just  come 

From  the  Canada  Paddies,  to  say  that  these  elves 
Have   already  grow  n  "  prosp'rous" — as  we  arc,  at 
home — 
And  have  e'en  got  "asurphis,"  poor  devils,  like 
ourselves  ! ' 

WEDNESDAY 

Little  doing — for  sacred,  oh  Wednesday,  thou  art. 
To  the  seven  o'elock  joys  of  full  m;iny  a  tahle, — 

When  the  Members  ail  meet,  to  make  much  of  the 
part. 
With  which  they  so  rashly  fell  out,  in  the  Fable. 

It  appcar'd,  though,  to-niglit,  that — as   churchwar- 
dens, yearly. 
Eat  up  a  small  baby — those  cormorant  sinners, 
The  Bankrupt-Commissioners,  holt  very  nearly 

A  moderate-sized  bankrupt,  tout  chaud,  for  their 
dinners  !- 

Nota  bene — a  rumour  to-day,  in  the  city, 

"Mr.  R-b-ns-n just  has  resign'd" — what  a  pity! 

The  Bulls  and  the  Bears  al!  fell  a  sobbing, 

When  they  heard  of  the  fine  of  poor  Cock  Rulim, 

While  thus,  to  the  nursery-time,  so  pretty, 

A  murmuring  Stock-dove  breathed  her  ditty  : — 

Alas,  poor  Robin,  he  crow'd  as  long 

And  as  sweet  as  a  prosperous  Cock  could  crow : 
But  his  ,iofe  was  smaU,  and  the  ^o/(/-finch's  song 

Was  a  pitch  too  high  (or  poor  Robin  to  go. 

Who  '11  make  his  shroud  ? 

"  I,"  said  the  Bank,  "  thougli  lie  play'd  me  a  prank, 
While  I  have  a  rag  poor  Rob  shall  be  roU'd  in't; 

With  many  a  pound  1  'll  paper  him  round. 
Like  a  plump  rouleau — without  the  gold  in  't." 


A  HYMN  OF  WELCOME  AFTER  THE 
RECESS. 

•'  Animn-;  s.iiiii'nliorcs  fieri  quiescendo." 

And  now — cross-buns  and  pancakes  o'er — 
Hail,  Lords  and  Gentlemen,  once  more ! 

Thrice  hail  and  welcome,  Houses  Twain ! 
The  short  eclipse  of  April-day 
Having  (God  grant  it !)  pass'd  away, 

Collective  Wisdom,  shine  again  ! 

Come,  Ayes  and  Noes,  through  thick  and  thin, 
With  Paddy  H — mes  for  whipper-in  ; 

Whate'er  the  job,  prepared  to  back  it; 
Come,  voters  of  Supplies — bestowcrs 
Of  jackets  upon  trumpet-blowers. 

At  eighty  mortal  pounds  the  jacket !' 


I  'The  lion,  peiitlcninn  iht-n  read  a  letter,  which  men- 
tioiied  tlie  prosperoiisi  coiiditinn  of  ihe  writer;  that  lie  luid 
on  hand  a  considerable  surplus  of  corn,"  etc. 

'2  Mr.  Aberrro'iihy's  statement  of  the  enormous  tavern 
bills  of  the  Corninissioners  of  Bankrupts. 

;J  An  item  of  expense  which  Mr.  Hnme  in  vain  endea- 
voured to  get  rid  of: — trumpeters,  like  the  men  of  All-Souls, 
must  he  "bene  vestiti 


Come — free,  at  length,  from  Joint-Stock  cares— 
Ye  .*<enators  of  many  Shares, 

Whose  drcjims  of  premium  knew  no  bound'ry 
So  fond  of  aught  like  CoTnjMini/, 
That  you  would  e'en  have  taken  tea 

(Had  you  been  ask'd)  with  Mr.  Goundry  •' 

Come,  matchless  country-gentlemen  ; 
Come — wise  !^ir  Thomas — wisest  then 

When  creeds  and  corn-laws  are  debated! 
Come,  rival  e'en  the  Harlot  lied. 
And  show  how  wholly  into  bread 

A  'Squire  is  transubstantiated. 

Come,  L e,  and  tell  the  world. 

That — surely  as  thy  scratch  is  curl'd. 
As  never  scratch  was  curl'd  before — 
Cheap  eating  does  more  harm  than  good, 
And  working-people,  spoil'd  by  food. 
The  less  they  eat,  will  work  the  more. 

Come,  G — Ib-rn,  with  thy  glib  defence 
(Which  thou  'dst  have  made  for  Peter's  Pence) 

Of  Church-Rates,  worthy  of  a  halter; — 
Two  pipes  of  port  [old  port  't  was  said, 
By  honest  Newport)  bought  and  paid 

By  Papists  for  the  Orange  Altar  !  ' 

Come,  H-rt-n,  with  thy  plan  so  merry, 
For  peopling  Canada  from  Kerry — 

Not  so  much  rendering  Ireland  quiet, 
As  grafting  on  the  dull  Canadians 
That  liveliest  of  earth's  contagions. 

The  iu//-pock  of  Hibernian  riot ! 

Come  all,  in  short,  ye  wond'rous  men 
Of  wit  and  wisdom,  come  again  ; 

Though  short  your  absence,  all  deplore  it — 
Oh,  come  and  show,  whate'er  men  say. 
That  you  can,  after  April-Day, 

Be  just  as — sapient  as  before  it. 


ALL  IN  THE  FAMILY  WAY. 

A  NEW  PASTORAL  BALLAD. 

(Sung  in  the  chaiucler  of  Britannia.) 

"The  Public  Debt  was  due  from  ourselves  to  ourselvc 
and  resolved  itself  into  a  Family  Account." — Sir  Roht 
Peel's  Letter. 

Tune — My  hanks  are  all  furnish' d  u:ith  heat. 

My  banks  are  all  furnish'd  with  rags. 

So  thick — even  Fred  cannot  thin  'em  ! 
I've  torn  up  my  old  money-bags. 

Having  nothing,  worth  while,  to  put  in  em 
My  tradesmen  are  smashing  by  dozens, 

But  this  is  all  nothing,  they  say ; 


1  The  genilpman  lately  before  the  public,  who  kept  hij 
./«I7I^Stock  Tea  Company  all  to  himself,  singing  "  Te  t<r 
turn  niloro." 

2  This  (  harge  of  two  pipes  of  port  for  the  sncrnmenlal 
wine  i-  a  precious  specimen  of  ihe  sort  of  rules  levied  upon 
their  Cath(dic  fellow-parishioners  by  the  Irish  Pruicstnnti 

"  The  thirst  that  from  the  .soul  doth  ri»» 
Doth  nsk  a  drink  divine." 


406 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


For  bankrupts,  since  Adam,  are  cousins, 
So  it 's  aU  in  the  family  way. 

IVIy  Debt  not  a  penny  takes  from  me, 

As  sages  the  matter  explain  ; — 
Bob  owes  it  to  Tom,  and  then  Tommy 

Just  owes  it  to  Bob  back  again 
Since  all  have  thus  taken  to  owing, 

There 's  nobody  left  that  can  pay ; 
And  this  is  the  way  to  keep  going, 

All  quite  in  the  family  way. 

My  senators  vote  away  millions. 

To  put  in  Prosperity's  budget ; 
And  though  it  were  billions  or  trillions. 

The  generous  rogues  would  n't  grudge  it. 
'Tis  all  but  a  family  Jwp, 

'T  was  Pitt  began  dancing  the  hay  ; 
Hands  round  ! — why  the  deuce  should  we  stop' 

'T  is  all  in  the  family  way. 

My  labourers  used  to  eat  mutton. 

As  any  great  man  of  the  state  does ; 
And  now  the  poor  devils  are  put  on 

■Small  rations  of  tea  and  potatoes. 
But  cheer  up,  .John,  Sawney,  and  Paddy, 

The  King  is  your  father,  they  say  ; 
So,  ev'n  if  you  starve  for  your  daddy, 

'T  is  all  in  the  family  way. 

My  rich  manufacturers  tumble. 

My  poor  ones  have  little  to  chew  ; 
And,  ev'n  if  themselves  do  not  grumble, 

Their  stomachs  undoubtedly  do 
But  coolly  to  fast  enfamUle 

Is  as  good  for  the  soul  as  to  pray ; 
And  famine  itself  is  genteel, 

When  one  starves  in  a  family  way. 

I  have  found  out  a  secret  for  Freddy, 

A  secret  for  next  Budget-day  ; 
Though,  perhaps,  he  may  know  it  already  ; 

As  he,  too,  's  a  sage  in  his  way. 
When  next  for  the  Treasury  scene  he 

Announces  "the  Devil  to  pay," 
Let  him  write  on  the  bills — "  Nota  bene, 

'T  is  all  in  the  family  way." 


THE  CANONIZATION  OF  ST.  B-TT-RW-RTII. 

"  A  riirislian  of  the  l)i'.-l  .■fliiiun."— /?aif/«i.t. 

Canon'ize  him  ! — yea,  verily,  we  '11  canonize  him  ; 

Though  Cant  is  his  hobby,  and  meddling  his  bliss. 
Though  sages  may  pity  and  wits  may  despise  him. 

He'll  ne'er  make  a  dil  the  worse  Saint  for  all  this. 

Descend,  all  ye  spirits  that  ever  yet  spread 
The  dominion  of  Humbug  o'er  land  and  o'er  sea, 

Descend  on  our  B-tt-rw-rih's  biblical  head, 
Thricc-Cireat,  Bibliopolist,  Saint,  and  31.  P. 

I  'ome,  shade  of  .loanna,  come  down  from  thy  sphere. 

And  bring  little  Shiloh — if  't  is  n't  too  far- 
Such  a  siglit  will  to  B-tt-rw-rtli's  bosom  bo  dear, 
Hix  conceptions  and  thine  being  much  on  a  par. 


Nor  blush,  Saint  Joanna,  once  more  to  behold 
A  world  thou  hast  honour'd  by  cheating  so  many 

Thou  'It  find  still  among  us  one  Personage  old. 
Who  also  by  trjcks  and  (he  Seals'  makes  a  penny 

Thou,  too,  of  the  Shakers,  divine  Mother  Lee  !^ 
Thy  smiles  to  beatified  B-tt-rw-rth  deign  ; 

Two  "  lights  of  the  Gentiles"  are  thou,  Anne,  and  he 
One  hallowing  Fleet-street,  and  f  other  Toad-lane  " 

The  heathen,  we  know,  made  their  gods  out  of  wood 
x\nd   saints   too,   are  framed  of  as  handy  mate 
rials  ; — 

Old  women  and  B-tt-rw-rths  make  just  as  good 
As  any  the  Pope  ever  hook'd,  as  Ethereals. 

Stand  forth,  Man  of  Bibles — not  Mahomet's  pigeon, 
When,  perch'd  on  the  Koran,  he  dropp'd  there, 
they  say. 

Strong  marks  of  his  faith,  ever  shed  o'er  religion 
Such  glory  as  B-tt-rw-rth  sheds  every  day. 

Great  Galen  of  souls,  with  what  vigour  he  crams 
Down    Erin's    idolatrous    throats,   till    thev  criicll 
again. 
Bolus  on  bolus,  good  man  ! — and  then  damns 

Both  their  stomachs  and  souls,  if  they  dare  cast 
them  back  again. 

Ah,  well  might  his  shop — as  a  type  representing 
The  creed  of  himself  and  his  sanctified  clan — 

On  its  counter  exhibit  "the  Art  of  Tormenting," 
Bound  neatly,  and  letter'd  "  Whole  Duly  of  Man 

As  to  politics — there,  too,  so  strong  his  digestion. 
Having  learn'd  from  the  law-books,  by  wliich  he  'e 
surrounded. 

To  cull  all  that 's  worst  on  all  sides  of  the  question. 
His  black  dose  of  politics  thus  is  compounded — 

The  rinsing  of  any  old  Tory's  dull  noddle. 

Made  radical-hot,  and  then  mix'd  with  some  grains 

Of  that  gritty  Scotch  gabble,  that  virulent  twaddle. 
Which  Murray's  New  Series  of  Blackwood  con- 
tains. 

Canonize  him  ! — by  Judas,  we  irilJ  canonize  him  ; 

For  Cant  is  his  hobby  and  twaddling  his  bliss. 
And,  though  wise  men  may  pity  and  wits  may  des 
pise  him, 

He  '11  make  but  the  better  shop-saint  for  all  this. 

Call  quickly  together  the  whole  tribe  of  Canters, 
Convoke  all  the  serious  Tag-rag  of  the  nation ; 

Bring  Shakers  and  tfnufflers  and  Jumpers  and  Rant- 
ers, 
To  witness  their  B-tt-rvv-rth's  Canonization  ! 

Yea,  humbly  I  've  ventured  his  merits  to  paint, 
Yea,  feebly  have  tried  all  his  gifts  to  portray; 


1  A  great  paif  uf  llie  income  of  Joanna  Soulhcolt  nrnse 
from  llir  Souls  of  the  Lord's  protection  which  she  Bold  to 
hiT  followers. 

'J  Mrs.  Ann  ho.c,  the  "cliosen  vessel"  of  the  Shakers,  and 
"  Molhir  of  all  Ihe  ihildren  of  rp<>cnpration." 

'.i  Toiid-lane  in  IManch(!stor,  where  Mother  Lee  was  born. 
In  her  "Address  to  Young  Helievers,"  she  says,  that  "it  \a 
n  niuttor  of  no  irnportanco  with  them  from  whence  tlm 
irif'iins  of  their  deliverance  como,  whether  from  a  stable  in 
IJethlelieni,  or  from  Toud-liuie,  Manchester  " 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 


And  ilioy  t\)i-m  a  sum-total  for  making  a  saint, 
Thai  llu;  Devil's  own  Advocate  could  not  gainsay. 

Jump  high,  all  ye  Jumpers  !  ye  Ranters,  all  roar! 

WTii'e    B-tt-rw-rth's  spirit,   sublimed    from    your 
eyes. 
Like  a  kite  made  of  fools-cap,  in  glory  shall  soar. 

With  a  long  tail  of  rubbish  behind,  to  the  skies  ! 


NEW  CREATION  OF  PEERS. 

BATCH    THE    FIRST. 

"  Flis  'prentiip  ban' 
II(!  trinl  iin  ni;in, 
And  then  he  niiide  llio  lasses." 

"A.vnnow,"  quoth  the  Minister  (eased  of  his  panics, 
And  ripe  for  each  pastime  the  summer  afl'ords,) 

"Havmg    had    our    full   swing    at    destroying    me- 
chanics. 
By  way  of  set-off,  let  us  make  a  few  Lords. 

"  'T  is  pleasant — while  nothing  but  mercantile  frac- 
tures, 
Some   simple,  some  compoumi,  is  dinn'd  in  our 
cars — 
To  think  that,  though  robb'd  of  all  coarse  manufac- 
tures. 
Wo  still  keep  our  fine  manufacture  of  Peers ; — 

"Those  GoheVm  productions,  which  Kings  take  a  pride 
In  engrossing  the  whole  fibrication  and  trade  of; 

Choice  tapestry  things,  very  grand  on  one  side. 
But  showing,  on  t'  other,  what  rags  they  are  made 
of" 

The  plan  being  fix'd,  raw  material  was  sought. 
No  matter  how  middlins,  so  Tory  the  creed  be; 

And  first — to   begin   with — Squire   W-rt-y,   't  was 
thought, 
For  a  Lord  was  as  raw  a  material  as  need  be, 

Next  came,  with  his  penrhant  for  painting  and  pelf. 
The  tasteful  Sir  Ch-rl-s,  so  renew n'd,  far  and  near. 

For  purchasing  pictures,  and  selling  himself, — 
And  ooth  (as  the  public  well  knows)  very  dear. 

Beside  him  comes  \j — c-st-r,  with  equal  eclat,  in  ; — 
Stand  forth,  chosen  pair,  while  for  titles  we  mea- 
sure ye ; 

Botti  connoisseur  baronets,  both  fond  of  drmmnir. 
Sir  John,  after  nature.  Sir  Charles,  on  the  Treasury. 

But,  bless  us  ! — behold  a  new  candidate  come — 
In  his  hand  he  upholds  a  proscription,  new  written  ; 

He  po'seth  a  pill-box  't  wixt  finger  and  thumb. 

As  he  asketh  a  seat  'mong  the  Peers  of  Great  Bri- 
tain ! 

"Forbid  it,"  cried  Jenky,  "ye  Viscounts,  ye  Earls  ! — 
Oh  Rank,  how  thy  glories  would  fall  disenchanted, 

If  coionets  glisten'd  with  pills  'stead  of  pearls, 
And  the  strawberry-leaves  were  by  rhubarb  sup- 
planted I 

^o — ask  it  not,  ask  it  not,  dear  Doctor  H-If-rd — 
If  nought  hut  a  Peerage  can  gladden  thy  life. 


______  "^'^^ 

And  ifyoung  Master  H-lf-rd  as  yet  is  too  small  for  t. 
Sweet  Doctor,  we  'II  make  a  she  Peer  of  thy  wife. 

Ne.xt  to  bearing  a  coronet  on  our  oum  brows 

Is  to  bask  in  its  light  from  the  brows  of  another. 

And  grandeur  o'er  thee  shall  reflect  from  thy  spouse, 
As  o'er  Vesey  Fitzgerald  'twill  shine  through  liiii 
mother."' 

Thus  ended  the  Firxt  Batch — and  Jenky,  much  tired. 

(It  being  no  joke  to  make  Lords  by  the  heap,) 
Took  a  large  dram  of  ether — the  same  that  inspired 

His  speech  against  Papists — and  prosed  ofl* to  sleep 


CAMBRIDGE  UNIVERSITY. 

UTRU.M    noRUM. — A    CA.MBRILIGE    DAI.LAD. 

"  I  authorized  my  Comniilloe  -n  laKe  Uic  slop  which  ihey 
ilid,  of  proposing  a  fair  comparison  of  stnnyth,  ujioii  the 
unilerstiindiii";  th  it  whichcvor  of  i he  two  should  pruve  to  be 
the  weakest,  should  give  way  to  the  oth<.-r. —  Extract  from 
Mr.  If.  .J.  Banker's  I.r.ttr.r  to  Mr.  GoiMurn. 

"  Nixa  /iiv  cuJ'  xXKog,  xv  Ai;5;xroi  J'f  yivovro." 

TlIEOrRITUS 


B-NKEs  is  weak,  and  G — Ib-rn  too, 
No  one  e'er  the  fact  denied  : — 

Which  is  "  weakest"  of  the  two, 
Cambridge  can  alone  decide. 

Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray, 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

G — Ib-rn  of  the  Pope  afraid  is, 
B-nkes,  as  much  afraid  as  he  ; 

Never  yet  did  two  old  ladies 
On  this  point  so  well  agree. 

Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray, 

WTiich  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Each  a  different  mode  pursues. 

Each  the  same  conclusion  reaches  ; 

B-nkes  is  foolish  in  Reviews, 
G — Ib-rn,  foolish  in  his  speeches. 

Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray. 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Each  a  different  foe  doth  damn. 
When  his  own  affairs  have  gone  ill ; 

B-nkes  he  damneth  Buckinsham, 
G — Ib-rn  damiicth  Dan  O'Connel. 

Choose  hr^tween  them,  Cambridge,  pray, 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

B-nkes,  accustom'd  much  to  ronm. 
Plays  with  truth  a  traveller's  pranks; 

G — Ib-rn,  though  he  stays  at  home. 
Travels  thus  as  much  as  B-nkes. 

Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pra? 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Once,  we  know,  a  horse's  neigh 
Fix'd  the  election  to  a  throne; 


1  Amonj  the  person?  monlioni  d  a^  lii;p|v  to  lie  raised  u 
the  Pwrago  are  the  mother  of  Mr.  Vosey  Fi'i-jorald.  eir 


408 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


So,  which  ever  first  shall  hray, 

Choose  him,  Cambridge,  for  thy  own. 
Choose  hin.,  clioo.se  him  by  his  bray, 
Thus  elect  him,  Cambridge,  pray. 


riNES  WRITTEN  IN  ST.  STEPHEN'S  CHA- 
PEL,  AFTER  THE  DISSOLUTION. 

BY  A  MEMBER  OF  THE  UPPER  BEXCHES. 

The  King's  speech  toll'd  the  Commons'  knell, 
The  House  is  cicar'd,  the  chair  vacated. 

And  gloom  and  loneliness  now  dwell 
Where  Britain's  wise  men  congregated. 

The  gallery  is  dark  and  lone, 

No  longer  throng'd  with  curious  folk, 

Happy  to  pay  their  good  half-crown 
To  hear  bad  speeches  badly  spoke. 

The  Treasury  seats  no  placemen  show, 

Clear'd  is  each  Opposition  bench; 
And  even  never-ending  Joe 

No  longer  cries — "  Retrench  !  retrench  !"' 

Fred.  R-b-ns-n  no  more  his  skill 

Employs  in  weaving  speeches  fair. 
The  country  gentlemen  to  fill 

With  piomises  as  thin  as  air. 

Dick  3I-rt-n  now  no  plan  proposes 
To  aid  the  brute  part  of  the  nation, 

While  3Iembers  cough  and  blow  their  noses. 
To  drown  his  most  humane  oration. 

Good  3Ir.  B — gd-n  where  art  thou. 

Most  worthy  C — rm-n  of  C-mm — tees  ? 

To  strip  one  laurel  from  thy  brow 
Would  surely  be  a  thousand  pities. 

'T  was  a  good  joke,  forsooth,  to  think 
Thou  shouldst  give  up  thy  lionest  winnings, 

And  thereby  own  that  thou  didst  wink, 
Pure  soul !  at  other  people's  sinnings.* 

Where's  H — s,  corruption's  ready  hack. 

Who  life  and  credit  both  consumes 
In  whipping  in  the  Treasury  pack, 

And  jobbing  in  committee-rooms?' 

I  look  around — no  well-known  face 
Along  the  benches  meets  my  eye — 

No  i"\Iember  "  rises  in  his  place," 
For  ail^iave  other  fish  to  fry. 

Not  one  is  left  of  K — s  and  sages. 
Who  lately  sat  debating  here; 


1  "  Rciilly  the  Hon.  Member  for  lAI e  should  take  n 

ritili;  breath ;  his  obji;clions  nre  most  uiil'air;  and,  what  is 
worse,  they  are  ■nevcrrndin!^.'"—?Qe:  ihe  Ch-n — 11-r  of  the 
Ex— (]— r's  speech  in  reply  to  Mr.  II— e,  Feb.  23,  1826. 

2  "Mr.  B — gd-n  said  he  certainly  should  not  refund  the 
money,  brcausi',  by  so  doinif,  he  should  convict  himself." — 
Sei!  the  Report  of  a  Meeting  of  the  Proprietors  of  the  Arig- 
iia  Mining  Coinpany. 

3  The  hriri.'fiiccd  system  of  voting  at  private  bill  commit- 
tees, wilhont  having  heard  an  iota  of  evidence  for  or  ni'ainst, 
forms  n  distinguished  fi'Uture  in  the  nistory  of  the  late  par- 
unitwnT 


The  crowded  hustings  now  engages 
Their  every  hope  and  every  fear. 

Electors,  rally  to  the  poll, 

And  L — d  J — n  R-ss-11  never  heed: 
Let  gold  alone  your  choice  control, 

Tlie  best  man 's  he  who  best  can  bleed." 

But  if,  too  timid,  you  delay, 
(By  Bribery  Statute  held  in  awe,) 

Fear  not — there  is  a  ready  way 
To  serve  yourself  and  cheat  the  law. 

In  times  like  these,  when  things  are  high. 

And  candidates  must  be  well  fed, 
Your  cabbages  they  '11  freely  buy. 

Kind  souls !  at  two  pounds  ten  a-head.* 

Thus  may  we  hope  for  many  a  law, 
And  many  a  measure  most  discreet. 

When — pure  as  even  the  last  we  saw — 
Britain's  new  Parliament  shall  meet. 

Then  haste,  ye  Candidates,  and  strive 
An  M.  P.  to  your  names  to  tack  ; 

And — after  July  twenty-five — ' 
Coilective  wisdom — welcome  back  . 


COPY  OF  AN  INTERCEPTED  DESPATCH. 

FROM  HIS  EXCELLENCY  DON   STREPITOSO  DL\BOL0 
ENVOY  EXTRAORDINARY  TO  HIS  SATANIC  MAJESTY 

St.  Jameses- Street,  July  1. 
Great  Sir,  having  just  had  the  good  luck  to  catch 

An  official  yoting  Demon,  preparing  to  go. 
Ready  booted  and  spurr'd,  with  a  black-leg  despatch 
From  the  Hell  here,  at  Cr-ckf-rd's,  to  our  Hell 
below — 

I  write  these  few  lines  to  your  Highness  Satanic, 
To  say  that,  first  having  obey'd  your  directions, 

And  done  all  the  mischief  I  could  in  "  the  Panic," 
My  ne.\t  special  care  was  to  help  the  Elections. 

Well  knowing  how  dear  were  those  times  to  thy  sonl 
When  every  good  Christian  tormented  his  brother 

And  caused,  in  thy  realm,  such  a  saving  of  coal, 
From  their  all  coming  down,  ready  grill'd  by  eacl 
other; 

Remembering,  besides,  how  it  pain'd  thee  to  part 
With  the  old  Penal  Code, — that  chef-d'oeuvre  of 
Law, 
In  which  (though  to  own  it  too  modest  thou  art) 
We  could  plainly  perceive  the  fine  touch  of  thy 
claw  ; 

1  thought,  as  we  ne'er  can  those  good  times  revive 
(Though   Eld-n,  with  help  from  your  Highness 
would  try) 


1  A  niiixim  which  has  been  jirelty  well  acied  on  in  the 
present  eh'ctions. 

2  "During  the  election  at  Sudhnry,  four  cabbiiges  sold 
for  101.  and  a  plate  of  gooseberries  letched  2.51.  ihe  sillers, 
where  these  articles  were  so  scarce,  being  voters." — Seu 
The  Times  of  Friday,  .lune  20. 

3  The  (lay  on  which  the  writs  are  re'vrnuble,  and  the  new 
parliament  is  to  meet  pro  forma 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


4(>9 


T  would  still  keep  a  taste  for  IleU's  music  alive, 
Could  wc  get  lip  9  *.!iuiid'ring  No-Popery  cry ; — 

That  yell  wliion,  when  chonis'd  by  laics  and  clerics, 
So  like  is  to  ourx,  in  its  spirit  and  tone, 

That  I  often  mgh  laugh  myself  into  hysterics, 
To  think  that  Religion  should  make  it  her  own. 

So,  having  sent  down  for  the  original  notes 

Of  the  chorus,  as  sung  by  your  Majesty's  choir, 

With  a  few  pints  of  lava,  to  gargle  the  throats 
l)f  myself  and  some  others,  who  sing  it  "with 
fire,"' 

Though  I  "if the  Marseillois  Hymn  could  command 
Such  audrnnce,  though  yell'd  by  a  i^ans-culotte 
crev\ , 

What  wonders  shall  we  do,  who  've  men  in  our  band, 
That  not  only  wear  breeches,  but  petticoats  too." 

Such  then  were  my  hopes ;  but,  with  sorrow,  your 

Highness, 
I'm  forced  to  confess — be  the  cause  what  it  will, 
Wlieiher  fewness  of  voices,  or  hoarseness,  or  shy- 
ness,— 
Our  Reelzebub  Chorus  has  gone  off  but  ill. 

The  truth  is,  no  placeman  now  knows  his  right  key, 
The  Treasury  pitch-pipe  of  late  is  so  various; 

And  certain  hasf  voices,  that  look'd  for  a  fee 

At  the  York  music-meeting,  now  think  it  precarious. 

Even  some  of  our  Reverends  might  have  been  war- 
mer— 

But  one  or  two  capital  roarers  we've  had  ; 
Doctor  Wise*  is,  for  instance,  a  charming  performer, 

A'vd  Huntingdon  Maberly's  yell  was  not  bad. 

Altogetner,  however,  the  thing  was  not  hearty ; — 
Even  Ekl-n  allows  we  got  on  but  so  so ; 

And,  when  next  we  attempt  a  No-Popery  party, 
We  must,  please  your  Highness,  recruit  from  below. 

But,  hark,  the  young  Black-leg  is  cracking  his  whip — 
Excuse   me.   Great   Sir — there  's   no   time   to   be 
civil ; — 
The  next  opportunity  shan't  be  let  slip, 
But,  till  then, 

I'm,  in  haste,  your  most  dutiful 

DEVIL. 


MR.  ROGER  DODSWORTH. 

TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  TIMES. 
Sir, — Living  in  a  remote  part  of  Scotland,  and 
having  but  just  heard  of  the  wonderful  resurrection 
of  Mr.  Roger  Dodsworth  from  under  an  avalanche, 
^where  he  had  remained, /xVvi/Va/i/Jc,  it  seems,  for  the 
last  I6G  years,  I  hasten  to  impart  to  you  a  few  re- 
flections 01.  the  subject. 
Yours,  etc. 

LAUDATOR  TEMPORIS  ACTI. 

What  a  lucky  turn-up  ! — -just  as  Eld-n's  withdrawing. 
To  find  thus  a  gentleman,  frozen  in  the  year 


1  Can  faucu—u  iiiiisic-bnoU  il:rcctii)n. 

2  This  reverend  genlluinnii  distinguished  himself  ut  tho 
'Jradin"  electidii. 


Sixteen  hundred  and  sixty  who  only  wants  tl  awing 
To  serve  for  our  times  quite  as  well  as  the  Peer; — 

To  bring  thus  to  light,  not  the  wisdom  alone 
Of  our  ancestors,  such  as  we  find  it  on  shelves, 

But,  in  perfect  condition,  fuU-wigg'd  and  full-grown. 
To  shovel  up  one  of  those  wise  bucks  themselves! 

Oh  thaw  Mr.  Dodsworth  and  send  him  safe  home, — 

Let  him  learn  notlniig  useful  or  new  on  the  way  ; 
With  his  wisdom  kept  snug,  from  the  light  let  liiro 
come. 
And  our  Tories  will  hail  him  with  "Hoar"  and 
"Hurra!" 

What  a  God-send  to  them — a  good — obsolete  man, 
Who   has   never  of  Locke   or  Voltaire    been   a 
reader ; — 
Oh  thaw  3Ir.  Dodsworth,  as  fast  as  you  can, 
And  the  L-nsd-les  and  H-rtf-rds  shall  chuse  him  for 
leader. 

Yes,  sleeper  of  ages,  thou  I'halt  be  their  Chosen  ; 

And  decjjly  with  thee  will  they  sorrow,  good  men, 
To  think  that  all  Europe  has,  since  thou  wert  frozen. 

So  alter'd,  thou  hardly  canst  know  it  again. 

And  Eld-n  will  weep  o'er  each  sad  innovation 
Such  oceans  of  tears,  thou  wilt  fancy  that  he 

Has  been  also  laid  up  in  a  long  congelation. 
And  is  only  now  thawing,  dear  Roger,  like  thee 


THE  MILLENNIU3L 

SUGGESTED  BV  THE  LATE  WORK  OF  THE  REVEREND 
«  JIK.  IRV-NG      ON  PROPHECY. 

A  ftliLLEXNiUM  at  hand ! — I'm  delighted  to  hear  it— 
As  matters,  both  public  and  private,  now  go. 

With  multitudes  round  us  all  starving,  or  near  it, 
A  good  rich  Millennium  will  come  a  propos. 

Only  think.  Master  Fred,  what  delight  to  behold. 
Instead  of  thy  bankrupt  old  City  of  Rags, 

A  bran-new  Jerusalem,  built  all  of  gold, 
Sound  bulhon   throughout,  from   the  roof  to  the 
flags— 

A  city,  where  wine  and  cheap  corn'  shall  abound, — 

A  celestial  Cociigne,  on  whose  buttery  shelves 
We  may  swear  the  best  things  of  this  world  will  ba 
found. 
As  your  saints  seldom  fail  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves I 

Thanks,  reverend  expounder  of  raptures  elysian,* 
Divine  Squintifobus,  who,  placed  within  reach 

Of  two  opposite  worlds,  by  a  twist  of  your  vision 
Can  cast,  at  the  same  time,  a  sly  look  at  each  ; — 

Thanks,  thanks  for  the  hope  thou  hast  given  us,  thai 
we 
May,  eveain  our  own  times,  a  jubilee  share. 
Which  so  long  has  been  promised  by  prophets  like 
thee. 
And  so  often  has  fail'd,  we  began  to  despair 


1  "  A  ineasurt-  ot'wheut  lor  a  penny,  and  three  ineusutM 
i)l"h;irley  lor  a  penny." — lifv.  r.  6. 

2  See  ihi'  oruiion  ot"  this  reverend  gentleman,  »*)eri'  !)• 
de.scribes  the  cimniibial  joys  of  piirMdiue,  and  oainu  :n* 
angels  hovering  around  "eueh  happy  fair." 


410 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


There  war  Whiston  '  who  learnedW  took  Priii'-e 
Eugene 

For  the  man  who  must  bring  the  Millennium  about ; 
There 's  Faber,  whose  pious  predictions  have  been 

All  belied.  i.-re  his  book's  first  edition  was  out; — 

There  was  Counsellor  Dobbs,  too,  an  Irish  M.  P., 
Who  discoursed  on  the  subject  with  signal  eclat, 

And,  each  day  of  his  life,  sat  expecting  to  see 

A  Millennium  break  out  in  the  town  of  Armagh  !^ 

There  was  also — but  why  should  I  burden  my  lay 
With  your  Brotherses,  Southcotes,  and  names  less 
deserving. 

When  all  past  3Iillenniums  henceforth  must  give  way 
To  the  last  new  Millennium  of  Orator  Irv-ng. 

Go  on.  mighty  man, — doom  them  all  to  the  shelf — 
And,  when  next  thou  with  Prophecy  troubiest  thy 
sconce. 
Oh  forget  not,  I  pray  thee,  to  prove  that  thyself 
Art  the  Beast  (chapter  4)  that  sees  nine  ways  at 
once! 


THE  THREE  DOCTORS. 

Docloribus  l;i''aimir  trilius. 

Phough  many  great  Doctors  there  be, 
There  are  three  that  all  Doctors  o'ertop, — 

Dr.  Eady,  that  famous  M.  D. 

Dr.  S — they,  and  dear  Doctor  Slop. 

The  purger — the  proser — the  bard —  * 

All  quacks  in  a  diffeient  style  ; 
Dr.  S — they  writes  books  by  the  yard, 

Dr.  Eady  writes  puffs  by  the  mile  ! 

Dr.  Slop,  in  no  merit  outdone 

By  his  scribbling  or  physicking  brother, 
Can  dose  us  with  stufl'  like  the  one. 

Ay,  and  doze  us  with  stuff  like  the  other. 

Dr.  Eady  good  company  keeps 

With  "  No  Popery"  scribes  on  the  walls  ; 
Dr.  S — they  as  gloriously  sleeps 

With  "  No  Popery"  scribes,  on  the  stalls. 

Dr.  ."^lop.  ujion  subjects  divine, 
Such  bedlamite  slaver  lets  drop. 

That,  if  Eady  should  take  the  imid  line, 
He'll  be  sure  of" a  patient  in  Slop. 

Seven  millions  of  Papists,  no  less, 
Dr.  S — they  attacks,  like  a  Turk  ;* 


1  When  Wliistnri  presenteil  to  Pilnre  Eugene  the  Essny 
in  'vliicli  lie  aJteinpted  to  connect  liis  victories  over  the 
Turks  with  revelation,  the  I'riiico  is  said  to  have  repliiul  ihal 
"he  was  not  aware  he  had  ever  had  the  honour  of  being 
lino'vn  to  St.  John." 

'2  M  •.  Dobhs  was  a  Monibcr  of  the  Irish  Parliament,  and, 
on  all  oilier  snhjcds  hut  ihc  Milli,'nnluin,ii  verv  sensible  por- 
»on.  He  chose  Arnmah  as  the  scene  of  the  IMillenninin,  on 
*cconntof  the  name  Arinagedilon,  mentioned  in  Revelation  I 

3  This  S>-raphic  Doctor,  in  the  preface  to  his  last  work 
(,Vindiciai  Fxclrsiif.  .^mrlii^firun,)  is  pleased  to  anaihenia- 
ure  not  caly  all  Catholics,  but  all  advocates  of  Catholics: — 

They  havn  for  their  iminediate  allies  (he  says)  every  fac- 
•V)n  Ihit  is  banded  against  the  Slalo,  every  demagogue. 


Dr.  Eady,  less  bold,  I  confess, 
Attacks  but  his  maid  of  ail  work.' 

Dr.  S — they,  for  his  grand  attack. 

Both  a  laureate  and  senator  is  ; 
Wliile  poor  Dr.  Eady,  alack. 

Has  been  had  up  to  Bow-street,  for  his  ! 

And  truly,  the  law  does  so  blunder, 
That,  though  little  blood  has  been  spilt,  he 

May  probably  suffer  as,  under 

The  ChuJkmg  Act,  known  to  be  guilty. 

So  much  for  the  merits  sublime 

(With  whose  catalogue  ne'er  should  I  stop 
Of  the  three  greatest  lights  of  our  time, 

Doctor  Eady  and  S — they  and  Slop  ! 

Should  you  ask  me,  to  which  of  the  three 
Great  Doctors  the  preference  should  fall. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  I  agree 
Dr.  Eady  must  go  to  the  wall. 

But,  as  S — they  with  laurels  is  crown'd, 
And  Slop  with  a  wig  and  a  tail  is, 

Let  Eady's  bright  temples  be  bound 
With  a  swinging  "Corona  AluralisJ"^ 


EPITAPH  ON  A  TUFT-HUNTER. 

Lament,  lament.  Sir  Isaac  Heard, 

Put  mourning  round  thy  page,  Debrett, 

For  here  lies  one,  who  ne'er  preferr'd 
A  Viscount  to  a  Marquis  yet. 

Beside  him  place  the  God  of  Wit, 
Before  him  Beauty's  rosiest  girls, 

Apollo  for  a  star  he'd  quit. 

And  Love's  own  sister  for  an  Earl's. 

Did  niggard  fate  no  peers  afford. 

He  look,  of  course,  to  peers'  relations; 

And,  rather  than  not  sport  a  lord. 
Put  up  with  even  the  last  creations. 

Even  Irish  names,  could  he  but  tag  'em 

With  "  Lord"  and  "  Duke,"  were  sweet  to  call 

And,  at  a  pinch.  Lord  Ballyraggum 
Was  better  than  no  Lord  at  all. 

Heaven  grant  him  now  some  noble  nook, 

For,  rest  his  soul,  he'd  rather  be 
Genteelly  damn'd  beside  a  Duke, 

Than  saved  in  vulgar  company. 


THE  PETITION 

OF  THE  OUANCEMKN  Ol^  IRELAND. 

To  the  People  of  England,  the  humble  Petition 
Of  Ireland's  disconsolate  Orangemen,  showing- 


e"eiy  irrriinions  and   sudiiiuus  j.iiiuiili  t,  every  open  ano 
evi'i  y  insidious  ■  neniy  to  Moiianhy  and  to  t-'hristianity." 

1  See  the  lute  acceiunts  in  the  newspapers  of  the  appear 
anc(^  of  this  gentleman  at  one  of  the  po!i<t'-o(Kies,  in  conse- 
quence of  an  alleged  nssaull  upon  his  "maid  of  all  work" 

2  A  crown  granleil  as  a  rew  ani  ainong  the  Kuma'is  to  per 
sons  who  performed  any  exlrnordiiiary  exploits  upon  walls — 
such  as  scaling  them,  battering  theni,  etc.  No  .loubt, 
writing  upon  them,  to  the  extent  that  IJr.  Eaily  does,  would 
equally  esluhlisb  a  claim  to  the  honour. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


411 


That  sad,  very  sad,  is  our  present  condition  :—  |  That  relying  on  England,  whose  kindness  already 

That  our  jobs  arc  all  gone,  and  our  noble  selves  |      So  often  has  help'd  us  to  play  the  game  oV-r, 

We  have  got  our  red  coats  and  our  carabines  ready 
And  wait  but  the  word  to  show  sport,  as  before. 


going ; 

That,  forming  one  seventh — within  a  few  fractions — 
Of  Ireland's  seven  millions  of  hot  heads  and  hearts. 

We  hold  it  the  basest  of  all  base  transactions 
To  keep  us  from  murdering  the  other  six  parts  ; — 

niat,  as  to  laws  made  for  the  good  of  the  many. 
We  humbly  suggest  there  is  nothing  less  true  ; 

\s  all  human  laws  (and  our  own,  more  than  any) 
Are  made  hy  and  ./or  a  particular  few  ; — 

That  much  it  delights  every  true  Orange  brother 
To  see  you,  in  England,  such  ardpur  evince. 

In  discussing  which  sect  most  tormented  the  other. 
And  burn'd  with  most  gusto,  some  hundred  years 
since ; — 


That  we  love  to  behold,  while  Old  England  grows 
faint, 

Messrs.  Southey  and  Butler  near  coming  to  blows. 
To  decide  whether  Dunstan,that  strong-bodied  saint. 

Ever  truly  and  really  pull'd  the  devil's  nose ; 


One  hasty  orison  whirl'd  me  away 
To  a  limbo,  lying — I  wist  not  where — 
.4bove  or  below,  in  earth  or  air  ; 
All  glimmering  o'er  with  a  dmihlful  light. 
One  could  n't  say  whether  't  was  day  or  night , 
Wliether  t'other  saint,  Dominic,   burnt  the  devil's   And  crost  by  many  a  mazy  track, 


That,  as  to  the  expense — the  few  millions,  or  so, 
Which  for  all  such  diversions  John  Bull  has  to 
pay— 
'T  is,  at  least,  a  great  comfort  to  John  Bull  to  know 
That  to   Orangemen's  pockets  't  will  all  find  iu 
way. 

For  which  your  petitioners  ever  will  pray, 

etc,  etc.  etc.  etc.  etc 


A  VISION. 

BY    TirE    AUTHOR    OF    CURISTABEL 

'  Up !"  said  the  Spirit,  and,  ere  I  could  pray 


paw — 

Whether  Edwy  intrigued  with  Elgiva's  old  mo- 
ther—' 
And  many  such  points,  from  which  Southey  doth 
draw 

Conclusions  most  apt  for  our  hating  each  other. 

That 't  is  very  well  known  this  devout  Irish  nation 
Has  now,  for  some  ages  gone  happily  on, 

Relieving  in  two  kinds  of  Substantiation, 
One  party  in  Trans,  and  the  other  in  Gov  ;^ 

That  we,  your  petitioning  Cons,  have,  in  right 
Of  the  said  monosyllable,  ravaged  the  lands. 
And   embezzled   the  goods,  and   annoy'd,  day  and 
night, 
Both   the   bodies   and   souls  of  the   sticklers   for 
Trans ; 

That  we  trust  to  Peel,  Eldon,  and  other  such  sages, 
For  keeping  us  still  in  the  same  state  of  mind ; 

I'rctty  much  as  the  world  used  to  be  in  those  ages. 
When  still  smaller  syllables  madden'd  mankind  ; — 

When  the  words  ex  and  /)f  r-"  served  as  well,  to  annoy 
One's  neighbours  and  friends  with,  as  con  and  trans 
now ; 

And  Christians,  like  Southey,  who  stickled  for  oi. 
Cut  the  throats  of  all  Christians,  who  stickled  for 

OM." 


1   To  such  important  (lisci;ssi<ins  a?  tlieso  the  ifrentpr  pnrt 
of  Dr.  Southev's  f-'indiciie  Ecclesiis  Jlnglicavrs  isdevoleil. 


One  did  n't  know  how  to  get  on  or  back  ; 
And,  I  felt  like  a  needle  that 's  going  astray 
(With  its  one  eye  out)  through  a  bundle  of  hay  ; 
When  the  Spirit  he  grinn'd,  and  whisper'd  me, 
"  Thou  'rl  now  in  the  Court  of  Chancery  !" 

Around  me  flitted  unnumber'd  swarms 
Of  shapeless,  bodiless,  tailless  forms  ; 
(Like  bottled  up  babes,  that  grace  the  room 
Of  that  worthy  knight,  Sir  Everard  Home) — 
All  of  them  things  half  kill'd  in  rearing; 
Some  wore  lame — some  wanted  hearing  ; 
Some  had  through  half  a  century  rim, 
Though  they  had  n't  a  leg  to  stand  upon. 
Others,  more  merry,  as  just  beginning, 
Around  on  a  point  of  law  were  spinning; 
Or  balanced  aloft,  twixt  Bill  and  Ansiver, 
Lead  at  each  end — like  a  tight-rope  dancer. — 
Some  were  so  cross,  that  nothing  could  please  'em 
Some  gulp'd  down  ajfuhivits  to  ease  'm  ; — 
All  were  in  motion,  yet  never  a  one, 
Let  it  mote  as  it  might,  coidd  ever  move  on. 
"These,"  said  the  Spirit,  "you  plainly  see, 
Are  what  are  called  Suits  in  Chancery  '" 

I  heard  a  loud  screaming  of  old  and  j'oung. 

Like  a  cliorus  by  fifty  V^elutis  sung; 

Or  an  Irish  Dump  ("the  words  bj'  ."Moore") 

At  an  amateur  concert  scream'd  in  score  : — 

So  harsh  on  my  ear  that  wailing  fell 

Of  the  wretches  who  in  this  Limbo  dwell ! 

It  seem'd  like  the  dismal  symphony 

Of  the  shapes  lEneas  in  hell  did  see; 

Or  those  frogs,  whose  legs  a  barbarous  cook 

Cut  off,  and  left  the  frogs  in  the  brook. 

To  cry  all  night,  till  life  s  last  dregs, 

"Give  us  our  leg-; ! — give  us  our  legs  I" 


2  Coiisub-itiintintinn — the  true  reformed  belief;  !it  least, 
the  belief  of  Luther,  and,  as  Mosheim  asserts,  of  Melanc- 
ihon  also. 

3  When  John  of  Rajjnsa  went  to  Conslanlinople  (at  the 
time  ilie  dispute   betwtH'n  "  e\"  ami  '•  per"  was  ^roitii;  on,) 
.ie  found  the  Turks,  we  are  told,  "  laiishin?  at  the  Chris- 1  Touch'd  wit!)  the  sad  and  sorrowful  scene, 
UanR  for  being  divided  by  two  such  insi.nifica„t  p,.rticles."  L    ^^,j  ^^.,,^j  ^„  ^^^^  y^,,  ^-^^^  ^^^^  ,, 

4  The  Arian  c.m.roversy  -Before  that  lim^  ^,  j,  ^  j^j,  y^^^  ^^-^^  ^  -^  „p  , 
*  111  ordor  to  be  a  «oiinfi  holi'ivin^  (.  niistian,  mm  were  not  it'  *r  tj 
ci-rifiiis  what  syllabU-s  or  particles  of  speech  they  used."       J  "  T  is  the  cry  of  the  suitors  in  Chancery  ' 


412 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


I  look'd,  and  I  saw  a  wizard  rise, 
With  a  wig  like  a  cloud  before  men's  eyes. 
In  his  aged  hand  he  held  a  wand, 
Wherewith  he  beckon'd  his  embryo  band. 
And  they  moved,  and  moved,  as  he  waved  it  o'er, 
But  they  never  got  on.  one  inch  the  more  ; 
And  still  they  kept  limping  to  and  fro, 
Like  Ariels  round  old  Prospero— 
Saying,  "  Dear  Master,  let  us  go  ;" 
But  still  old  Prospero  answer'd,  "  No." 
And  I  heard  the  while,  that  wizard  elf, 
Muttering,  muttering  spells  to  himself. 
While  over  as  many  old  papers  he  turn'd, 
.\s  Hume  ere  moved  for,  or  Omar  burn'd. 
He  talk'd  of  his  Virtue,  though  some,  less  nice, 
(He  own'd  with  a  sigh)  prefcrr'd  his  Vice— 
And  he  said,  "I  think"—"  I  doubt^"  1  hope," 
Call'd  God  to  witness,  and  damn'd  the  Pope  ; 
With  many  more  sleights  of  tongue  and  hand 
I  could  n't,  for  the  soul  of  me,  understand. 
Amazed  and  posed,  I  was  just  about 
To  ask  his  name,  when  the  screams  without, 
The  merciless  clack  of  the  imps  within. 
And  that  conjuror's  mutterings,  made  such  a  din, 
That,  startled,  I  woke— leap'd  up  in  my  bed- 
Found  the  Spirit,  the  imps,  and  the  conjurer  fled. 
And  bless'd  my  stars,  right  pleased  to  see 
That  I  was  n't  as  yet,  in  Chancery. 


NEWS  FOR  COUNTRY  COUSINS. 
Dear  Coz,  as  I  know  neither  you  nor  Miss  Draper, 
When  Parliament 's  up,  ever  take  in  a  paper. 
But  trust  for  your  news  to  such  stray  odds  and  ends 
As  you  chance  to  pick  up  from  political  friends- 
Being  one  of  this  well-inform'd  class,  I  sit  down, 
To  transmit  you  the  last  newest  news  that 's  in  town. 

As  to   Greece  and  Lord  Cochrane,  things  could  n't 
look  better — 

His  Lordship  (who  promises  now  to  fight  faster) 
Had  just  taken  Rhodes,  and  despatch'd  off  a  letter 

To  Daniel  O'Connel,  to  make  him  Grand  Master ; 
Engaging  to  change  the  old  name,  if  he  can. 
From  the  Knignis  of  St.  .John  to  the  Knights  of  St. 

Dan)— 
Or,  if  Dan  should  prefer,  as  a  still  better  whim, 
Being  made  the  Colossus,  't  is  all  one  to  him. 

From  Russia  the  last  accounts  are,  that  the  Czar — 
3Iost  generous  and  kind,  as  all  sovereigns  arc. 
And  whose  first  princely  act  (as  you  know,  I  suppose,) 
Was  to  give  away  all  his  late  brother's  old  clothes — 
[s  now  busy  collecting,  with  brotherly  care. 
The  late   Emperor's  night-caps,  and  thinks  of  be- 
stowing 
One  night-cap  a-picce  (if  he  has  them  to  spare) 

On  all  the  distinguish'd  old  ladies  now  going. 
•^ While   I  write,  an  arrival    from  Riga — "the  Bro- 

fhrrx" — 
Having  iiight-caps   on    board  for  Lord    Eld-n    and 
others.) 

last  advices  from  India — Sir  Archy,  't  is  thought, 
Was  near  catchiiii.'  a  Tartar  (tlie  first  ever  caught 


In  N.  lat.  21.) — and  his  Highness  Burmese, 
Being  very  hard  prest  to  shell  out  the  rupees, 
But  not  having  much  ready  rhino,  they  say,  meant 
To  pawn  his  august  golden  foot'  for  the  payment.- 
(How  lucky  for  monarchs,  that  can,  when  they  chuse 
Tlius  establish  a  running  aixount  with  the  Jews!) 
The  security  being  what  Rothschild  calls  "goot," 
A  loan  will  be  forthwith,  of  course,  set  on  foot;— 
The  parties  are  Rothschild — A.  Baring  and  Co., 
And  three  other  great  pawnbrokers — each  takes  a  toev 
And  engages  (lest  Gold-foot  should  give  us  leg-bail, 
As  he  did  once  before)  to  pay  down  on  the  nail. 

This  is  all  for  the  present, — what  vile  pens  and  paper 
Yours  truly,  dear  Cousin, — best  love  to  Miss  Draper 


AN  INCANTATION. 

SUNG    BY    THE    BUBBLE    SPIRIT. 

Air — "  Come  with  me,  and  we  will  go 
Where  the  rocks  of  coral  grow." 

Come  with  me,  and  we  will  blow 

Lots  of  bubbles,  as  we  go  ; 

Bubbles,  bright  as  ever  Hope 

Drew  from  Fancy — or  from  soap ;     / 

Bright  as  e'er  the  South  Sea  sent 

From  its  frothy  element ! 

Come  with  me,  and  we  will  blow 

Lots  of  bubbles  as  we  go. 

M\x  the  lather,  Joiin.w  W-lks, 

Thou  wlio  rhymest  so  well  to  "  bilks  : 

Mix  the  lather — who  can  be 

Fitter  for  such  task  than  thee, 

Great  M.  P.  for  Sudshnry  ! 

Now  the  frothy  charm  is  ripe, 
Puffing  Peter,  bring  thy  pipe, — 
Thou,  whom  ancient  Coventry, 
Once  so  dearly  loved,  that  she 
Knew  not  which  to  her  was  sweeter, 
Peeping  Tom  or  puffing  Peter — 

Puff  the  bubbles  high  in  air. 
Puff  thy  best  to  keep  them  there 
Bravo,  bravo,  Peter  M — re  ! 
Now  the  rainbow  humbugs^  soar, 
Glittering  all  witli  golden  hues. 
Such  as  haunt  the  dreams  of  .lews — 
Some,  reflecting  mines  that  lie 
Under  Chili's  glowing  sky  ; 
Some,  those  virgin  pearls  that  sleep 
Cloistcr'd  in  the  southern  deep ; 


1  This  Potentate  styles  liiinsclf  llie  Monarch  ol  JietSonl- 
on  Foot, 

2  Strong  indinntions  of  character  may  be  »orriOiirnet 
traced  in  llie  rhymes  to  names.  Marvell  thought  yo,  whut. 
he  wrote 

"  Sir  Kdward  Sutton, 

The  foolish  luiifjlil  who  rhymes  lo  mutton." 

3  An  humble  iniiliition  of  onn  of  our  modern  poets,  wh"} 
in  II  |ioeiii  against  war,  al'ler  deBCiihini;  the  s|  lendid  habili 
mriils  of  Iho  soldier,  iipostrophizes  him — "thou  rainbow 
lullian  '" 


MISCELLANEOUS  P0E3IS. 


413 


Others,  as  if  lent  a  ray 
From  the  streaming  Milky  Way, 
Glistening  o'er  wiili  curds  and  whey 
From  the  cows  of  Alderney  ! 

Now  's  the  moment — whti  shall  first 
Catch  the  bubbles  ere  they  burst  ? 
Run,  ye  squires,  ye  viscounts,  run, 
Bll-GD-N,  T-YNII-M,  P-lm-rst-n; — 
John  W-i,ks,  junior,  runs  beside  ye, 
Take  the  good  the  knaves  provide  ye!" 
See,  with  upturn'd  eyes  and  hands, 
Where  the  67«;;rnian,-'  Hr-gij-.\,  stands, 
Gupin<r  lor  tlie  froth  to  fall 
Down  his  swallow — hje  and  all  ! 
See! 

Rut  hark,  my  time  is  out — 
Now,  like  some  great  watcr-spout, 
Scatter'd  by  the  cannon's  thunder, 
Burst,  ye  bubbles,  all  asunder! 

Uere  the  stage  darkens, — a  discordant  crash  is  heard 
from  the  orchestra — the  broken  bubbles  descend  in  a 
a  saponaceous  but  UJickmili/  mist  over  the  heads  of 
the  Dramatis  Persons,  and  the  scene  drops,  leaving 
the  bubble  hunters-^-all  in  the  suds.] 


A  DREA3I  OF  TURTLE. 

BY    SIR    W.    CURTIS. 

T  WAS  evening  time,  in  the  twilight  sweet 
I  was  sailing  along,  when — whom  should  I  meet, 
But  a  turtle  journeying  o'er  the  sea, 
"  On  the  service  of  his  Majesty  !"^ 

When  I  spied  him  first,  in  the  twilight  dim, 
1  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  him ; 
Rut  said  to  myself — as  low  he  plied 
His  fins,  and  roll'd  from  side  to  side, 
Conceitedly  over  the  watery  path — 
"  'Tis  my  Lord  of  St-w-ll,  taking  a  bath, 
And  1  hoar  him  now,  among  the  fishes, 
Quoting  Vatcl  and  RurgerdisciusI" 

Rut,  no — 't  was,  indeed,  a  turtle,  wide 

And  plump  as  ever  these  eyes  descried  ; 

A  Turtle,  juicy  as  ever  yet 

Glued  up  the  lips  of  a  baronet! 

Ah,  much  did  it  grieve  my  soul  to  see 

That  an  animal  of  such  dignity, 

Like  an  absentee,  abroad  should  roam, 

When  he  ought  to  stay  and  be  ate,  at  home. 

But  now,  "a  change  came  o'er  my  dream," 
Like  the  magic  lantern's  shifting  slider; — 

I  look'd,  and  saw  by  the  evening  beam, 
On  the  back  of  tliat  turtle  sat  a  rider, — 


I  "  Lovely  Tliais  sits  bi-siiie  Ihee, 

Take  the  good  the  gods  provide  thee." 
12  So  called  by  a  sort  of  Tuscan  dulcilicatiaa  of  the  cA,  in  the  word 
'  Chairman." 

3  We  are  told  that  the  passport  of  the  late  grand  diplomatic  turUe  de- 
fchbed  b»m  xt  "on  his  Majesty's  sei^ice." 

dapibus  supremi 

Gnta  testudo  Jovis. 


A  goodly  man,  with  an  eye  so  merry, 
I  knew  't  was  our  Foreign  Secretary, 
Who  there,  at  his  ease,  did  sit  and  smile. 
Like  Waterton  on  his  crocodile; 
Cracking  such  jokes,  at  every  motion. 

As  made  the  turtle  squeak  with  glee, 
And  own  that  thfy  gave  him  a  lively  notion 

Of  what  his  own/orccrf-mcat  balls  would  bi* 

So,  on  the  Sec,  in  his  glory,  went, 

Over  the  briny  element. 

Waving  his  hand,  as  he  took  farewell, 

With  a  graceful  air,  and  bidding  me  tell 

Inquiring  friends,  that  the  turtle  and  he 

Were  gone  on  a  foreign  embassy — 

To  soften  the  heart  of  a  Diplnviate, 

Who  is  known  to  doat  upon  verdant  fat. 

And  to  let  admiring  Europe  see, 

That  cnlipish  and  cahjiee. 

Are  the  English  forms  of  Diplomacy  ! 


A  VOICE  FROM  M.\RATHON. 

O  FOR  a  voice,  as  loud  as  that  of  Fame, 

To  breathe  the  word — Arise  ! 
From  Pindus  to  Taygetus  to  proclaim — 

Let  every  Greek  arise  ! 

Ye  who  have  hearts  to  strike  a  single  blow, 

Hear  my  despairing  cries  ! 
Ye  who  have  hands  to  immolate  one  foe, 

Arise !  arise !  arise ! 

From  the  dim  fields  of  Asphodel  beneath. 

Upborne  by  cloudy  sighs 
Of  those  who  love  their  country  still  in  death, — 

E'en  1 — e'en  / — arise  ! 

These  are  not  hands  for  earthly  wringing — these  '.— 
Blood  should  not  blind  these  eyes ! — 

Yet  here  I  stand,  iintomb'd  MiLtiades, 
Weeping — arise  !  arise  ! 

Hear  ye  the  groans  that  heave  this  burial-field  ?- 

Old  Gnccia's  saviour-band 
Cry  from  the  dust — "  Figlit  on  !  nor  dare  to  yield  ' 

Save  i/e  our  f  ither-land  ! 

"  Blimt  with  yotir  bosom  the  barbaric  spear! 

Break  it  within  your  breast; 
Then  come,  brave  (ireek  I   and  join  your  jrothert 
here 

In  our  immortal  rest !" 

Shall  modern  Datis,  swoln  «vith  Syrian  pndci, 

Cover  the  land  with  slaves'? — 
Ay — let  them  cover  it,  botli  far  and  wide. — 

Cover  it  with  their^nirfs.' 

Much  has  been  done — but  more  remains  to  do- 

Ye  have  fought  long  and  well! 
The  trump  that,  on  the  Egean,  glory  blew, 

Seeni'd  with  a  storm  to  swell ! 

Asia's  grim  tyrant  shudder'd  at  the  sound, 

lie  leap'd  upon  liis  throne  ! 
Murniur'd  his  horse-tail'd  chieflainry  around 

"  .Another  Marathon  I" 


414 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


r»odona,  'mid  her  fanes  and  forests  hoar, 

Heard  it  with  solemn  glee: 
And  old  Parnassus,  with  a  lofty  roar. 

Told  it  from  sea  to  sea ! 

iligh-bosom'd  Greece,  through  her  unnumber'd  vales, 

Broke  forth  in  glorious  song  ! 
Her  classic  streams  that  plough  the  headlong  dales, 

Thunder'd  the  notes  along* 

But  there  's  a  bloodier  wreath  to  gain,  oh  friends  ! 

Now  rise,  or  ever  fall ! 
If  ye  fight  now  no  fiercer  than  the  fiends. 

Better  not  fight  at  all ! 

The  feverish  war-drum  mingles  with  the  fife 

In  dismal  symphony. 
And  Moslem  strikes  at  liberty  and  life — 

For  both,  strike  harder  ye  ! 

Hark !  how  Cithseron  with  his  earthquake  voice 

Calls  to  the  utmost  shores  ! 
While  Pluto  bars,  against  the  riving  noise, 

His  adamantine  doors  ! 

Athene,  tiptoe  on  her  crumbling  dome, 

Cries — "  Youth,  ye  must  be  men  !" 
And  Echo  shouts  within  her  rocky  tomb, — 

"  Greeks,  become  Greeks  again  !" 

The  stone  first  brought,  his  living  tomb  to  close, 

Pausanias'  mother  piled : 
Matrons  of  Greece !  will  ye  do  less  for  foes, 

Than  she  did  for  her  child  ? 

Let  boyhood  strike  ! — Let  every  rank  and  age 

Do  each  what  each  can  do  ! 
Let  him  whose  arm  is  mighty  as  his  rage. 

Strike  deep — strike  home — strike  through! 

Be  wise,  be  firm,  be  cautious,  yet  be  bold  ! 

Be  brother-true  !  be  One  ! 
I  teach  but  what  the  Phrygian  taught  of  old — 

Divide,  and  be  undone  ! 

Hallow'd  in  life,  in  death  itself,  i?  he 

Who  for  his  country  dies  ; 
A  light,  a  star,  to  all  futurity — 

Arise  ye,  then  !  arise ! 

O  countrymen  !  O  countrymen  !  once  more — 

By  earth — and  seas — and  skies — 
By  Heaven — by  sacred  Hades — I  implore — 

Arise  !  arise  !  arise  ! 


COTTON  AND  CORN. 

A   DIALOGUE. 

Said  Cotton  to  Corn,  t'  other  day, 

As  they  met,  and  exchange<l  a  salute — 

(Squire  Corn  in  his  cabriolet, 

Poor  Cotton,  half  famish'd,  on  foot) 

••Great  squire,  if  it  is  n't  uncivil 
To  him  at  starvation  before  you. 

Look  down  on  a  hungry  poor  devil, 

And  eivc  him  some  bread,  I  implore  you !' 


Quoth  Corn  then,  in  answer  to  Cotton. 

Perceiving  he  meant  to  make/Vee, — 
"  Low  fellow,  you  've  surely  forgotten 

The  distance  between  you  and  me  ! 

"  To  expect  that  we,  peers  of  high  birth, 
Should  waste  our  illustrious  acres 

For  no  other  purpose  on  earth 

Than  to  fatten  curst  calico-makers  ! — 

"  That  bishops  to  bobbins  should  bend, — 
Should  stoop  from  their  bench's  sublimity 

Great  dealers  in  lawn,  to  befriend 
Your  contemptible  dealers  in  dimity ! 

"  No — vile  manufacturer  !  ne'er  harbour 
A  hope  to  be  fed  at  our  boards  ; 

Base  offspring  of  Arkwright,  the  barber. 
What  claim  canst  thou  have  upon  lords  ? 

"  No — thanks  to  the  taxes  and  debt, 
And  the  triumph  of  paper  o'er  guineas, 

Our  race  of  Lord  Jemmys,  as  yet, 

Many  defy  your  whole  rabble  of  Jennys  ! 

So  saying,  whip,  crack,  and  away 
Went  Corn  in  his  cab  through  the  throng, 

So  madly,  I  heard  them  all  say 

Squire  Corn  would  be  down,  before  long. 


THE  DONKEY  AND  HIS  PANNIERS 

A  FABLE. 
fessus  jam  suibit  asellus, 


Parce  illi ;  vestruni  (U'licium  est  asinus. —  Virgil  Copa. 

A  DONKEY,  whose  talent  for  burdens  was  wondrous 
So  much  that  you  'd  swear  he  rejoiced  in  a  load. 

One  day  had  to  jog  under  panniers  so  pond'rous. 
That — dawn  the  poor  donkey  fell,  smack  on  me 
road. 

His  owners  and  drivers  stood  round  in  amaze — 
What !  Neddy,  the  patient,  the  prosperous  Neddy 

So  easy  to  drive  through  the  dirtiest  ways, 
For  every  description  of  job-work  so  ready! 

One  driver  (whom  Ned  might  have  "  hail'd"  as  a 
"brother")' 

Had  just  been  proclaiming  his  donkey's  renown, 
For  vigour,  for  spirit,  for  one  thing  or  other, — 

When,  lo,  'mid  his  praises,  the  donkey  came  down 

But,  how  to  upraise  him  ? — one  shouts,  <'  other  whis 
ties. 

While  Jenky,  the  conjuror,  wisest  of  all. 
Declared  that  an  "over-production"  of  thistles — ^ 

(Here  Ned  gave  a  stare) — .vas  the  cause  of  his  lal. 

Another  wise  Solomon  cries,  as  he  passes, — 

"There,  let  him  alon6,  and  the  fit  will  soon  cease 


1  AUmiin'i  lo  III!  ciaiiy  poem  of  Mr.  (JoliTiii^ii's  addressee 
to  an  iiss,  an. I  Ix'ciniiiiij!,  "  I  Imil  tlwi!,  lirntliHrl" 

2  A  corinin  foiiiilry  goiiiUiiiiaii  liaviii;,'  said  in  tlio  Iloiisr, 
"  tliiit  \vi:  must  rcliini  at  last  tii  thi;  Cooil  .>f  our  Hiicestors  " 
sornoliody  asked  Mr. 'I".  "  what  food  lli(!  ;;riillemaii  meant t^ 
— ''  Thistles,  I  suppose,"  aoiwurod  Mr.  'V 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


41.3 


The  oeast  has  been  fighting  with  other  jack-asses, 
And  this  is  his  mode  of  '  transUion  to  peace.'  " 

Some  look'd  at  his  hoofs,  and,  with  learned  grimaces, 
Pronounced  that  too  long  without  shoes  he  had 
gone— 

■*  Let  the  blacksmith  provide  him  a  sound  metal  basis, 
(The  wiseacres  said,)  and  he  's  sure  to  jog  on." 

But  others  who  gabbled  a  jargon  half  Gaelic, 
Exclaim'd,    "  Hoot    awa,    mon,  you  're   a'  gane 
astray," — 

And  declared  that, "  whoe'er  might  prefer  the  metallic, 
They'd  shoe  their  own  donkeys  with,  papier  macke." 

Meanwhile  the  poor  Neddy,  in  torture  and  fear, 
Lay  under  his  panniers,  scarce  able  to  groan. 

And — what  was  still  dolcfuller — lending  an  ear 
To  advisers  whose  ears  were  a  match  for  his  own. 

At  length,  a  plain  rustic,  whose  wit  went  so  far 
As  to  see  others'  folly,  rour'd  out,  as  he  pass'd — 

'Quick — off  with  the  ]«nniers,  all  dolts  as  ye  are, 
Or  your  prosperous  Neddy  will  soon  kick  his  last  1" 


ODE  TO  THE  SUBLIME  PORTE. 

GuKAT  Sultan,  how  wise  arc  thy  state  compositions! 

And  oh,  above  all,  I  admire  that  decree. 
In  which  thou  coinmand'st  that  all  she  politicians 

Shall  forthwith  be  strangled  and  cast  in  the  sea. 

T  is  my  fortune  to  know  a  lean  Benthamite  spinster — 
A  maid,  who  her  fiiith  in  old  Jeremy  puts; 

Who  talks,  with  alisp,  of  "the  last  new  Westminster" 
And  hopes  you're  delighted  with  "31111  upon 
Gluts ;" 

Who  tells  you  how  clever  one  Mr.  F-Nni,-NauE  is, 
How  charming  his  Articles  'gainst  the  Nobility  ; — 

And  assures  you,  that  even  a  gentleman's  rank  is, 
In  Jeremy's  school,  of  no  sort  of  utility. 

To  see  her,  ye  Gods,  a  new  Number  devouring — 

Art.  1 — "  On  the  Needle's  variations,"  by  Snip  ; — 
Art    2— i' On   the   Bondage  of  Greece,"   by  John 

B — R-NG 

(That  eminent  dealer  in  scribbling  and  scrip  ;) — 

Art.  3 — "  l^pon  Fallacies,"  Jeremy's  own — 
(The  chief  fallacy  bein^  his  hope  to  find  readers  ;) — 

Art  4 — "Upon  Honesty,"  author  unknown; — 
Art.  5 — (by  the  young  Mr.  M— )  "Hints  to  Breed- 


Oh  Sultan,  oh  Sultan,  though  oft  for  the  bag 

And  the  bowstring,  like  thee,  I  am  tempted  to  call — 
Tliough  drowning  's  too  good  for  each  blue-stocking 

I  would  bag  this  she  Benthamite  first  of  them  all! 

Ay,  and — lest  she  should  ever  again  lift  her  head 

From  the  watery  bottom,  her  clack  to  renew, — 
As  a  clog,  as  a  sinker,  fir  better  than  lead, 

would  hang  round  her  neck  her  own  darling  Re- 
view 


REFLECTIONS 

SUGGESTED  BV  A  LATE  COURESPO.NDENCE  ON  THE 
CATHOLIC  QUESTION. 

Poor  Catholics,  bitter  enough. 

Heaven  knows,  are  the  doses  you've  taken  ; 
You've  swallow'd  down  L-v-rp — l's  stuff, 

His  nonsense  of  ether,  "  well  shaken  ;" 
You've  borne  the  mad  slaver  of  Lees, 

And  the  twaddle  of  saintly  Lord  L-rt-n; 
But — worse,  oh  ye  gods,  than  all  these — 

You've  been  lectured  by  Mr.  Sec.  II-rt-n! 

Alas  for  six  millions  of  men  . 

Fit  .tuhjcct.'t  for  nought  but  dissection, 
When  II-rt-n  himself  takes  the  pen, 

To  tell  them  they  've  lost  his  protection  ! 
Ye  sects,  who  monopolise  bliss. 

While  your  neighbours'  damnation  you  spoil  on, 
Know  ye  any  damnation  like  this — 

To  be  cut  by  the  Under  Sec.  H-rt-n? 


THE  GHOST  OF  MILTIADES. 

Ah  quotiea  dubius  Scriptis  cxarsit  anialor  1 — Ovid. 

The  ghost  of  Miltiades  came  at  night, 
And  he  stood  by  the  bed  of  the  Benthamite, 
And  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  thriU'd  the  frame, 
"  If  ever  the  sound  of  Marathon's  name 
Hath  fired  thy  blood,  or  flush'd  thy  brow. 
Lover  of  liberty,  rouse  thee  now  !" 

The  Benthamite,  yawning,  left  his  bed — 

Away  to  the  Stock  Exchange  he  sped. 

And  he  found  the  scrip  of  Greece  so  high, 

That  it  fired  his  blood,  it  flush'd  his  eye, 

And  oh  !  't  was  a  sight  for  the  ghost  to  see, 

For  there  never  was  Greek  more  Greek  than  he  ! 

And  still,  as  the  premium  higher  went. 

His  ecstasy  rose — so  much  per  cent. 

(.\s  we  see,  in  a  glass  that  tells  the  weather. 

The  heat  and  the  silver  rise  together,) 

And  Liberty  sung  from  the  patriot's  lip. 

While  a  voice  from  his  pocket  whisper'd, "  Scrip' 

The  ghost  of  Miltiades  came  again  ; — 
He  smiled,  as  the  pale  moon  shines  through  rain. 
For  his  soul  was  glad  at  that  Patriot  strain  , 
(And,  poor,  dear  ghost — how  little  he  knew 
The  jobs  and  tricks  of  the  Philhellcne  crew  !- 
"  Blessings  and  thanks !"  was  all  he  said. 
Then  melting  away,  like  a  night-dream,  fled  '. 

The  Benthamite  hears — amazed  that  ghostn 
Could  be  such  fools — and  away  he  posts. 
A  patriot  still  ?  Ah  no,  ah  no — 
Goddess  of  Freedom,  thy  scrip  is  low. 
And,  warm  and  fond  as  thy  lovers  are. 
Thou  tricst  their  passion  when  under  pa  . 
The  Beiuhamite's  ardour  fast  decays, 
By  turns,  he  weeps,  and  swears,  and  prays. 
And  wishes  the  D — I  had  crescent  and  cros^ 
Ere  he  had  been  forced  to  sell  a'  a  loss 


416 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


They  quote  him  the  stock  of  various  nations, 

But,  spite  of  his  classic  associations. 

Lord  !  how  he  loathes  the  Greek  quotation!'  ' 

"Who'll  buy  my  scrip  ?  Who'll  buy  my  scrip?' 

Is  now  the  theme  of  the  patriot's  lip. 

As  he  runs  to  tell  how  hard  his  lot  is 

To  Messrs.  Orlando  and  Luriottis, 

And  says,  "  Oh  Greece,  for  liberty's  sake, 

Do  buy  my  scrip,  and  I  vow  to  break 

Those  dark,  unholy  bonds  of  thine — 

If  you'll  only  consent  to  buy  up  mine?'' 

The  ghost  of  Miltiades  came  once  more  ; — 
His  brow,  like  the  night,  was  lowering  o'er. 
And  he  said,  with  a  look  that  flash'd  dismay, 
"  Of  Liberty's  foes  the  worst  are  they 
Who  turn  to  a  trade  her  cause  divine. 
And  gamble  for  gold  on  Freedom's  shrine!" 
Thus  saying,  the  ghost,  as  he  took  his  flight, 
Gave  a  Parthian  kick  to  the  Benthamite, 
Which  sent  him,  whimpering,  off  to  Jerry — 
And  vanish'd  away  to  the  Stygian  ferry  ! 


CORN  AND  CATHOLICS. 


Utruin  linriim 

Dirius  boriiin  ? — Incerti  ^uctores. 

What  !  still  those  two  infernal  questions. 
That  with  our  meals,  our  slumbers  mix — 

That  spoil  our  tempers  and  digestions — 
Eternal  Corn  and  Catholics  ! 

Gods  !  were  there  ever  two  such  bores  ? 

Nothing  else  talk'd  of,  night  or  morn — 
Nothing  in  doors  or  out  of  doors. 

But  endless  Catholics  and  Corn  ! 

Never  was  such  a  brace  of  pests — 

While  Ministers,  still  worse  than  either, 

SkiU'd  but  in  feathering  their  nests, 
Bore  us  with  both,  and  settle  neither. 

So  addled  in  my  cranium  meet 

Popery  and  Corn,  that  oft  I  doubt, 
VVTiethor,  this  year,  't  was  bonded  wheat, 

Or  bonded  papists,  they  let  out. 

Here  landlords,  here  polemics,  nail  you, 
Arm'd  with  all  rubbish  they  can  rake  up  ; 

Prices  and  texts  at  once  assail  you — 
From  Daniel  these,  and  those  from  Jacob. 

And  when  you  sleep,  with  head  still  torn. 
Between  the  two,  their  shapes  you  mix, 

Till  sonietimes  Catholics  seem  Corn, — 
Then  Corn  again  seems  Catholics. 

Now  Dantzic  wheat  before  you  floats — 

Now,  Jesuits  from  California — 
Now  Ceres,  link'd  with  Titus  Oats, 

Comes  dancing  through  the  "  Porta  Coniea."' 


1  Tim  Hum  (xate,  through  which  tlio  aiicionts  supposed 
all  true  dreams  (such  as  those  of  the  Popish  Plot,  utc.)  tu 
rails 


Oft,  too,  the  Corn  grows  animate. 
And  a  whole  crop  of  liead-s  appeara, 

Like  Papists,  beardiuff  Church  and  Stale— 
Themselves,  together  by  the  ears  ! 

While,  leaders  of  the  wheat,  a  row 
Of  Poppies,  gaudily  declaiming. 

Like  Counsellor  O'Bric  and  Co., 
Stand  forth,  somniferously  flaming  ! 

In  short,  their  torments  never  cease  ; 

And  oft  I  wish  myself  transferr'd  ofT 
To  some  far,  lonely  land  of  peace, 

Where  Corn  or  Papist  ne'er  were  heard  ol 

Oh  wafl  me.  Parry,  to  the  Pole  ; 

For — if  my  fate  is  to  be  chosen 
'Twixt  bores  and  ice-bergs — on  my  soul, 

I'd  rather,  of  the  two,  be  frozen  '. 


CROCKFORDIANA 

EPIGRAMS. 
1. 

Mala  vicini  pecoWs^ontagia  laedunt. 

What  can  those  workmen  be  about? 
Do,  C D,  let  the  secret  out. 

Why  thus  your  houses  fall. — 
Quoth  he,  "  Since  folks  are  not  in  town, 
I  find  it  better  to  jnill  down. 

Than  have  no  pull  at  all." 


2. 


See,  passenger,  at  C- 


-d's  high  behest. 


Rtd  coats  by  black-legs  ousted  from  their  nest, — 
The  arts  of  peace,  o'ermatching  reckless  war, 
And  gallant  Rouge  undone  by  wily  Noir .' 

3. 

Ill)  par  oongrciisus 

Fate  gave  the  word — the  King  of  dice  and  cards 
In  an  unguarded  moment  took  the  Guards; 
Contrived  his  neighbours  in  a  trice  to  drub. 
And  did  the  trick  by — turning  up  a  Club 

4. 
Nullmii  siiiiili!  t'sl  ictem. 
'T  IS  strange  how  some  will  differ — some  advance 
That  the  Guard's  Club-PIouse  was  puH'd  down  b\ 

chance ; 
While  some,  with  juster  notions  in  their  mazard. 
Stoutly  maintain  the  deed  was  done  by  hazard. 


THE  TWO  BONDSMEN. 

When  Joseph,  a  Bondsman  in  Egypt,  of  old, 

Shunn'd  the  wanton  embraces  of  Potiphar's  dain< 

She  offcr'd  him  jewels,  she  ofTer'd  him  gold, 
But  more  than  all  riches  he  valued  his  fame. 

Oh  Joseph  !  thou  Bondsman  of  Greece,  can  it  be 

That  the  actions  of  namesakes  so  little  agree  ? 

Gr(!ek  Scrip  is  a  Potiphar's  lady  to  thee. 

When  with  13  per  cent,  she  embcllish'd  her  charms. 

Didst  thou  fly,  honest  Joseph  ?  Ves — into  her  arms 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


417 


Oh  Joseph  !  dear  Joseph  !  betliink  thee  in  time, 

A  nd  take  a  friend's  {"ounsel,  thougii  tender'd  in  rhyme 

Refund, "  honest"  Joseph  :  how  great  were  the  shame, 

If,  vvlien  posteriority'  sits  on  thy  name, 

Tiiey  should  sternly  decree,  'twixt  your  namesake 

and  you, 
Thai  he  was  the  Christian,  and  thou  wr rt  tl:e  Jew. 


THE  PERIWINKI,ES  AND  THE  LOCUSTS. 

A  SALMAGUNDIAN   HYMN. 

"  To  Par.iir^c  was  assiiineil  tlie  [-nir(Uhi|)  iif  Salmagundi, 
which  w(is  yearly  worth  G,789,10(>,789  ryals,  hesides  ilio 
revenue  of  the  Locusts  and  Periicinklcs,  amounting  one 
'par  with  another  to  the  value  of  2,425,708,  etc.  etc." — 
iabelais. 

"Hurra!  Hurra!"  I  heard  them  say, 
And  they  cheer'd  and  shouted  all  the  way, 
As  the  Laird  of  Salmagundi  went. 
To  open  in  state  his  Parliament. 

The  Salmagundians  once  were  rich. 

Or  tJtonirld  they  were — no  matter  which — 

For,  every  year,  the  Revenuc- 

From  their  Periwinkles  larger  grew  ; 

And  their  rulers,  skill'd  in  all  the  trick, 

And  legerdemain  of  arithmetic, 

Knew'  how  to  place  1,2,  3,  4, 

5,  6,  7,  8,  and  9,  and  10, 
Such  various  w'ays,  behind,  before. 
That  they  made  a  unit  seem  a  score, 

And  proved  themselves  most  wealthy  men  ! 

So,  on  they  went,  a  prosperous  crew. 
The  people  wise,  the  rulers  clever, — 

And  God  help  those,  like  me  and  you. 

Who  dared  to  doubt  (as  some  now  do) 

That  the  Periwinkle  Revenue 

Would  thus  go  flourishing  on  for  ever. 

"  Hurra !  hurra  !"  I  heard  them  say. 
And  they  cheer'd  and  shouted  all  the  way, 
As  the  Great  Panurge  in  glory  went. 
To  open  his  own  dear  Parliament. 

But  folks  at  length  began  to  doubt 

What  all  this  conjuring  was  about ; 

For,  everv  day,  more  deep  in  debt 

They  saw  their  wealthy  rulers  get : — 

"  Let  's  look  (said  they)  the  items  through. 

And  see  if  what  we're  told  be  true 

Of  our  Periwinkle  Revenue." 

But,  lord,  they  found  there  was  n't  a  tittle 

Of  truth  in  aitght  they  heard  before ; 
For,  they  gam'd  by  Periwinkles  little, 

And  lost  by  Locusts  ten  times  more ! 
These  Locusts  are  a  lordly  breed 
Some  Salmasiundians  love  to  feed. 


i  Remote   posterity — a  favourite   word   of  the  present 
Attorney-General's. 
2  Accented  as  in  Swift's  line — 

"  \ot  so  a  nation's  revenues  ore  paid." 
2B 


Of  all  the  beasts  that  eve  were  born, 
Vour  Locust  most  delights  in  com  ; 
And,  thougli  his  body  be  but  small, 
To  fatten  him  takes  the  devil  and  all  • 

Nor  this  the  worst,  for  direr  still. 

Alack,  alack  and  a  well-a-day  ! 

Their  Periwinkles, — once  the  stay 
And  prop  of  the  Salmacundian  till — 
For  want  of  feeding,  all  fell  ill  I 

And  still,  as  they  thinn'd  and  died  away. 
The  Locusts,  ay,  and  the  Locusts'  Bill 

Grew  fatter  and  fatter  ever.v  day  ! 

"  Oh  fie  !  oh  fie  !"  was  now  the  cry, 
As  they  saw  the  gaudy  show  go  by, 
And  the  Laird  of  Salmagundi  went 
To  open  his  Locust  Parliament ! 


A  CASE  OF  LIBEL. 

A  CERTAIN  old  Sprite,  who  dwells  below 
('T  were  a  libel,  perhaps,  to  mention  where) 

Came  up  inroa.,  some  winters  ago. 
To  try  for  a  change,  the  London  air. 

So  well  he  looked,  and  dress'd  and  talked, 
And  hid  his  tail  and  his  horns  so  handy. 

You'd  hardly  have  known  him,  as  he  walk'd 
From  *****,  or  any  other  Dandy. 

(N.B. — His  horns,  they  say,  unscrew  ; 

So,  he  has  but  to  take  them  out  of  the  socket. 
And — just  as  some  fine  husbands  do — 

Conveniently  clap  them  into  his  pocket.) 

In  short,  he  look'd  extremely  natty, 

And  ev'n  contrived — to  his  own  groat  wonder 
By  dint  of  sundry  scents  from  Gattie, 

To  keep  the  sulphurous  hogo  under. 

And  so  my  gentleman  hooPd  about, 

Unknown  to  all  but  a  chosen  few 
At  White's  and  Crockford's,  where,  no  doubt 

He  had  many  post-obiU  falling  due. 

Alike  a  gamester  and  a  wit. 

At  night  he  was  seen  with  Crockford's  tinw 
At  morn  with  learned  dames  would  sit — 

So  pass'd  his  time  't  wi.xt  Mack  and  blue. 

Some  wish'd  to  make  him  an  M.  P., 
But,  finding  W — Iks  was  also  one,  he 

Was  heard  to  say  "  he  'd  be  d — d  if  he 
Would  ever  sit  in  one  house  with  Johnnj. 

At  length,  as  secrets  travel  fast, 

And  devils,  whether  he  or  she. 
Are  sure  to  be  found  out  at  last, 

The  affair  got  wind  most  rapidly. 

The  press,  the  impartial  press,  that  snubs 
Alike  a  fiend's  or  an  angel's  capers — 

Miss  Paton's  soon  as  Beelzebub's — 

Fired  off  a  squib  in  the  morning  papers. 

"We  warn  good  men  to  keep  aloof 
From  a  grim  old  Dandy,  seen  about. 


418 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


With  a  fire-proof  wig,  and  a  cloven  hoof, 
■  Through  a  neal-cui  Iloby  smoking  out." 

Now,  the  Devil  being  a  gentleman, 

Who  piques  himself  on  his  well-bred  dealings, 
Vou  may  guess,  when  o'er  these  lines  he  ran. 

How  much  they  hurt  and  shock'd  his  feelings. 

A.\vay  he  posts  to  a  man  of  law. 
And  oh,  't  would  make  you  laugh  to  've  seen 
'em. 
As  paw  shook  hand,  and  hand  shook  paw, 
And  't  was  "  hail,  good  fellow,  well   met,"  be- 
tween 'ei". 

Straight  an  indictment  was  preferr'd — 
And  much  the  Devil  enjoy'd  the  jest. 

When,  looking  among  the  judges,  he  heard 
Thai,  of  all  the  batch,  his  own  was  Best. 

In  vain  Defendant  proffer'd  proof 

That  PlaintifTs  self  was  the  Father  of  Evil- 
Brought  Hoby  forth,  to  swear  to  the  hoof. 

And  Stultz,  to  speak  to  the  tail  of  the  Devil. 

The  .Tury — saints,  all  snug  and  rich, 

And  readers  of  virtuous  Sunday  papers. 

Found  for  the  Plaintiff— on  hearing  which 
The  Devil  gave  one  of  his  loftiest  capers. 

For  oh,  it  was  nuts  to  the  father  of  lies 
(As  this  wily  fiend  is  named,  in  the  Bible,) 

To  find  it  settled  by  laws  so  wise. 
That  the  greater  the  truth,  the  worse  the  libel ! 


LITERARY  ADVERTISEMENT. 

Wanted — Authors  of  all-worJi,  to  job  for  the  sea- 
son. 

No  matter  which  party,  so  faithful  to  neither  : — 
Good  hacks,  who,  if  posed  for  a  rhyme  or  a  reason. 

Can  manage,  like  *****,  to  do  without  either. 

If  in  gaol,  all  the  better  for  out  o'-door  topics  ; 

Your  gaol  is  for  trav'llers  a  charming  retreat ; 
They  can  take  a  day's  rule  for  a  trip  to  the  Tropics, 

And  sail  round  the  world,  at  their  ease,  in  the  Fleet. 

For  I>famatists,  too,  the  most  useful  of  schools — 
They  may  study  high    life  in  the  King's  Bench 
community  ; 
Aristotle  could  scarce  keep  them  more  vjithin  rulex. 
And  of  place  they're,  at  least,  taught  to  stick  to  the 
unit'/. 

Any  lady  or  gentleman  come  to  an  age 
To  have  good  "Reminiscences"  (three-score,  or 
higher,) 
Will  meet  with  encouragement — so  m'lch,  per  page. 
And  the  spelling  and  grammar  both  found  by  the 
buyer. 

No  matter  with  irhni  their  remembrance  is  stock'd, 
So  they  'II  only  remernhor  the  (jwuilnm  desired  ; — 

Enough  to  fill  handsomely  Two  Volumes,  Oft., 
I'rice  twentv-four  shillings,  is  all  that 's  required. 


They  may  treat  us,  like  Kelly,  with  okl  jewc-d'espnts, 
Like  Reynolds,  may   boixit  of  each   mountebuiik 
frolic. 
Or  kindly  inform  us,  like  Madame  Geniis,' 

That  ginger-bread  cakeis  always  give  them  the  co- 
lick. 

There's  nothing,  at  present,  so  popular  growing 
As  your  Autobiographers — fortunate  elves. 

Who  manage  to  know  all  the  best  people  going, 
Without  having  ever  been  heard  of  themselves ! 

Wanted,  also,  new  stock  of  Pamphlets  on  Corn, 
By    "Farmers''     and  "Landholders" — {gemmen, 
whose  lands 
Enclosed  all  in  bow-pots,  their  attics  adorn. 
Or,  whose  share  of  the  soil  may  be  seen  on  tnei; 
hands.) 

No-Popery  Sermons,  in  ever  so  dull  a  vein. 

Sure  of  a  market; — should  they,  too,  who  pen 'em, 

Be  renegade  Papists,  like  Murtagh  O'S-ll-v-n,'' 
Something  extra  allow'd  for  the  additional  venom. 

Funds,  Physic,  Corn,  Poetry,  Boxing,  Romance, 
All  excellent  subjects  for  turning  a  penny  ; — 

To  write  upon  all  is  an  author's  sole  chance 

For  attaining,  at  last,  the  least  knowledge  ofanjf 

Nine  times  out  often,  if  his  title  be  good. 

His  matter  within  of  small  consequence  is; — 

Let  him  only  write  fine,  and,  if  not  understood, 
Why, — that 's  the  concern  of  the  reader,  not  Ilia 

N.B. — A  leam'd  Essay,  now  printing,  to  show, 
That  Horace  (as  clearly  as  words  could  express  tt 

Was  for  taxing  the  Fund-holders,  ages  ago. 

When  he  wrote  thus — "  Quodcunque  i»  Fund  m 
assess  it."^ 


THE  SLAVE 

I  HEARD,  as  f  lay,  a  wailing  sound, 

"  He  is  dead — he  is  dead,"  the  rumour  fiew ; 

And  I  raised  my  chain,  and  turn'd  me  round, 
And  ask'd,  through  the  dungeon  window,  "  who  T 

I  saw  my  livid  tormentors  pass  ; 

Their  grief 't  was  bliss  to  hear  and  see ; 
For  never  came  joy  to  them,  alas. 

That  did  n't  bring  deadly  bane  to  me. 

Eager  I  look'd  through  the  mist  of  night. 

And  ask'd,  "What  foe  of  my  race  hath  died  f 

Is  it  he — that  T'oubter  of  law  and  right. 
Whom  nothing  but  wrong  could  e'er  decide — 

"\VTio,  long  as  he  eees  but  wealth  to  win, 
Hath  never  yet  felt  a  qualm  or  doubt 


1  This  lady,  in  hor  Memoirs,  iil'so  fiivoiirs  us  with  the  ad 
dross  of  Ihos'.'  ;ii"iihrriirics  who  havo,  from  time  to  time. 
liven  hiT  pills  that  iufn'dl  wilh  her: — always  dosiiinj;  that 
ihe  pills  should  he  ordered  "ruiiimc  pntir  ellr." 

2  A  f:i'iitl(Mi);ui,  who  distingaisliecl  himself  by  nis  evidence 
helorc  the  Irish  Ooiiim'Uecs. 

3  Accordioff  to  the  eoiiiiiion  readiiii;  "  qiiodnuif|uo  infun 
dis,  aceseit." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


419 


Wliat  Suitors  for  justice  he'd  keep  in, 
Or  what  suitors  for  freedom  he  'd  shut  out — 

'■'^^Tin,  a  clog  for  ever  on  Truth's  advance, 
Stillus  her  (like  the  Old  M;in  of  the  .Sea 

Round  !>inh;id's  nock.V  nor  leaves  a  chance 
Of  siiaking  iiim  olf — is  't  he  i  is  'l  he?" 

rihastiy  my  grim  tormentors  smiled, 

And  thursting  me  back  to  my  den  of  woe, 

vViih  a  laughter  even  more  fierce  and  wild 
Tiian  tiieir  funeral  howling,  answer'd,  "  No.' 

Bui  the  cry  still  pierced  my  prison  gate, 
And  again  I  ask'd,  "  Wlial  scourge  is  gone? 

Is  it  he — that  Chief,  so  coldly  great, 
Whom  Fame  unwillingly  sliines  upon — 

■'  Whose  name  is  one  of  ih'  ill  omen'd  words 
'I'lioy  link  willi  hate  on  his  native  plains  ; 

And  why  ? — they  lent  him  hearts  and  swords, 
And  he  gave,  in  return,  scoffs  and  chains  ! 

Is  it  he?  is  it  he  ?"  I  loud  inquired, 
When,  hark  I — there  sounded  a  royal  knell ; 
And  1  knew  what  spirit  had  just  expired, 
And,  slave  as  I  was.  my  truimph  fell. 


1  "You  full,"  said  Itu^,  "  imo  the  hands  of  llie  old  man 
of  the  sBa,  and  are  ihe  first  who  ever  escaped  strangling  by 
hu  malicious  tricks." — Story  of  Siiibad 


He  had  pledged  a  hate  unto  me  and  mine. 
He  had  left  to  the  future  nor  hope  nor  choice, 

But  seal'd  that  hate  with  a  name  divine. 

And  he  now  was  dead,  and— I  could  n't  rejoice! 

fie  had  fann'd  afresh  the  burning  brands 

Of  a  bigotry  waxing  cold  and  dim  ; 
He  had  arm'd  anew  my  torturers'  hands. 

Ana  iJiem  did  I  curse — but  sigh'd  for  him. 

For  his  was  the  error  of  head,  not  heart. 
And — oh,  Iiow  beyond  the  ambush'd  foe, 

Wlio  to  enmity  adds  the  traitor's  part. 
And  carries  a  smile,  with  a  curse  below ! 

If  ever  a  heart  made  bright  amends 
For  the  fatal  fault  of  an  erring  head — 

Go,  learn  liis  fame  from  ihe  lips  of  friends. 
In  the  orphan's  tear  be  his  glory  read. 

A  prince  without  pride,  a  man  without  guile. 
To  the  last  unchanging,  warm,  sincere, 

For  worth  lie  had  ever  a  hand  and  smile, 
And  for  misery  ever  his  purse  and  tear. 

Tocich'd  to  the  heart  by  thai  --.olemn  toll, 

I  calmly  sunk  in  my  chains  again ; 
While,  still  as  I  said,  "  Heaven  rest  his  soul !" 

My  mates  of  the  dungeon  sigh'd,  "  Amea  !* 


ALCIPHRON. 


LETTER   I. 

PRUM  ALCIPHRON  AT  ALEXANDRIA  TO  CLEON 
AT  ATHENS. 

Well  may  you  wonder  at  my  flight 

From  those  fair  (iardens.  in  whose  bowers 
Lingers  vvhaie'er  of  wise  and  bria;ht, 
Of  Beauty's  smile  or  Wisdom's  liaht, 

Is  left  to  grace  this  world  of  ours. 
Well  mav  my  comrades,  as  they  roam, 

On  evenings  sweet  as  this,  inquire 
Why  I  have  left  that  happy  hotne 

Where  all  is  (()und  that  all  desire, 

And  Time  hath  wings  that  never  tire; 
Where  bliss,  in  all  the  countless  shapes 

That  Fancy's  self  to  bliss  hath  given. 
Comes  clustering  round,  like  road-side  grapes 

That  woo  the  trav(  ller's  lip,  at  even; 
Where  Wisdom  flin^-  not  joy  away, — 
As  Pallas  in  the  stream,  they  say. 
Once  flung  her  flute, — but  smiling  owns 
That  wfiman's  lip  can  send  forth  tones 
Worth  all  the  music  of  those  spheres 
So  many  dream  of  but  none  hears; 
Where  Virtue's  self  puts  on  so  well 

Her  sister  Pleasure's  smile  that,  loth 
From  either  nymph  apart  to  dwell. 

We  fiiush  by  embracing  both. 

Yes,  such  the  place  of  bliss,  I  own. 
From  all  whose  charms  I  just  have  flown; 
And  ev'n  while  thus  to  ihee  I  write, 

And  by  the  Nile's  dark  flood  recline, 
Fondly,  in  thought,  I  wing  mv  flight 
Back  to  those  groves  and  gardens  bright. 
And  often  think,  by  this  sweet  light, 

How  lovelily  they  all  must  shine ; 
Can  see  that  graceful  temple  throw 

Down  the  green  slope  its  lenglhen'd  shade. 
While,  on  the  marble  steps  below. 

There  sits  some  fair  Athenian  maid. 
Over  some  favourite  volume  bending; 

And,  by  her  side,  a  youthful  sage 
Holds  back  the  ringlets  that,  descending, 

Would  else  o'ershadow  all  the  page. 
But  hence  such  thoughts ! — nor  let  me  grieve. 
O'er  scenes  of  joy  that  I  but  leave. 
As  the  bird  quits  awhile  its  nest 
To  come  again  with  livelier  zest. 

.And  now  to  tell  thee — what  I  fear 
Thou  'It  gravely  smile  at — vAy  I  'm  here. 
Though  through  my  lifiB's  short  sunny  dream, 

I  've  floated  without  pain  or  care. 
Like  a  light  leaf,  down  pleasure's  stream, 

(/aught  in  each  sparkling  eddy  there; 
Thou'.'h  never  Mirth  awake  a  strain 
That  my  heart  echoed  not  again  ; 
Yet  have  I  felt,  when  ev'n  most  gay. 

Sad  thoughts — I  knew  not  whence  or  why — 

Siiddenlv  o'er  my  spirit  fly. 
Like  clouds,  that,  ere  we  've  lime  to  say 

"  How  bright  the  sky  is!"  shade  the  sky. 
Sometimes  so  vague,  so  undelin'd 
Were  these  strange  darkenings  of  my  mind — 

420 


While  nought  but  joy  around  me  beam'd 
So  causelesslj'  they  've  come  and  flowo 

That  not  of  life  or  earth  they  seem'd. 
But  shadows  from  some  world  unknow 

More  oft,  however,  't  was  the  thought 
How  soon  that  scene,  with  all  its  play 
Of  life  and  gladness,  must  decay, — 

Those  lips  I  prest,  the  hands  I  cauaht — 

Myself, — the  crowd  that  mirth  had  broiigl 
Around  me, — swept  like  weeds  away ! 

This  thought  it  was  that  came  to  shed 

O'er  rapture's  hour  its  worst  alloys; 
And,  close  as  shade  with  sunshine,  wed 

Its  sadness  with  my  happiest  joys. 
Oh,  but  for  this  disheart'ning  voice 

Stealing  amid  our  mirth  to  say 
That  all,  in  which  we  most  rejoice, 

Ere  night  may  be  the  earth-worm's  proy- 
Bill  for  this  bitter — only  this — 
Full  as  the  world  is  brimm'd  with  bliss, 
And  capable  as  feels  my  soul 
Of  draining  to  its  dregs  the  nhole, 
I  should  turn  earth  to  heav'n,  and  be, 
If  bliss  made  Gods,  a  Deity ! 

Thou  know'st  that  night — the  very  last 
That  with  my  Garden  friends  I  pass'd — 
When  the  School  held  its  feast  of  mirth 
To  celebrate  our  founder's  birth. 
And  all  that  He  in  dreams  but  saw 
When  he  set  Pleasure  on  the  throne 
Of  this  bright  world,  and  wrote  her  law 

In  human  hearts,  was  felt  and  known— 
Not  in  unreal  dreams  but  true. 
Substantial  joy  as  pulse  e'er  knew, — 
By  hearts  and  bosoms,  that  each  felt 
Itself  the  realm  where  Pleasure  dwelt 

That  night,  when  all  our  mirth  was  o'er, 

The  minstrels  silent,  and  the  feet 
Of  the  young  maidens  heard  no  more — 

So  stilly  was  the  time,  so  sweet. 
And  such  a  calm  came  o'er  that  scene, 
Where  life  and  revel  late  had  been — 
Lone  as  the  quiet  of  some  bay. 
From  which  the  sea  hath  ebb'd  away— 
That  still  I  linger'd,  lost  in  thought. 

Gazing  upon  the  stars  of  night, 
Sad  and  intent,  as  if  I  sought 

Some  mournful  secret  'i  their  light; 
And  ask'd  them,  mid  that  silence,  why 
Man,  glorious  man,  alone  must  die. 
While  they,  less  wonderful  than  he, 
Shine  on  through  all  eternity. 

That  niffht — Ihou  haply  may' st  forget 

lis  lorcliiirss — hut  't  mas  a  night 
To  make  earth's  mmiu'sl  slave  regret 

Leaving  a.  world  so  soft  and  bright 
On  one  side,  in  Ike  dark  blue  shy. 
Lonely  and  radiant,  was  the  eye 
Of  Jove  himself,  while,  on  the  other, 

'Mong  stars  that  came  out  one  by  one. 
The  young  moon — like  the  Roman  molliei 

Among  her  living  jewels-     'wne. 


ALCIPHRON 


421 


"O  that  from  yonder  orbs,"  I  thought, 

'•*  Pure  and  eternal  as  ihev  ore. 
There  could  to  earth  some  power  be  brought, 
Some  charm,  with  (heir  own  essence  fraught, 

To  make  man  deathless  as  a  star, 
And  open  to  liis  vast  desires 

A  course,  as  boundless  and  sublime 
As  lies  bef()re  those  comet-fires. 

That  roam  and  burn  throughout  all  time  !" 

While  thoughts  like  these  ahsorb'd  my  mind. 

That  weariness  which  enrthlv  bliss, 
However  sweet,  still  leaves  behind, 

As  if  to  show  how  earihlv  't  is, 
Came  lidling  o'er  me,  and  I  laid 

My  limbs  at  that  fair  statue's  base — 
That  miracle,  which  Art  halli  made 

Of  all  the  choice  of  Nature's  grace — 
To  which  so  oft  I've  kncit  and  sworn. 

That,  could  a  living  maid  hke  her 
Unto  this  wondering  world  be  horn, 

I  would,  myself,  turn  worshipper. 

Sleep  came  then  o'er  me — and  I  seem'd 

To  be  transported  far  away 
To  a  bleak  desert  plain,  where  gleam'd 

One  siuiile,  melancholy  ray, 
Throushout  that  darkness  dimly  shed 

From  a  small  taper  in  the  hand 
Of  one,  who,  pale  as  are  the  dead. 

Before  me  took  his  spectral  stand. 
And  said,  while,  awfully  a  smile 

Came  o'er  the  wanness  of  his  cheek — 
"Go,  and  beside  the  sacred  Nile, 

You  'II  find  th'  Eternal  Life  you  seek." 

Soon  as  he  spoke  these  words,  the  hue 
Of  death  upon  his  features  grew — 
Like  the  pale  mornine,  when  o'er  night 
She  chains  ihe  victory — full  of  light  ; 
While  the  small  torch  he  held  became 
A  Sflorv  in  his  hand,  whose  flame 
Brisfhten'd  the  desert  suddenly, 

R'en  to  the  far  horizon's  line — 
Along  whose  level  I  could  see 

Gardens  and  proves,  that  seem'd  to  shine. 
As  if  then  freshlv  o'er  them  play'd 
A  vernal  rainbow's  rich  cascade, 
While  music  was  heard  every  where, 
Rreathinsr,  as  "t  were  itself  the  air. 
And  spirits,  on  whose  wings  the  hue 
Of  heav'n  still  linger'd,  round  me  flew, 
Till  from  all  sides  such  splendors  broke. 
That  with  the  excess  of  light,  I  woke ! 

Such  was  mv  dr^am — and,  T  confess, 

Thoiiah  nf>ne  of  all  our  creedless  school 
Hath  e'er  believ'd.  or  reveren/'d  less 

The  fables  of  tlie  priest-led  fool, 
Who  tells  ns  of  a  soul,  a  mind, 
Separate  and  pure,  within  us  shrin'd. 
Which  is  to  live — ah,  hope  too  bright! — 
For  ever  in  yn  fields  of  light — 
Who  fondly  thinks  the  guardian  eyes 

Of  eods  are  on  liini — as  if  blest 
And  blooming  in  tiieir  own  blue  skies, 
Th'  eternal  gods  were  not  loo  wise 

To  let  weak  man  disturb  their  rest! 
Though  thinking  of  such  creeds  as  thou 

And  all  our  Garden  sages  think. 
Yet  is  there  something,  I  allow. 

In  dreams  like  this — a  sort  of  link 
With  worlds  unseen,  which,  from  the  hour 

T  first  could  lisp  mv  thoughts  till  now. 
Hath  master'd  me  with  spell-like  power. 

And  who  ''an  tell,  as  we  're  combin'd 
Of  various  atoms — some  refined. 


Like  those  that  scintillate  and  play 
In  the  fixed  stars, — some,  gross  as  they 
That  frown  in  clouds  or  sleep  in  clay, — 
Who  can  be  sure,  hut  't  is  Ihe  best 

And  brightest  aionis  of  our  frame. 

Those  most  akin  to  stellar  flame. 
That  shine  out  thus,  when  we  're  at  re^t,— 
I'v'n  as  their  kindred  stars,  whose  light 
Comes  out  but  in  ilie  silent  niglit. 
Or  is  it  that  there  lurks,  indeed. 
Some  truth  in  Man's  prevailing  creed, 
And  that  our  guardians,  from  on  high. 

Come,  in  that  pause  from  toil  and  sin. 
To  put  the  senses'  curiain  by. 

And  on  the  wakeful  soul  look  in! 

Vam  thought! — but  yet,  howe'er  it  be. 

Dreams,  more  than  once,  have  prov'd  to  rao 

Oracles,  truer  fiir  than  Oak, 

Or  Dove,  or  Tripod  ever  s|X)ke. 

And  't  was  the  words — thou  'It  hear  and  smile— 

The  Viords  that  phaniom  seem'd  to  speak — 
"Go.  and  beside  the  sacred  Nile 

You  'I!  find  the  Eternal  Life  you  seek, — " 
That,  haunting  me  by  night,  by  day. 

At  length,  as  with  Ihe  unseen  hand 
Of  Fate  itself;  iirg'd  me  away 

From  .Athens  to  this  Holy  Land; 
Where,  'mong  the  secrets,  siill  untaught. 

The  myst'ries  that,  as  yet,  nor  sun 
Nor  eye  hath  reach'd — oh  blessed  thought : — 

May  sleep  this  everlasting  one. 

Farewell — when  to  our  Garden  friends 
Thou  talk'st  of  the  wild  dream  that  sends 
The  gayest  of  their  school  thus  far, 
Wandering  beneath  Canopus'  star, 
Tell  them  that,  wander  where  he  will. 

Or,  hovvsoe'er  they  now  condemn 
His  vague  and  vain  pursuit,  he  still 

Is  worlhv  of  the  School  and  them;— 
Slill,  all  their  own, — nor  e'er  forgets, 

Ev'n  while  his  heart  and  soul  pursue 
Th'  Eternal  Light  which  never  sets. 

The  many  meteor  juvs  that  do. 
But  seeks  them,  hails  them  with  delight 
Where'er  thev  meet  his  longing  sight. 
And,  if  his  life  must  wane  away. 
Like  other  lives,  at  least  the  day. 
The  hour  it  Lasts  shall,  like  a  fire 
With  incense  fed,  in  sweets  expire. 


LETTER    II. 

FROM  THE  SAME  TO  THE  SAME. 

Memptili, 

'T  is  true,  alas — the  mvsteries  and  the  lore 
I  came  to  sliidv  on  this  wondrous  shore. 
Are  all  forgotten  in  the  new  delights. 
The  strange,  wild  jovs  that  fill  my  days  and  nights 
Instead  of  dark,  dull  oracles  that  speak 
From  subterranean  temples,  those  /seek 
Come  from  the  breailiing  shrines,  where  Beauty  Uvea 
And  Love,  her  priest,  the  soft  responses  gives. 
Instead  of  honoring  Isis  in  those  rites 
At  Coptos  held,  I  bail  her,  when  she  lights 
Her  first  young  crescent  on  the  holy  stream- 
When  wandering  vouths  and  maidens  watch  her  tMittti 
And  number  o'er  the  nights  she  hath  to  run. 
Ere  she  again  embrace  her  bridegroom  sun. 
While  o'er  some  mvstic  leaf,  that  diralv  lends 
A  clue  into  p.ast  times,  the  student  bends. 


422 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  by  its  glimmering  guidance  learns  to  tread 

Back  through  the  shadowy  knowledge  of  the  dead, — 

The  only  skill,  alas,  /yet  can  claim 

Lies  in  deciphering  some  new  lov  d-one's  name — 

Some  gentle  missive,  hmting  time  and  place. 

In  language,  soft  as  Meraphian  reed  can  trace. 

And  where — oh  where  's  the  heart  that  could  with- 

siaiid, 
Th'  unnumbered  witcheries  of  this  sun-born  land. 
Where  first  young  Pleasure's  banner  v\as  unfurl'd, 
And  Love  hath  temples  ancient  as  ihe  world! 
Where  mystery,  like  the  veil  by  Beauty  worn. 
Hides  but  to  heighten,  shades  but  to  adorn; 
And  that  luxurious  melancholy,  born 
Of  passion  and  of  genius,  sheds  a  gloom 
Maldngjoy  holy; — where  the  bower  and  tomb 
Stand  side  by  side,  and  Pleasure  learns  from  Death 
The  instant  value  of  each  moment's  breath. 
Couldst  thou  but  see  how  like  a  poet's  dream 
This  lovely  land  now  l(K)ks! — the  glorious  stream. 
That  late,  between  its  banks,  was  seen  to  glide 
"Along  shrines  and  marble  cities,  on  each  side 
Glittering  like  jewels  strung  along  a  chain. 
Hath  now  sent  forth  its  waters,  and  o'er  plain 
And  valley,  like  a  giant  from  his  bed 
Rising  with  out-streich'd  limbs,  hath  grandly  spread. 
While  far  as  sight  can  reach,  beneath  as  clear 
And  blue  a  heav'n  as  ever  bless'd  our  sphere, 
Gardens,  and  pillar'd  streets,  and  porphyry  domes, 
And  high-biiilt  temples,  fit  to  be  the  homes 
Of  mighty  Gods,  and  jiyramids,  whose  hour 
Outlasts  all  lime,  above  the  waters  tower! 

Then,  too,  the  scenes  of  pomp  and  joy,  that  make 

One  theatre  of  this  vast,  peopled  lake. 

Where  all  that  Love,  Keligion,  Commerce  gives 

Of  life  and  motion,  ever  moves  and  lives. 

Here,  up  the  steps  of  temples  from  the  wave 

.Ascending,  in  proce.«sion  slow  and  grave. 

Priests  in  white  garments  go,  with  sacred  wands 

And  silver  cymbals  gleaming  in  their  hands  ; 

While  there,  rich  barks — fresh  from  those  sunny  tracts 

Far  oir  beyond  the  sounding  cataracts — 

(ilide,  with  their  precious  lading  to  the  sea. 

Plumes  of  bright  birds,  rhinoceros  ivory. 

Gems  from  the  isle  of  Meroe,  and  those  grains 

Of  gold,  wash'd  down  by  .Abyssinian  rains. 

Here,  where  the  waters  wind  into  a  bay 

Shadowy  and  cool,  some  pilgrims,  on  their  way 

To  Sais  or  Bubasius,  among  beds 

()l  lotus  flowers,  that  close  above  their  heads. 

Push  their  light  barks,  and  there,  as  in  a  bower, 

Sing,  talk,  or  sleep  away  the  sultry  hour — 

Oft  di[)ping  in  the  Aile,  when  liiiiit  with  heat, 

'I'hnt  Icafi  from  which  its  v\aicis  drink  most  sweet. 

While  haply,  not  far  ulT,  beneath  a  bank 

Of  blossoming  acacias,  many  a  prank 

Is  plav'd  in  tlie  cool  current  by  a  train 

Of  laughing  nymphs,  lovely  as  she,*  whose  chain 

Around  two  ccjnquerors  of  the  world  was  cast. 

But,  fijr  a  third  too  feeble,  broke  at  last. 

For  oh,  believe  not  ihem,  who  dare  to  brand, 
As  poor  in  charms,  Ihe  women  of  ihis  land. 
Though  darken'd  by  that  sun,  whose  spirit  flows 
'I'hrouiih  cverv  vein,  and  ting'^s  as  it  goes, 
T  is  but  ill'  embrowning  of  the  fruit  that  tells 
How  rich  within  the  soul  of  ripeness  dwells, — 
The  hue  their  own  dark  sanctuaries  wear. 
Announcing  heav'n  in  liall-cnught  glimpses  there. 
And  never  yet  did  tell-tale  looks  set  free 
'J'he  secret  of  young  hearts  more  tenderly. 
Such  eyes  I — long,  shadowy,  with  that  languid  fall 
Of  the  iring'd  lids,  whicii  may  be  seen  in  all 

•  Cleopatra. 


Who  live  beneath  the  sun's  too  ardent  rays — 
Lending  such  looks  as,  on  their  marriage  days 
Young  maids  cast  down  beliire  a  bridegroom's  gaze 
Then  for  their  grace  —  mark    but   the    nymph-lik« 

shapes 
Of  the  young  village  girls,  when  carrying  grapes 
From  green  .Anihylla,  or  light  urns  of  flowers — 
Not  our  own  Sculpture,  in  her  happiest  hours, 
E'er  imag'd  forth,  even  at  the  loucii  of  himt 
Whose  touch  was  life,  more  luxury  of  limb! 
Then,  canst  thou  wonder  if,  mid  scenes  like  these, 
I  should  forget  all  graver  mysteries, 
All  lore  but  Love's,  all  secrets  but  that  best 
In  heav'n  or  earth,  the  art  of  being  blest ! 

Yet  are  there  times, — though  brief,  I  own,  their  stay, 

Like  summer-clouds  that  shine  themselves  away,- 

Moments  of  gloom,  when  ev'n  these  pleasures  pall 

Upon  my  sadd'ning  heart,  and  I  recall 

That  Garden  dream — that  promise  of  a  power. 

Oh  were  there  such  I — to  lenglhe!i  our  life's  hour 

On,  on,  as  through  a  vista,  far  away 

Opening  before  us  into  endless  day  ! 

And  chiefly  o'er  my  spirit  did  this  thought 

Come  on  tiiat  evening — bright  as  ever  brought 

Light's  golden  farewell  to  the  world — when  first 

The  eternal  pyramids  of  Memphis  burst 

Awfully  on  my  sight — standing  sublime 

'Twixt  earth  and  heav'n,  the  watch-towers  of  Time. 

From  whose  lone  summit,  when  his  reign  hath  past 

From  earth  for  ever,  he  will  look  his  last ! 

There  hung  a  calm  and  solemn  sunshine  round 

Those  mighty  monuments,  a  hushing  sound 

[n  Ihe  still  air  that  circled  them,  which  stole 

Like  music  of  past  times  into  my  soul. 

1  thought  what  myriads  of  the  wise  and  brave 

And  beautiful  had  sunk  into  the  grave. 

Since  earth  first  saw  these  wonders — and  I  said 

"  Are  things  eternal  only  ihr  the  Dead  ? 

Is  there  ior  Man  no  hope — but  this,  which  dooms 

His  only  lasting  trophies  to  be  tombs! 

But  'lis  not  so — enrth.  heaven,  all  nature  shows 

lie  may  become  immortal, — 7mii/  unclose 

The  wings  within  him  wrapt,  and  proudly  rise 

Redeem'-:!  from  earth,  a  creature  of  the  skies! 

"  And  who  can  say,  among  the  written  spells 
From  Hermes'  hand,  that,  in  these  shrines  and  cells 
Have,  from  the  Flood,  lay  hid,  there  may  not  be 
Some  secret  clue  to  immortality, 
Some  amulet,  whose  spell  can  keep  life's  fire 
Awake  within  us,  never  to  ex|)ire  I 
'Tis  known  that,  on  the  Emerald  Table,t  hid 
For  ages  in  yon  loftiest  pyramid. 
The  'f  hrice  Greai§  did  himself  engrave,  of  old. 
The  chymic  mystery  that  gives  endless  gold. 
And  why  may  not  this  migliiier  secret  dwell 
Within  the  same  dark  chambers?  who  can  tell 
But  that  tho.se  kings,  who,  by  the  written  sldU 
Of  th'  I'.merald  Table,  call'd  iorlU  gold  at  will. 
And  quarries  iifioii  quarries  hcap'd  and  hiirl'd. 
To  build  them  domes  that  might  oui.stand  the  world — 
Who  knows  but  that  the  heavenlier  art,  which  shares 
The  Vii'e  of  (Jods  with  man,  was  also  theirs — 
That  they  themselves,  triumphant  o'er  the  power 
Of  fate  and  death,  are  living  at  this  hour; 
And  these,  the  giant  homes  they  still  possess, 
I  Not  tombs,  but  everlasting  palaces. 
Within  whose  depths,  hid  fnim  the  world  above. 
Even  now  they  wander,  with  the  few  they  love, 
'rhrougli  subterrane.in  gardens,  by  a  light 
i Unknown  on  earth,  which  hath  nor  dawti  nor  night' 
Else,  why  those  deathless  structures?  why  the  grand 
And  hidden  halls',-  that  undermine  this  land  ? 


t  Apelles.  1  S(;<"  Noipe  on  the  Epicurean 

5  The  lleimos  Trismegistiis. 


ALCIPHRON 


423 


VVhv  else  halh  none  of  earth  e'er  dared  lo  iro 
Tliroiigli  the  rliirk  windings  ol'  tlial  realm  below, 
Nor  auglit  f'ro,ri  lieav'n  iineii,  except  the  'Jod 
Of  Silence,  ihrongli  tlioae  endless  labyrinths  trod  ?" 

Thns  did  I  dream — wild,  wandering  dreams,  I  own. 
But  s(i(^li  as  haunt  me  ever,  if  alone, 
Or  in  that  'pause  't\\ix#joy  and  joy  I  be, 
Like  a  ship  Inish'd  l)c-tv\('en  two  waves  al  sea, 
Then  do  these  sjiirit  whisperings,  hke  the  sound 
Of  the  Dark  Future,  couie  appalhiig  round; 
JN'or  can  I  break  ihe  trance  that  holds  me  then. 
Till  high  o'er  Pleasure's  surge  I  mount  agani ! 

F.v'n  now  for  new  adventure,  new  delight. 
My  heart  is  on  (he  vvnit; — this  very  night, 
The  Temple  on  that  island,  lialf-v\ay  o'er 
From  Memphis'  gardens  to  the  e:istcrn  shore. 
Sends  up  Us  aiuiual  rile*  lo  her,  wliose  beams 
Bring  ilie  sweet  lime  of  nighi-flovvers  and  dreams^ 
The  nymph,  who  dips  her  urn  in  silent  lakes. 
And  turns  to  silvery  dew  each  drop  it  takes; — 
Oh,  not  our  Dian  ot  the  Aorih,  who  chains 
In  vestal  ice  the  current  of  young  veins. 
But  she  who  liaunls  ihe  pay  Bubasliaiit  grove. 
And  owns  she  sees,  iioiii  her  bright  heav'n  above, 
Nothing  on  earlli  lo  inalch  ihat  heav'n  but  I.ove. 
Thinks  then,  what  bliss  will  be  abroad  to-night! 
Beside,  that  host  of  nymphs,  who  meet  the  sight 
Day  after  day,  Ihmiliar  as  ihe  sun. 
Coy  buds  of  beauty,  yet  iinbrealh'd  upon. 
And  all  the  hidden  loveliness,  that  lies. 
Shut  up.  as  are  the  beams  of  sleeping  eyes. 
Within  these  twilight  shrines — lo-night  will  be, 
Soon  as  the  Moon's  while  bark  in  heav'n  we  see, 
Let  loose,  like  birds,  l()r  this  fest%vi:y ! 

And  mark,  'tis  nigh;  already  Ihe  sun  bids 

i^lis  evening  (Jirewell  lo  the  Pyramids, 

As  he  hath  done,  age  after  age,  till  they 

Alone  on  earth  seem  ancient  as  his  ray  ; 

While  their  great  shadows,  stretching  from  the  light. 

Look  like  the  (irsl  colossal  steps  ol'  i\ighl. 

Stretching  across  the  valley,  to  invade 

The  distant  hills  of  porphyry  wiih  their  shade. 

Around,  as  signals  ol   ihe  selling  beam, 

tiay,  gilded  flags  on  every  house-top  gleam  : 

While,  hark  !— from  all  the  temples  a  rich  swell 

Of  music  to  the  Moon — farewell — farewell. 


LETTER   III. 

FROM  THE  SA.ME  TO  THE  SAME. 

Memphis. 
There  is  some  star — or  it  may  be 

That  moon  we  saw  so  near  last  night — 
■U'hich  comes  athwart  my  destiny 

for  ever,  with  misleading  light. 
If  lor  a  momeni,  pure  and  wise 

And  calm  I  feel,  there  quick  doth  fall 
A  spark  from  some  disturbing  eyes, 
That  through  my  heart,  soul,  being  flies. 

.And  makes  a  wildlire  of  it  all. 
I've  seen — oh,  Cleon,  that  this  earth 
Should  e'er  have  giv'n  such  beauty  birth  !- 
That  man — but,  hold— hear  all  ihnt  pass'd 
Since  yester-night,  f'om  first  to  last. 


•  The  great  Festival  of  the  Moon. 

r  Bubastia,  or  his,  was  the  Diana  of  the  EL-yptinn  mylho- 
Dgy 


The  rising  of  the  Moon,  calm,  slow,  ' 

And  beautiful,  as  il  she  came 
Fresh  from  the  Klysian  Ixiwers  below, 

Was,  Willi  a  loud  and  sweet  acclaina 
Welcom'd  from  every  breezy  height. 
Where  crowds  stood  wailing  for  her  light 
And  well  luiuhl  they  who  view'd  the  scena 

Then  III  up  all  around  iheiii.  say, 
That  never  yet  had  .Sulnre  been 

Caught  sleeping  in  a  lovelier  ray 
Or  rivui'd  her  own  noon-tide  (ace. 
With  purer  show  of  moonlight  grace. 

Memphis, — still  grand,  though  not  the  same 

I'ni-ivaird  .Memphis,  that  could  aer/.e 
From  ancient  T'hcbes  ihe  crown  of  Fame, 

And  wear  il  briiihi  through  centuries — 
Now,  in  ihe  moonsliine,  thtit  came  down 

Like  a  last  smile  u|)on  thai  crown, 
Memphis,  siill  gian<l,  among  her  lakes, 

Her  pyramids  and  shrines  of  fire. 
Rose,  like  a  vision,  that  half  breaks 
On  one  who,  dreaming,  siill,  awakes 

'I'o  music  from  some  midnight  choir: 
While  to  the  west,  where  gradual  sinks 

In  the  red  sands,  from  Libya  roli'd, 
Some  mighty  column,  or  fair  sphynx. 

That  si(K)d,  in  kingly  courts,  of  old, 
It  sepm'd  as,  mid  the  pomps  Ihat  shone 
T'hus,  gaily  round  him.  Time  look'd  on. 
Waiting  till  all,  now  bright  and  blest. 
Should  fall  beneaih  him  like  the  rest. 

No  sooner  had  the  setting  sun 
Proclaim'd  the  lesial  rite  begun. 
And,  mid  their  idols  fullest  beams. 

The  F.gyptian  world  was  all  afloat. 
Than  I,  who  live  upon  these  streams. 

Like  a  young  Nile-bird,  turn'd  my  boat 
To  the  fair  island,  on  whose  shores, 
Through  leafy  palms  and  sycamores, 
Already  shone  the  moving  lights 
Of  pilgrims,  haslening  to  the  rites. 
While,  far  around,  like  ruby  sparks 
Upon  ihe  water,  lighted  baiks. 
Of  every  fiirm  and  kind — from  those 

That  dow  n  Syene's  cataract  shoots. 
To  the  grand,  gilded  barge,  ihat  rows 

To  sound  of  lamhonrs  and  of  flutes. 
And  wears  at  nighi,  in  words  of  flame. 
On  the  rich  prow,  iis  master's  name; — 
All  were  alive,  and  made  this  sea 

Of  cities  busy  as  a  hill 
Oi'  summer  nnis,  caught  suddenly 

In  the  overflowing  of  a  rill. 

Landed  upon  the  isle,  I  soon 

Through  marble  alleys  and  small  grovea 

Of  that  mvsierious  palm  she  loves. 
Reach'd  the  fair  Temple  ol  the  Mocn; 
And  there — as  slowly  Ihroiiiih  the  last 
Dim-lighled  vestibule  I  pass'd — 
Between  the  porphyry  pillars,  twin'd 

With  palm  ami  ivy.  I  could  see 
A  band  of  youthful  maidens  wind. 

In  measur'd  walk,  half  dam-ingly. 
Round  a  small  shrine,  on  which  was  plac  d 

That  bird,}  whose  plumes  of  black  and  whit* 
Wear  in  their  hue,  by  Nature  trac'd, 

A  type  of  the  moon's  shadow  "d  light. 

In  drapery,  like  woven  snow 

These  nymphs  were  clad,  and  each,  below 


XTlie  Ibis. 


424 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  rounded  bosom,  loosely  wore 

A  dark  blue  zone,  or  bandelet. 
With  little  silver  stars  all  o'er. 

As  are  the  skies  at  midnight,  set. 
While  in  their  tresses,  braided  through, 

Sparkled  the  flower  of  Egypt's  lakes, 
The  silvery  loins,  in  v\'hose  hue 

As  much  delight  the  young  Moon  takes, 
As  doth  the  Day-God  to  behold 

The  lofty  bean-flower's  buds  of  gold. 
And,  as  thev  graoefully  went  round 

The  vvorshipp'd  bird,  some  to  the  beat 
Of  castanets,  some  to  the  sound 

Of  the  shrill  sisirum  tim'd  their  feet; 
While  others,  at  each  step  they  look, 
A    tinkling  chain  of  silver  shook. 

They  seem'd  all  foir — but  there  was  one 
On  whom  the  light  had  not  yet  shone, 
Or  shone  but  partly — so  downcast 
She  held  her  brow,  as  slow  she  pass'd. 
And  yet  to  me,  there  seemed  to  dwell 

A  charm  about  that  unseen  face — 
A  something,  in  the  shade  that  fell 

Over  that  brow's  imagin'd  grace. 
Which  took  me  more  than  all  the  best 
Outshining  beauties  of  the  rest. 
And  her  alone  my  eyes  could  see, 
Enchain'd  bv  this  sweet  mystery  ; 
And  her  alone  I  vvalch'd,  as  round 
She  glided  o'er  that  marble  ground. 
Stirring  not  more  th'  unconscious  air 
Than  if  a  Spirit  had  moved  there. 
Till  suddenly,  wide  open  flew 
The  Temple's  folding  gates,  and  threwr 
A  splendour  from  within,  a  flood 
Of  Glory  where  these  maidens  stood.. 
While,  with  that  light, — as  if  the  same 
Rich  source  gave  birth  to  both,  there  came 
A  swell  of  harmony,  as  grand 
As  e'er  was  born  of  voice  and  hand, 
Filling  the  gorgeous  aisles  around 
With  the  mix'd  burst  of  light  and  sound. 

Then  was  it,  by  the  flash  that  blaz'd 

Full  o'er  her  features — oh  't  was  then, 
As  startingly  her  eyes  she  rais'd, 

But  quick  let  foil  their  lids  again, 
I  saw — not  Psvche's  self,  when  first 

Upon  the  threshold  of  the  skies 
She  paus'd,  while  heaven's  glory  burst 

Nowlv  upon  her  downcast  eyes, 
Could  look  more  beautiful  or  blush 

With  holier  shame  than  did  this  maid, 
Whom  now  I  saw,  in  all  thai  gush 

Of  splendour  from  the  aisles,  display'd. 
Never — tho'  well  Ihou  know'st  how  much 

I  've  felt  the  sway  of  Beauty's  star — 
Never  di<l  her  hrisrht  influence  touch 

I\Iy  soul  iulo  lis  depths  so  fir; 
And  had  that  vision  linier'd  there 

One  minute  more,  I  should  have  flown, 
Forgelful  v)hrt  I  was  and  whore. 

And,  at  her  feet  in  worship  thrown, 

Profl'er'd  my  soul  through  life  her  own. 

But,  scarcely  had  that  burst  of  light 
And  music  broke  on  ear  and  sight. 
Than  up  the  aisle  the  bird  took  wing. 

As  if  on  heavenlv  mission  sent, 
While  after  him,  wilh  graceful  spring. 

Like  some  unearlhlv  creatures,  meant 

To  live  in  ihal  mix'd  element 

Of  light  and  song,  the  voung  maids  went 
And  she,  who  in  mv  heart  had  thrown 
A  spark  to  burn  for  life,  was  flown. 


In  vain  I  tried  to  follow  ; — tjands 

Of  reverend  chanters  fill'd  the  aisle: 
Where'er  I  sought  to  pass,  their  wands 

Molion'd  me  back,  while  many  a  file 
Of  sacred  nymphs — but  ah,  not  they 
Whom  my  eyes  look'd  fi)r — throng'd  the  way. 
Perplex'd,  impaiieni,  mid  Ihis  crowd 
Of  laces,  lights — the  o'erwhplming  cloud 
Of  incense  round  me,  and  rny  blood 
Full  of  its  new-bom  fire, — I  stood, 
]Vor  mov'd,  nor  breath'd,  but  when  I  caugb» 

A  glimpse  of  some  blue,  spangled  zone. 
Or  wreaih  of  lotus,  which,  I  thought. 

Like  those  she  wore  at  distance  shone. 

But  no,  't  was  vain — hour  after  hour, 

Till  my  heart's  throbbing  turn'd  to  pain, 
And  my  sirain'd  eyesight  lost  its  power, 

I  sought  her  thus,  but  all  in  vain. 
At  length,  hot, — wilder'd, — in  despair, 
I  rush'd  into  ihe  cool  nighl-air, 
And  hurrying  (though  with  many  a  look 
Back  to  the  busv  Temple)  took 
My  way  along  the  moonlight  shore. 
And  sprung  into  my  boat  once  more. 

There  is  a  Lake,  that  to  the  north 
Of  Memphis  stretches  grandly  forth. 
Upon  whose  silent  shore  the  De.ad 

Have  a  proud  City  of  iheir  own,* 
Wilh  shrines  and  pyramids  o'erspread,— 
Where  many  an  ancient  kingly  head 

Slumbers,  immorializ'd  in  stone; 
And  where,  through  marble  grols  beneath, 

The  lifeless,  rang'd  like  sacred  things, 
Nor  wanting  aught  of  life  but  breath. 

Lie  in  their  painted  coverings. 
And  on  each  new  successive  race. 

That  visit  their  dim  haunts  below. 
Look  with  the  same  unwithering  face. 

They  wore  three  thousand  years  ago. 
There,  Sil-°nce,  thouglilful  God,  who  loves 
The  neighbourhood  of  death,  in  groves 
Of  asphodel  lies  hid,  and  weaves 
His  hushing  spell  among  the  leaves, — 
Nor  ever  noise  disturbs  the  air. 

Save  the  low,  humming,  mournful  sound 
Of  priesis,  wilhin  their  shrines,  at  prayer 

For  the  fresh  Dead  entomb'd  around. 

'T  was  tow'rd  this  place  of  death — in  mood 

Made  up  of  thoughts,  half  bright,  half  dark- 
I  now  across  the  shining  flood 

Unconscious  turn'd  my  light-wing'd  bark. 
The  form  of  thai  young  maid,  in  all 

Its  beauty,  was  befiire  me  still; 
And  oft  I  thought,  if  thus  to  call 

Her  image  to  my  mind  at  will, 
If  but  the  memory  of  lliat  one 
Bright  look  of  hers,  for  ever  gone, 
Was  to  my  heart  worlh  all  the  rest 
Of  woman-kind,  beheld,  possest — 
What  would  it  be,  if  »v|iolly  mine. 
Within  these  arms,  as  in  a  shrine, 
Hallow'd  by  Love,  I  saw  her  shine, 
An  idol,  vvorshipp'd  by  the  light 
Of  her  own  beauties,  day  and  night— 
If  't  was  a  blessing  but  lo  see 
And  lose  again,  what  would  this  be 

In  thoughts  like  these — but  often  crost 
By  darker  threads — my  mind  was  lost, 


*  NccropoliB,  or  the  City  of  the  Dea',  to  the  loiilli  ol 

Memphis. 


ALCIPHbON. 


425 


Till,  near  that  City  of  the  Dead, 

VVak'd  from  my  trance,  I  saw  o'erhead — 

As  if  by  some  eiictianier  bid 

Suddenly  from  Ilie  v\ave  to  rise — 
Pyramid  over  pyramid 

Tower  in  succession  to  the  skies; 
While  one,  aspiring,  as  if  soon 

'T  would  touch  the  heavens,  rose  o'er  all ; 
And,  on  its  summit,  the  white  moon 

Rested,  as  on  a  pedestal! 

The  silence  of  the  lonely  tombs 

And  temples  round,  where  nought  was  heard 
But  the  high  palm-tree's  lulled  plumes, 

Shaken,  at  times,  by  breeze  or  bird, 
Form'd  a  deep  contrast  to  the  scene 
Of  revel,  where  I  late  had  been; 
To  Ihose.giiy  sounds,  that  still  came  o'er, 
Faintly,  from  many  a  distant  shore, 
And  tlV  umiiimber'd  lights,  that  shone 
Far  o'er  the  flood,  from  Memphis  on 
To  the  Moon's  Isle  and  Babylon. 

My  oars  were  lifted,  and  my  boat 

Lay  rock'd  upon  the  rip[)ling  stream; 
While  my  vague  thoughts,  alike  afloat, 

Drifted  through  many  an  idle  dream, 
With  all  of  which,  wild  and  unflx'd 
As  was  their  aim,  that  vision  mix'd, 
That  bright  nymph  of  the  Temple — now 
With  the  same  innocence  of  brow 
She  wore  within  the  lighted  fane, — 
Now  kindling,  through  each  pulse  and  vein 
With  passion  of  such  deep-felt  fire 
As  Gods  migiit  glory  to  inspire  ; — 
And  now — oh  Darkness  of  the  tomb. 

That  must  eclipse  ev'n  light  like  hers! 
Cold,  dead,  and  blackening  mid  the  gloom 

Of  those  eternal  sepulchres. 

Scarce  had  I  turn'd  my  eyes  away 

From  that  dark  death-place,  at  the  thought. 
When  by  the  sound  of  dashing  spray 

From  a  light  oar  my  ear  was  caught. 
While  past  me,  through  the  moonlight,  sail'd 

A  little  gilded  bark,  that  bore 
Two  female  figures,  closely  veil'd 

And  mantled,  towards  that  funeral  shore. 
They  landed — and  the  boat  again 
Put  off  across  the  watery  plain. 

Shall  I  confess — to  thee  I  may — 

That  never  yet  hath  come  the  chance 
Of  a  new  music,  a  new  ray 

From  woman's  voice,  from  woman's  glance, 
Which — let  it  find  me  how  it  might, 

In  joy  or  grief — I  did  not  bless, 
And  wander  after,  as  a  light 

Leading  to  undreamt  happiness. 
And  chiefly  now,  when  hopes  so  vain. 
Were  stirring  in  my  heart  and  brain. 
When  Fancy  had  allur'd  my  soul 

Into  a  chase,  as  vague  and  liir 
As  would  be  his,  who  fix'd  his  goal 

In  the  horizon,  or  some  star — 
Any  bewilderment,  that  brought 
More  near  to  earth  my  high-flown  thought — 
The  faintest  glimpse  of  joy,  less  pure, 
Less  high  and  lieaveiily,  but  more  sure, 
Came  welcome — and  was  then  to  me 
What  the  first  flowery  isle  must  be 
To  vagrant  birds,  blown  out  to  sea. 

Quick  to  the  shore  I  urged  my  bark. 
And   by  ihe  bursts  of  moonlight,  shed 

Between  the  lofiy  tombs,  could  mark 
Those  figures,  as  with  hasty  tread 


They  glided  on — till  in  the  shade 

Of  a  small  pyramid,  which  through 
Some  boughs  of  palm  its  peak  display'd, 
They  vanisli'd  instant  from  my  view. 
I  hurried  to  the  spot — no  trace 
Of  lifia  was  in  that  lonely  place; 
And,  had  the  creed  I  hold  by  taught 
Of  other  worlds,  I  might  have  thought 
Some  mocking  spiriis  liaii  from  ihence 
Come  in  this  guise  to  cheat  my  sense. 

At  length,  exploring  darkly  round 
'i'lie  Pyramid's  smooth  sides,  I  found 
An  iron  |K)rial, — opening  high 

'Twixt  peak  and  base — and,  with  a  pi^y'r 
To  the  bliss-loving  moon,  whose  eye 

Alone  beheld  me,  sprung  in  there. 
Downward  the  narrow  stairway  led 
Through  many  a  duct  obscure  and  dread, 

A  labyrinth  (or  mystery  made, 
With  wanderings  onward,  backward,  round. 
And  gathering  still,  where'er  it  wound. 

But  deeper  density  of  shade. 

Scarce  had  I  ask'd  myself  "  Can  aught 

That  man  delights  in  sojourn  here?" — 
When,  suddenly,  far  ofli  I  caught 

A  glimpse  of  light,  remote,  but  clear, — 
Whose  welcome  glimmer  seem'd  to  pour 

From  some  alcove  or  cell,  that  ended 
The  long,  steep,  marble  corridor, 

Through  which  I  now,  all  hope,  descended 

Never  did  Spartan  to  his  bride 
With  warier  foot  at  midnight  glide. 
It  seem'd  as  echo's  self  were  dead 
In  this  dark  place,  so  mute  my  tread. 
Reaching,  at  length,  that  light,  I  saw — 

Oh  listen  to  the  scene,  now  raised 
Before  my  eyes,  then  guess  the  awe, 

The  still,  rapt  awe  wilh  which  I  gazecL 
'T  was  a  small  chapel,  lin'd  around 
With  the  fair,  spangling  marble,  found 
In  many  a  riiin'd  shrine  that  slands 
Half  seen  above  the  Libyan  sands. 
The  walls  were  richly  sculptur'd  o'er, 
And  character'd  wilh  that  dark  lore 
Of  times  before  the  h'lood,  whose  key 
Was  lost  in  th'  '  Universal  Sea,' — 
While  on  the  roof  was  pictured  bright 

The  Theban  beetle,  as  he  shines. 

When  the  Nile's  mighty  flow  declii;6a 
And  forth  the  creature  springs  to  light. 
With  life  regenerate  in  his  wings: 
F.mblem  of  vain  imaginings! 
Of  a  new  world,  when  this  is  gone. 
In  which  the  spirit  still  lives  on! 

Direct  beneath  this  type,  reclin'd 

On  a  black  granite  altar,  lay 
A  female  form,  in  crystal  shrin'd. 

And  looking  fresh  as  if  the  ray 

Of  soul  had  fled  b'lt  yesterday. 
While  in  relief,  of  silvery  hue, 

Graved  on  ihe  altar's  front  were  seen 
A  branch  of  lotus,  brok'n  in  two. 

As  that  fair  creature's  life  had  been. 
And  a  small  bird  that  from  its  spray 
Was  winging,  like  her  soul,  away. 

But  brief  the  glimpse  I  now  could  spare 
To  the  w  ild,  mystic  wonders  round  , 

For  there  was  vet  one  wonder  there. 
That  held  me  as  by  v\itchery  bound. 

The  lamp,  that  through  the  chamber  she*! 

Its  vivid  beam,  was  at  the  head 


426 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Of  her  who  on  that  altar  slept  ; 

And  near  it  stood,  when  first  I  came, — 
Bending  her  brow,  as  if  she  kept 

Sad  watch  upon  its  silent  flame — 
A  female  form,  as  yet  so  plac'd 

Between  the  lamp's  strong  slow  and  me, 
That  I  but  saw,  in  outline  Irac'd, 

The  shadow  of  her  symmetry. 
Yet  did  my  heart — I  srarre  knew  why — 
Ev'n  at  that  shadow'd  shape  beat  high. 
Nor  long  was  it,  ere  full  iu  sight 
The  figure  turn'd  ;  and,  by  the  light 
That  touch'd  her  features,  as  she  bent. 
Over  the  rrvstal  monument, 
I  saw  't  was  she — the  same — the  same — 

That  lately  stood  befi)re  me — bright'ning 
The  holy  spot,  where  she  but  came 
And  went  agam,  like  summer  lightning! 

Upon  the  crystal,  o'er  the  breast 
Of  her  who  took  that  silent  rest. 
There  was  a  cross  of  silver  lying— 

Another  type  of  that  blest  home, 
Which  hope,  and  pride,  and  fear  of  dying 

Build  for  us  in  a  world  to  come  : — 
This  silver  cross  the  maiden  rais'd 
To  her  pure  lips  ; — then,  having  gazed 
Some  minutes  on  that  tranquil  face, 
Sleeping  in  all  death's  mournful  grace. 
Upward  she  turn'd  her  brow  serene, 

As  if,  intent  on  heaven,  those  eyes 
Saw  then  nor  roof  nor  cloud  between 

Their  own  pure  orbits  and  the  skies; 
And,  though  her  lips  no  motion  made, 

And  that  fix'd  look  was  all  her  speech, 
I  saw  that  the  rapt  spirit  pray'd 
Deeper  within  than  words  could  reach. 

Strange  pow'r  of  Innocence,  to  turn 

To  Its  own  huevvhale'er  comes  near; 
And  make  even  vagrant  Passion  burn 

With  purer  warmth  within  its  sphere! 
She  who,  but  one  short  hour  before, 
Had  come,  like  sudden  wild-fire,  o'er 
My  heart  and  brain, — whom  gladly,  even 

From  that  bright  Temple,  in  the  face 
Of  those  proud  ministers  of  heaven, 

I  would  have  borne,  in  wild  embrace, 
Andrisk'd  ail  punishment,  divine 
And  human,  but  lo  make  her  mine; — 
That  maid  was  now  before  me,  thrown 

By  fate  itself  into  my  arms — 
There  standing,  beautitul,  alone. 

With  nought  to  guard  her,  but  her  charms. 
Yet  did  I — f)h  did  ev'n  a  breath 
.    From  my  parch'd  lips,  too  paroh'd  to  move, 
Disturb  a  scene  where  thus,  beneath 

Karth's  silent  covering.  Youth  and  Death 

Held  converse  through  undying  love? 
No — smile  and  taunt  me  as  thou  wilt — 

Though  but  to  gaze  thus  was  delight. 
Yet  seein'd  it  like  a  wrontr,  a  guilt. 

To  win  bv  stealth  so  pure  a  sight ; 
And  rather  tlian  a  look  profine 

Should  then  have  met  those  thoughtful  eyes, 
Or  voice,  or  whisper  broke  the  chain 

Thai  link'd  her  spirit  with  the  skies. 
I  would  have  gladly,  in  that  place, 
From  which  I  watcii'd  her  heav'n-ward  face 
Let  my  heart  break,  without  one  beat 
That  could  disturb  a  prayer  so  sweet. 

Gently  as  if  on  every  tread, 

Mv  lif<3,  mv  more  than  life  depended. 

Back  through  the  corridor  that  led 
To  this  blest  sc'ene  I  now  ascended, 

And  with  plow  seeking,  and  some  pain, 


And  many  a  winding  tried  in  vam 
Emerg'd  to  upper  air  again. 

The  sun  had  freshly  ris'n,  and  down 

The  marble  hills  of  Araby, 
Scalter'd,  as  from  a  conqueror's  crown, 

His  beams  into  that  living  sea. 
There  seem'd  a  glory  in  his  light. 

Newly  put  on — as  if  for  pride 
Of  the  high  homage  paid  this  night 

To  his  own  Isis,  his  young  bride. 
Now  fading  feminine  away 
In  her  proud  Lord's  superior  ray. 

My  mind's  first  impulse  was  to  fly 

At  once  from  this  entangling  net — 
New  scenes  to  range,  new  loves  to  try. 
Or,  in  mirth,  wine  and  luxury  4 

Of  every  sense,  that  night  forget. 
But  vain  the  effort — spell-hound  still, 
I  linger'd,  without  power  or  will 

To  turn  my  eyes  from  that  dark  door, 
Which  now  enclos'd  her  'mong  the  dead  ; 

Oft  fancying,  through  the  boughs,  that  o'e? 

The  sunnv  pile  their  flickering  shed, 
'T  was  her  light  form  agaui  I  saw 

Starting  to  earth — still  pure  and  bright, 
But  wakening,  as  I  hop'd,  less  awe. 

Thus  seen  by  morning's  natural  light, 

Than  in  that  strange,  dim  cell  at  night. 

But  no,  alas, — she  ne'er  return'd  : 

Nor  yet — tho'  still  I  watch — nor  yet. 
Though  the  red  sun  for  hours  hath  bnrn'd. 

And  now,  in  his  mid  course,  had  met 
The  peak  of  that  eternal  pile 

He  pauses  still  at  noon  to  bless, 
Standing  beneath  his  downward  smile, 

Like  a  great  Spirit,  shadowless! 
Nor  yet  she  comes — while  here,  alone, 

Saunt'ring  through  this  death-peopled  place, 
'Where  no  heart  beats  except  my  own, 
Or  'neath  a  palm-tree's  shelter  thrown, 

By  turns  I  watch,  and  rest,  and  trace 
These  lines,  that  are  to  waft  to  thee 
My  last  night's  wondrous  history. 

Dost  thou  remember,  in  that  Isle 

Of  our  own  Sea,  where  thou  and  I 
Linger'd  so  long,  so  happy  a  while. 

Till  all  the  summer  flowers  went  by — 
How  gay  it  was  when  sunset  brought 

To  the  cool  Well  our  favourite  maids — 
Some  we  had  won,  and  some  we  sought— 

To  dance  within  the  fragrant  shades. 
And,  till  the  stars  went  down,  attune 
Their  Fountain  n)'mns*  to  the  young  moon* 

That  time,  too — oh,  't  is  like  a  dream — 

When  from  .Scamander's  holy  tide 
I  sprung,  as  Genius  of  Ilie  Stream, 

And  bore  av\!iv  that  blooming  bride, 
Who  thither  came,  to  yield  her  charms 

(As  Phrygian  maids  are  wont,  ere  wed) 
Into  the  cold  Scamander's  arms, 

But  met,  and  we'com'd  mine,  instead- 
Wondering,  as  on  mv  neck  she  fell. 
How  river-srods  could  love  so  well ! 
Who  would  have  thought  that  he,  who  rov'd 

Like  the  first  bees  of  summer  then, 
Rifling  each  sweet,  nor  ever  lov'd 

But  the  free  hearts,  that  lov'd  again, 
Readily  as  the  reed  replies 
To  the  last  breath  that  round  it  sighs— 


*  These  Sonps  of  the  Well,  as  they  were  called  by  the  1 
cients,  are  still  common  in  the  Greek  i8lea. 


ALCIPIIROX. 


427 


Is  the  same  dreamer  who,  last  night, 
iSldod  aw'd  and  breathless  at  the  sight 
or  one  Egj'pliaii  girl ;  and  now 
Wanders  among  these  tombs,  with  brow 
Pale,  wutchlul,  sad,  as  ilio'  he  just, 
Himselii  had  ris'n  I'rom  out  their  dust! 

Yet,  so  it  is — and  the  same  thirst 

For  somelhiiii.'  hi".'h  and  piiro,  above 
This  witherin;;  world,  vnIhcIi,  Iroin  the  first 

Make  me  tlrnik  deep  ot   woiiiun's  love, 
As  the  one  joy,  to  lieav'n  most  near 
Of  all  our  hearls  can  meet  with  here, — 
Still  burns  me  np,  still  keej)s  awake 
\  fever  nougUt  but  death  can  slake. 

Farewell;  whatever  may  beHill, — 
ft  briglit,  or  dark — thou  "It  know  it  all. 


LETTER   IV. 

FROM  THE  SAME  TO  THE  SAME. 

/VoNDERS  on  wonders  ;  siijhls  that  lie 

Where  never  sun  gave  ilow'rel  birlh; 
Bright  marvels,  hid  from  tli'  upper  sky, 
And  mysi'ries  iliat  are  born  and  die 

Deep  in  the  very  heart  of  earih ! — 
All  that  the  ancient  Orpheus,  led 

By  courage  that  Love  only  gives, 
Dar  d  for  a  matchless  idol,  dead, 

1  've  seen  and  dar'd  for  one  who  lives. 

Again  the  moon  was  up.  and  found 
The  echoes  of  my  feet  still  round 
The  monumenis  of  this  lone  place  ; — 

Or  saw  me,  if  awhile  my  lid 
Yielded  to  sleep,  streich'd  al  the  base 

Of  that  now  precious  Pyramid, 
In  slumbe:  that  the  gentlest  stir. 
The  stillest,  air-like  step  ot  her. 
Whom  ev'n  in  sleep  I  vvalch'd,  could  chase. 
And  then,  such  various  lorms  she  seera'd 
To  wear  before  me,  as  1  dream'd  I — 

Now,  like  Neitha,  on  her  throne 

At  Sai's,  all  reveal'd  she  shone. 

With  that  dread  veil  thrown  off"  her  brow. 

Which  mortal  never  rais'd  till  now  ;* 

Then,  (juickly  chang'd,  methought  'twas  she 

Of  whom  tlie  Momphian  boatmen  tells 
Such  wondrous  tales — fair  Rhodope, 

The  subterranean  nyinph,  that  dwells 
'Mid  sunless  gems  ;»ihI  glories  hid, 
The  Lady  of  the  Pyramid  I 

At  length,  from  one  of  these  short  dreams 
Starting — as  if  the  subtile  beams, 
Then  playing  o'er  my  brow,  had  brought 
Some  sudden  light  into  my  thought — 
Down  for  my  boat-lamp  to  the  shore. 

Where  still  it  palely  burnd,  1  went; 
Resolv'd  that  night  to  try  once  more 

The  mystery  of  this  monument. 

Thus  arm'd.  I  scarce  had  reach'd  the  gate, 
When  a  loud  screaming — like  the  cry 

Of  some  wild  creature  to  its  mate — 

Came  startling  from  the  palm-grove  nigh  ;- 


Or,  whether  haply  't  was  the  creak 

Of  those  Lethaean  porials.t  said 
To  give  thus  out  a  mournliil  shriek, 

VVhen  oped  at  midnighi  lor  the  dead. 
Whate'ir  it  was,  the  sound  came  o'er 

My  heart  like  ice,  as  through  the  doo» 
Of  the  small  Pyramid  I  went. 
And  down  the  same  abrupt  descent. 
And  through  long  windings,  as  before, 
Reach'd  the  steep  marble  corridor. 

Trembling  I  stole  along — the  light 
In  the  lone  chnpel  still  burn'd  on  ; 

But  she,  fi)r  whom  my  soul  and  sight 

Look'd  with  a  thirst  so  keen,  was  gone,— 

By  some  invisible  |)ath  hail  (led 

Into  that  gloom,  and  Icit  the  Dead 

To  its  own  solitary  rest. 

Of  all  lone  things  the  loneliest. 

As  stiJl  the  cross,  which  she  had  kisb'd. 

Was  lying  on  the  crystal  shrine, 
I  took  it  up,  nor  could  resist 

('I'hough  the  dead  eyes.  I  thought,  met  mine; 
Kissing  it  too,  while,  half  ashamed 
Of  that  mule  presence,  I  exclaimed, 
"Oh  Life  to  Come,  if  in  thy  sphere 

Love,  Woiiiiin's  love,  our  heav'n  could  be 
Who  would  not  ev'n  fitrego  ;i  here, 

To  taste  it  there  eiernally  i" 
Hopeless,  yet  with  unwilling  pace, 
Leaving  the  spot,  I  turn'd  to  tiMCo 
My  pathway  back,  when,  to  ttie  right, 
I  could  perceive,  by  my  lamp's  light. 
That  the  long  corridor  which,  viewed 

'Phrough  distance  dim,  had  seem'd  to  end 
Abruptly  here,  still  on  pursued 

lis  sinuous  course,  with  snake-like  bend 
Mocking  the  eye,  as  down  it  wound 
Still  deeper  through  that  dark  profound. 

Again,  mv  hopes  were  rais'd,  and,  fast 

As  the  dim  lamp-light  \\ould  allow. 
Along  that  new-founii  path  I  past. 

Through  countless  turns  ;  descending  now 
By  narrow  ducts,  now,  up  again, 
'Mid  columns,  in  w  hose  date  the  chain 
Of  time  is  lost:  and  thence  along 
Cold  halls,  in  which  a  sapless  throng 
Of  Dead  stood  up,  with  glassy  eye 
Meeting  ray  gaze,  as  I  went  by  — 
Till,  lost  among  these  winding  ways, 

Coil'd  round  and  round,  like  serpents'  folds, 
I  thought  myself  in  that  dun  maze 

Down  under  .Mcens'  Lake,  which  holds 
The  hidden  wealth  of  the  Twelve  King-s, 
Safe  from  all  human  visitings. 
At  length,  the  paili  clos'd  suddenly; 

And,  by  my  lamp,  whose  glimmering  fell 
Now  faint  and  lainier,  I  could  see 

Nought  but  the  mouth  of  a  huge  well. 
Gaping  athwart  my  onward  track, — 
A  reservoir  of  darkness,  black 
As  witches'  caldrons  are,  when  fill'd 
With  moon-drugs  in  th'  eclipse  dislill'd. 
Leaning  to  look  il  foot  might  pass 
Down  through  that  chasm,  I  saw,  beneath, 

.As  far  as  vision  could  explore. 
The  jetty  sides  all  smooth  as  glass, 

Looking  as  if  just  varnish'd  o'er 
With  that  dark  pitch  the  Sea  of  Death 
Throws  out  upon  its  slimy  shore. 


*  See.  for  the  veil  of  Neillia.  the  inscription  upon  her  tem-      t  The  brazen  portals  al  Memphis,   mentioned  by  Zo^ft 
pie,  as  given  bv  Plutarch  de  Is.cl  Osir.  '  called  the  Gates  of  Oblivion. 


Doubting  awhile;  yet  lolh  lo  leave 

Aiighi  unexplor'ci,  the  chasm  ]  tried 
With  nearer  search  ;  and  could  perceive 

An  iron  s!ep  that  from  the  side 
Stood  dimly  out;  while,  lower  still, 
Another  ranged,  less  visible. 
But  a])ily  pluc'd,  as  if  to  aid 
Th'  adventurous  foot,  that  dar'd  the  shade. 
Though  hardly  t  could  deem  that  e'er 
Weak  woman's  foot  had  ventured  there, 
Yet,  urged  along  by  the  wild  heat 
That  can  do  all  things  but  retreat, 
I  placed  my  lamp,— which  for  such  task 
VVas  aptly  shajied,  like  cap  or  casque 
To  fit  the  brow, — firm  on  my  head. 

And  down  into  the  darkness  went; 
Still  finding  for  my  cautious  tread 

New  foot-hold  in  that  deep  descent, 
Which  seem'd  as  tho'  'twould  thus  descend 
In  depth  and  darkness  without  end. 
At  length,  this  step-way  ceas'd  ;  in  vain 
I  sought  some  hold,  that  would  sustain 
My  down-stretch'd  fbiVi — the  polish'd  side, 
Slippery  and  hard,  all  help  denied: 
Till,  as  I  bow'd  my  lamp  around, 

To  let  its  now  faint  glimmer  fall 
On  every  side,  with  joy  I  found 

Just  near  me,  in  the  shining  wall, 
A  window  (whic:h  had  'scap'd  my  view 
In  that  half  shadow)  and  sprung  through. 
'T  was  downward  still,  but  far  less  rude — 

By  stairs  that  through  the  live  rock  wound 

In  narrow  spiral  round  and  round, 
Whose  giddy  sweep  my  foot  pursued 
Till,  lo,  before  a  gate  1  stood, 
Which  oped,  I  saw,  into  the  same 
Deep  well,  from  whence  but  now  I  came. 
Thf/  doors  were  iron,  yet  gave  way 
Ligiitly  before  me,  as  the  spray 
Of  a  young  lime-tree,  that  receives 
Some  wandering  bird  among  its  leaves. 
But,  soon  as  1  had  pass'd,  the  din, 

Th'  o'erwhelining  din,  with  which  again 
They  clash'd  their  folds,  and  closed  me  in, 

Was  such  as  seldom  sky  or  main, 
Or  heaving  earth,  or  all,  when  met 

In  angriest  strilis,  e'er  equall'd  yet. 
It  seem'd  as  if  the  ponderous  sound 

VVas  by  a  thousand  echoes  hurl'd 
From  one  to  th'  other,  through  the  round 

Of  this  great  subterranean  world, 
Till,  far  as  from  the  catacombs 
Of  Alexandria  to  the  'I'ombs 
In  ancient  Tnebes's  Valley  of  Kings, 
Rung  lis  tremendous  thunderings. 
Vet  could  not  ev'n  this  rude  surprise, 

Which  well  might  move  fiir  bolder  men, 
One  instant  turn  my  charmed  eyes 

F'rom  tho  blest  scene  that  haii  d  them  then. 
As  1  had  rightly  deem'd,  the  place 
Where  now  I  stood  was  the  well's  base, 
The  bottom  of  the  chasm  ;  and  bright 

Bef()re  me,  through  tho  massy  bars 
Of  a  huge  gate,  there  came  a  light 

Soft,  warm,  and  welcome,  as  the  stars 
Of  his  own  .South  are  to  the  sight 
Of  one,  who,  from  his  sunny  home. 
To  the  chill  North  had  dar'd  to  roam. 

And  oh  the  scene,  now  opening  through 

Those  bars  that  all  but  sight  denied! — 
A  long,  fair  alley,  fiir  as  view 

Could  reach  away,  along  whose  side 
Went,  lessening  to  the  end,  a  row 

Of  ricli  arcades,  that,  (i-om  between 
Their  glistening  pillars,  sent  a  glow 

Of  countless  lamps,  burning  unseen, 


And  that  still  air,  as  from  a  spring 

Of  hidden  light,  illumining. 

While — soon  as  the  wild  echoes  rous'd 

From  their  deep  haunts  again  were  hous'd,— 

I  heard  a  strain  of  holy  sung 

Breathing  from  out  the  bright  arcades 
Into  that  silence — where,  among 

'I'he  high  sweet  voices  of  young  maids. 
Which,  like  the  small  and  heav  n-ward  spire 

Of  Christian  temples,  crown'd  the  choir, 
I  fancied,  (such  the  fancy's  sway) 

Though  never  yet  my  ear  had  caught 
Sound  from  her  lips — yet,  in  liiat  lay 

So  worthy  of  her  looks,  niethought 
That  maiden's  voice  1  heard,  o'er  all 

Most  high  and  heavenly, — to  my  ear 
Sounding  distinctly,  like  the  call 

Of  a  far  spirit  from  its  sphere. 

But  vain  the  call — that  stubborn  gate 

Like  destiny,  all  force  defied. 
Anxious  1  look'd  around — and,  stiaight, 

An  opening  to  the  left  descried. 
Which,  though  like  hell's  own  mouth  it  seem^t^ 
Yet  led,  as  by  its  course  I  deem'd 
Parallel  with  those  lighted  ways 
I'hat  'cross  the  alley  pour'd  their  blaze. 
F.ager  1  sioop'd,  this  path  to  tread. 
When,  suddenly,  the  wall  o'er-head 
Grew  with  a  fitful  lustre  bright. 
Which,  settling  gradual  on  the  sight 
Into  clear  characters  of  light. 
These  words  on  its  dark  ground  I  read.— 

"You,  who  would  try 
This  terrible  track, 
To  live,  or  to  die, 
But  ne'er  te  look  back; 

"  You,  who  aspire 

To  be  purified  there 
By  the  terrors  of  Fire 
And  Water  and  Air; 

"If  danger  and  pain 

And  death  you  despise  — 
On —  fiir  again 

Into  light  you  may  rise, — 

"Rise  into  light 

With  that  Secret  Divine 
JVow  shrouded  from  sight 
By  the  Veils  of  the  Shrine! 

..  But  if " 


The  words  here  dimm'd  awar 
Till,  lost  in  darkness,  vague  and  dread, 
Their  very  silence  seem'd  to  say 

Awfuller  things  than  words  e'er  said. 

"  Am  I  then  in  tho  path."  I  cried, 

"To  the  Great  Mystery?  shall  I  see, 
And  touch, — perhaps,  ev'n  draw  aside 
Those  venerable  veils,  which  hide 

The  secret  of  Miernity  I" 
This  thought  at  once  reviv'd  the  zeal, 

The  thirst  for  I'gypl's  hidden  lore 
Whic^h  i  had  almost  ceas'd  to  fisel, 

In  the  new  dreams  that  won  me  o'er. 
For  now — oh  happiness.' — it  seem'd 
As  if  /jot/i  hopes  belore  me  beam'd— 
As  if  that  spirit-nymph,  whose  tread 

1  trac'd  down  hither  from  above, 
To  more  than  one  sweet  treasure  led— 
Lighting  me  to  the  fiiuntain-head 

Of  Knowledge  by  the  star  of  Love. 


Instant  I  enter'd — though  the  ray 

Of  mv  spout  lump  \\;is  ne;ir  ils  last, — 
And  (]uick  iliri)un;li  tiuiny  a  cliiniiiel-vvay, 

'sv'n  nidiT  lliaii  llio  former,  pass'd  ; 
Till,  just  as  sunk  the  larevvell  spark, 
[  spied  bef()re  nie,  thningli  the  dark, 
A  paly  fire,  that  moment  raised. 
Which  still  as  I  approacli'd  it,  blazed 
With  stronger  light, — till,  as  I  came 
More  near,  I  saw  my  pathwav  led 
Between  two  hedges  of  live  flame, — 

Trees  all  on  lire,  whose  branches  shed 
A  glow  that,  without  noise  or  smoke, 

Yet  strong  as  from  a  furnace,  broke  ; 
While  o'er  the  glaring  ground  between, 
Where  my  sole,  onward  path  was  seen, 
Hot  iron  bars,  red  as  with  ire. 

Transversely  lav — such  as,  they  tell, 
Compose  that  irellis-work  of  fire, 

Through  which  the  Doom'd  look  out  in  hell. 

To  linger  there  was  to  be  lost — 

IMore  and  still  more  the  burning  trees 
Clos'd  o'er  the  path;  and  as  I  crost — 

With  tremour  both  in  heart  and  knees — 
Fixing  my  (()ot  where'er  a  space 
'T  vvixt  the  red  bars  gave  resting-place, 
Aljove  me,  each  quick  burning  tree, 
Tamarind,  Balm  of  Arabv, 
And  Egypt's  Thorn  combined  to  spread 
A  roof  of  fire  above  mv  head. 
Yet  safe — or  with  but  harudess  scorch — 

I  trod  the  flaming  ordeal  through; 
And  promptly  seizing,  as  a  torch 

To  light  me  on  to  daugei-s  new, 
A  fallen  bough  that  kindling  lay 
Across  the  path,  pursued  my  way. 

Nor  went  T  far  before  the  sound 

Of  downward  torrents  struck  my  ear; 
And,  by  my  torch's  gleam.  I  found 
That  the  dark  space  which  yawn'd  around, 

Was  a  wide  cavern,  far  and  near 
Fill'd  with  dark  waters,  that  went  by 
Turbid  and  quick,  as  if  from  high 
They  late  had  dash'd  down  furiously; 
Or,  awfnller,  had  yet  that  doom 
Before  them,  in  the  untried  gloom. 
No  pass  appear'd  on  either  side; 

And  tho'  my  torch  too  feebly  shone 
To  show  what  scowl'd  beyond  the  tide, 

I  saw  but  one  way  left  lue — on! 
So.  plunging  m,  with  my  right  hand 

The  current's  rush  I  scarce  withstood, 
While,  in  my  left,  the  fiiling  brand 

Shook  its  last  glimmer  o'er  the  flood. 
'T  was  a  long  struggle — oft  I  thought, 
That,  in  that  whirl  of  waters  caught, 
I  must  have  gone,  too  weak  (or  strife, 

Down,  headlong,  at  the  cataract's  will- 
Sad  fate  fiir  one,  with  heart  and  life 

And  all  youth's  sunshine  round  him  still! 
But,  ere  my  torch  was  wholly  spent, 

I  saw, — outstretching  from  the  shade 
Into  those  waters,  as  if  meant 

To  lend  the  drowning  struggler  aid — 

A  slender,  double  balustrade, 
With  snow-white  steps  between,  ascending 

From  the  grim  surfice  of  the  stream. 
Far  up  as  eye  could  reach,  and  ending 

In  (iarkness  there,  like  a  lost  dream. 
That  glimpse — for  't  was  no  longer — gave 

New  spirit  to  my  strength  ;  and  now. 
With  botli  arms  combating  the  wave, 

I  riish'd  on  blindly,  till  my  brow 
Struck  on  that  railway's  lowest  stair; 
When,  gathering  courage  from  despait. 


I  made  one  bold  and  fearful  bound. 
And  on  the  step  firm  footing  (bund. 

But  short  that  hope — for.  as  I  flew 
Breathlessly  up,  the  stairway  grew 
Tremulous  under  mo,  while  each 
Frail  step,  ere  scarce  my  foot  could  reach 
The  frailer  yet  I  next  must  trust, 
Crumbled  behind  tue  into  dust; 
Leaving  me.  as  it  crush'd  beneath. 

Like  shipwreck'd  wretch  who,  in  dismay. 
Sees  but  one  plank  'l  wixl  him  and  death, 

And  shuddering  feels  that  one  give  way! 
And  still  I  u|)uard  vvent — with  nought 

Beneath  me  but  that  depih  of  sliaile. 
And  the  dark  flood,  from  whence  I  caught 

Each  sound  the  (ailing  fragments  made. 
Was  it  not  (earful  ? — snll  more  frail 

At  every  step  crasli'd  the  light  stair. 
While,  as  I  mounted,  ev'n  the  rail 

That  up  into  that  murky  air 
Was  my  sole  guide,  began  to  fail  I — 
When  stretching  (brili  an  anxious  hand, 
Just  as,  beneath  my  tottering  stand. 
Steps,  railway,  all,  together  went, 

I  touch'd  a  massy  iron  ring. 
That  there — by  what  kind  genius  sent 
I  know  not — in  the  darkness  hung; 

And  grasping  it,  as  drowneis  cling 
To  the  last  hold,  so  firm  I  clung. 
And  through  the  void  suspended  swung. 

Sudden,  as  if  that  mighty  ring 

Were  link'd  with  all  the  winds  in  heav'n. 
And,  like  the  touching  of  a  spring, 

JNly  eager  grasp  had  instant  given 
Loose  to  all  blasts  that  ever  spread 
The  shore  or  sea  with  wrecks  and  dead- 
Around  me,  gusts,  gales,  whirlwinds  rang 
Tumultuous,  and  I  seem'd  to  hang 
Amidst  an  elemental  war. 

In  which  wing'd  tempests — of  all  kinds 
And  strengths  that  winter's  stormy  star 

Lights  through  the  Temple  of  the  Winds 
In  our  own  Athens — battled  round. 
Deafening  me  with  chaotic  sound. 
Nor  this  the  worst — for.  holding  still 

With  hands  unmov'd,  though  shrinking  ofl 
I  found  myself  at  the  wild  will 

Of  countless  whirlwinds,  caught  aloft. 
And  round  and  round,  with  fearful  swing. 
Swept,  like  a  stone-shot  in  a  sling! 
Till  breathless,  mazed,  I  had  begun, — 

So  ceaselessly  I  thus  was  vvhirl'd, — 
To  think  my  limbs  were  chain'd  upon 

That  wheel  of  the  Infernal  World, 
To  turn  which,  day  and  night,  are  blowing 

Hot,  withering  winds  that  never  slumber; 
And  whose  sad  rounds,  still  going,  going. 

Eternity  alone  can  number! 
And  yet,  ev'n  then — while  worse  than  Fear 

Hath  ever  dreamt  seem'd  hovering  near. 
Had  voice  but  nsk'd  me.  "  is  not  this 

A  price  too  dear  for  aught  below  ?" 
I  should  have  said  "  for  knowledge,  yes — 

But  for  bright,  glorious  Woman — no." 

At  last,  that  whirl,  when  all  mv  strength 

^!nd  nearly  fied,  came  to  an  end  ; 
And.  through  that  viewless  void,  at  length, 

I  felt  the  still-grasp'd  ring  descend 
Rapidly  with  me.  till  my  feet — 
Oh,  ne'er  was  touch  of  land  so  sweet 
To  the  long  sea-worn  e^ile— (bund 
A  resting-place  on  the  firm  ground. 
At  the  same  instant  o'er  me  broke 

A  glimmer  through  that  gloom  so  chill.— 


430 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Like  day-light,  when  beneath  the  yoke 
Of  tyrant  darkness  struggling  stdl  — 

And  bv  th'  imperfect  sleam  it  slied, 

I  saw  before  me  a  rude  bed, 

Where  poppies,  strew'd  upon  a  heap 

Of  vvither'd  lotus,  wooeil  to  sleep. 

Blessing  that  couch — as  I  would  bless, 
Ay,  ev'n  the  absent  tiger's  lair. 

For  rest  in  such  stark  wearmess, — 
I  crawl'd  to  it  and  sunk  down  there. 

How  long  I  slept,  or  by  what  means 

Was  wafted  thence,  I  cannot  say; 
But,  when  I  woke — oli  the  bright  scenes 

The  glories  that  around  me  lay — 
If  ever  yet  a  vision  shone 
On  waking  mortal.  Ihig  was  one! 
Bui  how  describe  it?  vain,  as  yet, 

While  the  first  dazzle  dims  my  eyes. 
All  vain  the  attempt — I  must  forget 

The  flush,  the  newness,  the  surprise, 
The  vague  bewilderment,  that  whelms, 

Ev'n  now,  my  every  sense  and  thought. 
Ere  I  can  paint  these  sunless  realms. 

And  their  hid  glories,  as  I  ought. 
While  thou,  if  ev'n  but  half  I  tell 
Wilt  that  but  half  helieve — farewell! 


LETTER   V. 

FROM  ORCUS,  HIGH  PRIEST  OF  MEMPHIS,  TO 
DECIUS,  THE  PRAETORIAN  PREFECT. 

Rejoice,  my  friend,  rejoice: — the  youthful  Chief 
Of  that  light  Sect  which  mocks  at  all  belief, 
And,  gav  and  godless,  makes  the  present  hour 
Its  only  heaven,  is  now  within  our  power. 
Smooth,  impious  school ' — not  all  the  weapons  aimed 
At  priestly  creeds,  since  (irst  a  creed  was  framed. 
E'er  struck  so  deep  as  that  sly  dart  they  wield. 
The  Bacchant's  pointed  sjiear  in  laughing  flowers 

conceal'd. 
And  oh,  't  were  victory  to  this  heart,  as  sweet 
As  any  Ihon  canst  boast, — ev'n  when  the  feet 
Of  thy  proud  war-steed  wade  through  Christian  blood, 
To  wrap  this  scoffer  in  Faith's  blinding  hood. 
And  bring  him,  tamed  and  prostrate,  to  implore 
The  vilest  gods  ev'n  Egypt's  saints  adore. 

What! — do  these  sages  think,  to  t/iem  alone 

The  key  of  this  world's  happiness  is  known? 

That  none  but  thev,  wlio  make  such  proud  parade 

Of  Pleasure's  smiling  favours,  win  the  maid. 

Or  that  Religion  keeps  no  secret  place. 

No  niche,  in  her  dark  fanes.  f()r  Love  to  grace? 

y,ui\a  ! — did  they  know  how  keen  the  zest  that's  given 

To  earthly  joy,  when  seasou'd  well  with  heaven; 

How  I'iety's  grave  mask  improves  the  hue 

Of  Pleasure's  laughing  features,  half  seen  through. 

And  how  the  Priest,  set  aptly  within  reach 

Of  two  rich  worlds,  trafTics  for  bliss  with  each. 

Would  they  not,  Decius, — thou,  whom  th' ancient  tie 

'T  wixt  Sword  and  Altar  makes  our  best  ally. — 

Would  they  not  chance  their  creed,  their  craft,  forours? 

Leave  the  gross  daylight  joys,  that,  in  their  bowers. 

Languish  with  loo  much  sun,  like  o'er-blown  flowers, 

J"or  the  veil'd  loves,  the  blisses  nudisplay'd 

That  slily  lurk  within  the  Temple's  shade? 

And,  '.stead  of  haunting  the  trim  Garden's  school, — 

Where  cold  Philosophy  usurps  a  rule. 

Like  the  fiale  moon's,  o'er  passion's  heaving  tide  ; 

vVherc  pleasure,  cramp'd  and  chill'd  by  wisdom's  pride, 


Counts  her  own  pulse's  regulated  play. 

And  in  dull  dreams  dissolves  her  life  away, — 

Be  taught  by  us,  quit  shadows  for  the  true. 

Substantial  joys  we  sasrer  Priests  pursue. — 

Who,  far  too  wise  to  theorize  on  bliss. 

Or  pleasure's  substance  for  its  shade  to  miss, 

Preach  other  worlds,  but  live  for  only  this: 

Thanks  to  the  well-paid  Mystery  round  us  flung. 

Which,  like  its  type,  the  golden  cloud  that  hung 

O'er  Jupiter's  loVe-coueh  its  shade  benign. 

Round  human  frailty  wraps  a  veil  divine. 

Still  less  should  they  presume,  weak  wits,  that  they 

Alone  despise  the  craft  of  us  who  pray; — 

Still  less  their  creedless  vanity  deceive 

With  the  fimd  thought,  that  we  who  pray  believe. 

Believe! — Apis  fiirhid — forbid  it,  all 

Ye  monster  Gods,  beiore  whose  shrines  we  fall, — 

Deities,  framed  in  jest,  as  if  lo  try 

How  far  gross  Man  can  vulgarize  the  sky; 

How  far  the  same  low  fancy  that  combines 

Into  a  drove  of  brutes  yon  zodiac's  signs. 

And  turns  that  Heaven  itself  into  a  place 

Of  sainted  sin  and  deified  disgrace. 

Can  bring  Olympus  ev'n  to  shame  more  deep. 

Stock  it  with  things  that  earth  itself  holds  cheap. 

Fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  the  kitchen's  sacred  brood, 

Which  Egypt  keeps  for  worship,  not  for  food, — 

All,  worthy  idols  of  a  Faith  that  sees 

In  dogs,  cats,  owls,  and  apes,  divinities! 

Believe! — oh,  Decius,  thca,  who  hast  no  care 

Of  things  divine,  bevond  the  soldier's  share. 

Who  takes  on  trust  the  faith  for  which  he  bleeds, 

A  good,  fierce  God  to  swear  by,  all  he  needs, — 

Little  canst  thou,  whose  creed  around  thee  hangs 

Loose  as  thy  summer  war-cloak,  guess  the  pangs 

Of  loathing  and  self-scorn  with  which  a  heart, 

Stubborn  as  mine  is,  acts  the  zealot's  part, — 

The  deep  and  dire  disgust  with  which  I  wade 

Through  the  foul  juggling  of  this  holy  trade, — 

This  mud  profound  of  mystery,  where  the  leet, 

At  every  step,  sink  deeper  in  deceit. 

Oh!  many  a  time,  when,  mid  the  Temple's  blaze. 

O'er  prostrate  fiiols  the  sacred  cist  I  raise. 

Did  I  not  keep  still  proudly  in  my  mind 

The  power  this  priesicraft  gives  me  o'er  mankind, — 

A  lever,  of  more  might,  in  skilful  hand. 

To  move  this  world,  than  Archimede  e'er  plann'd, — 

I  should,  in  vengeance  of  the  shame  I  feel 

At  my  own  mockery,  crush  the  slaves  that  kneel 

Besotted  round;  and, — like  that  kindred  breed 

Of  reverend,  well-drcst  crocodiles  they  feed. 

At  famed  Arsinoe,* — make  my  keepers  bless. 

With  their  last  throb,  my  sharp-fang'd  Holiness. 

Say,  is  it  to  be  borne,  that  scoffers,  vain 

Of  their  own  freedom  from  ihe  altar's  chain. 

Should  mock  thus  all  that  thou  thy  blood  h.ast  sold. 

And  I  my  truth,  pride,  freedom,  lo  uphold  ? 

It  must  not  be  : — think'st  thou  that  Christian  sect, 

Whose  f()llowers,  quick  as  broken  waves,  erect 

Their  crests  anew  and  swell  into  a  tide. 

That  threats  to  sweep  away  our  shrines  of  pride — 

Think'st  Ihou,  with  all  their  wondrous  spells,  ev'n  they 

Wouhl  triumph  thus,  had  not  the  couslant  play 

Of  Wit's  resistless  archerv  clear'd  their  way? — 

That  mockintj  spirit,  worst  of  all  the  foes. 

Our  solemn  fraud,  our  mystic  mummery  knows. 

Whose  wounding  flash  thus  ever  'mong  the  signs 

Of  a  fiist-falling  creed,  prelusive  shines. 

Threatening  such  change  as  to  the  awful  freaks 

Of  summer  lightning,  ere  the  tempest  breaks. 


*  For  the  trinkets  with  which  the  sacreil  Crocodiles  wer» 
ornamonlcd,  see  tlio  Epicurean,  clmp.  10. 


ALCIPHROjS. 


4:J1 


But,  to  my  point, — a  yoiilli  of  this  vain  school, 
BuJ  one,  whom  Doiiht  itself  halli  fnilM  lo  cool 
Down  to  ihal  freeziiisr  p)int,  where  Priests  despair 
Of  aiiv  spark  from  ih'  altar  raleiiitifj  there, — 
Hath,  some  nisjhts  since, — it  was,  methinks,  the  night 
That  (bllDw'il  the  full  moon's  s^reat  annual  rile, — 
Throngh  the  dark,  wind iiij^d nets, that  downward  stray 
To  these  earih-liidden  tempifs,  track'd  his  way. 
Just  at  that  hour  when,  roninl  the  Shrine,  and  me, 
The  choir  of  bloomin;^  nymphs  thou  lotig'st  lo  see, 
Sin^  their  last  night-hvmn  in  the  Sanctuary. 
The  clanjourof  the  marvellous  (Jale,  ihal  stands 
At  the  Well's  lowest  depth, — which  none  but  hands 
Of  new,  nnlanght  adventurers,  from  above. 
Who  know  not  the  safe  path,  e'er  ilare  lo  move, — 
Gave  si£;nal  thai  a  foot  prof  me  was  ingh  : — 
'T  was  iho  Cireek  youth,  who,  by  that  morning's  sky, 
Flad  been  observed,  curiously  wandering  round 
The  mighty  (iines  of  our  sepulchral  ground. 

Instant,  tK'  Initiate's  Trials  were  prepared, — 
The  Fire,  Air.  Water;  all  that  Orpheus  flared. 
That  Plato,  that  the  bright-hair'd  Samian*  pass'd, 
With  trembling  hope,  to  q)rne  lo — ic/ial,  at  last  ? 
Go,  ask  the  dupes  of  Mvst'rv;  question  him 
Who,  mid  terrific  sounds  and  spectres  dim. 
Walks  at  Kleiisis;  ask  of  those,  who  brave 
The  dazzling  miracles  of  Mithra's  Cave, 
With  its  seven  starry  gales  ;  ask  all  who  keep 
Those  terrible  night-mysl'ries  where  they  w-eep 
And  howl  sad  dirges  to  the  answering  breeze, 
O'er  their  de.ad  Gods,  iheir  mortal  Deities, — 
Amphibious,  hvbrid  things,  that  died  as  men, 
Drown'd.  hang'd.  empaled,  to  rise,  as  gods,  again; — 
Ask  them,  what  mightv  secret  lurks  below 
This  sev'n-fold  mystery — can  thov  toll  thee?  No; 
Gravely  they  keep  that  only  secret,  well 
And  fairly  kept, — that  thev  have  none  to  tell ; 
And,  duped  themselves,  console  Iheir  humbled  pride 
By  duping  thencelbrlh  all  mankind  beside. 

And  such  th' advance  in  fraud  since  Orpheus'  time, — 
That  earliest  master  of  our  craft  sublime, — 
So  many  minor  Mvsteries,  imps  of  fraud. 
From  the  great  Orphic  F.gg  have  wing'd  abroad, 
That,  still  to'  uphold  our  Temple's  ancient  boast, 
\nd  seem  most  holv,  we  must  cheat  the  most; 
Work  the  best  miracles,  wrap  nonsense  round 
In  pomp  and  darkness,  till  it  seems  profound  ; 
Plav  on  the  hopes,  the  terrors  of  mankind, 
Wiih  changeful  skill ;  and  make  the  human  mind 
Like  our  own  Sanctuarv,  where  no  ray, 
But  by  the  Priest's  permission,  wins  its  way, — 

*  Pythagoras 


•  Where,  througii  the  gloom  as  viaveour  wizard  rods 
Monsters,  at  will,  are  conjured  inir)  Gods; 
While  Reason,  hke  a  pravefacrd  nuimmy,  sinnoa 
With  her  arms  swathed  in  hieroglyphic  bunds. 

Hut  ch'pfly  in  the  skill  with  which  wo  use 
Man's  wildest  passions  (or  Religion's  views, 
Yoking  them  to  her  car  like  liery  sieeds. 
Lies  the  main  an  in  whicli  our  crafi  succeeds. 
And  oh  be  blest,  ye  men  of  ycpre.  wliose  toil 
Hath,  for  our  use.  scr)0|)'d  i>ui  of  Kgvpi's  soil 

This  hidden  Paradise,  this  mine  of  lanes. 

'Gardens,  and  palaces,  where  Pleasure  reign* 
In  a  ritdi,  sunless  empire  of  her  own, 
With  all  earth's  luxuries  liuhiiug  up  lier  throne; — 
A  realm  for  mystery  made,  which  umlermincs 
The  .\ile  itseK!  and,  'neath  Ihe  Twelve  Great  Shrine* 
That  keep  Initiation's  holy  rile, 
Spreads  its  long  labyrinths  of  unearthly  light, 
A  light  that  knows  no  change — its  brooks  that  run 
Too  deep  for  day,  its  gardens  without  sun. 
Where  soul  and  sense,  by  turns,  are  charm'd, surprised 
And  all  that  bard  or  prophet  e'er  devised 
For  man's  Elysium,  pricsls  have  realized. 

Here,  at  this  moment, — all  his  trials  past. 
And  heart  and  nerve  unshrinking  to  the  laat,-- 
'I'he  young  Fiiiiiaic  roves, — as  yet  left  free 
To  wander  thmugh  this  realm  of  mystery, 
Feeding  on  such  illusions  as  prepare 
The  soul,  like  mist  o'er  waterfalls,  to  wear 
All  shapes  and  hues,  at  Fancy's  varj'ing  will. 
Through  every  shifting  aspect,  vapour  still; — 
V'ague  glimpses  of  the  Future,  vistas  shown, 
Bv  scenic  skill,  into  that  world  unknown. 
Which  saints  and  sinners  claim  alike  iheir  own; 
And  all  those  other  witching,  wilderine  arts. 
Illusions,  terrors,  that  make  human  hearts. 
Ay,  ev'n  the  wisest  and  the  hardiest,  quail 
To  any  goblin  throned  behind  a  veil. 

Yes, — such  the  spells  shall  hannt  his  eye,  his  ear, 

Mixt  with  his  night-dreams,  from  his  atmosphere; 

Till,  if  our  Sage  be  not  tamed  down,  at  length. 

His  wit,  his  wisdom,  shorn  of  all  Iheir  strength, 

Like  Phrygian  priests,  in  honour  of  the  shrine,- 

If  he  become  not  absolutely  mine. 

Body  and  soul,  and,  like  the  tame  decoy 

Which  wary  hunters  of  wild  doves  employ. 

Draw  converts  also,  lure  his  brother  wits 

To  the  dark  cage  where  his  ow  ti  spirit  flits. 

And  give  us,  if  not  saints,  good  hypocrites, — 

If  I  effect  not  this,  then  be  it  said 

The  ancient  spirit  of  our  craft  hath  fled. 

Gone  with  that  serpent-god  the  Cross  hath  chased 

To  hiss  its  soul  out  in  the  Theban  waste. 


THE  END. 


J.._ 


THE  LIBRj^RY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CAIiFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 
Goleta,  California 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
AVAILABLE  F^TAMPED  BELOW. 

^^P.CULATIQN  AFYEll 


eUAY  PERIOD  / 


•r-«^ 


3  1205  00646  8928 


yC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  F/ 


A  A  001   423  248  2 


^'#-. 


F>. 


/  ' 


.f^ff'^' 


'^^i 


% 

^ 

.^ 

^'^^ 


A_JS  • 


